The Accidental Navigator

Reading through this monumental collection of Henry Denander’s poems I realize that he has taken his place in my pantheon of favorite contemporary American poets, alongside such as Charles Bukowski, Ron Koertge, Edward Field, and Billy Collins . . . and, astonishingly, he isn’t even American—he’s Swedish. But he has somehow mastered our conversational idiom, our easy humor, and our perennial childhood, children, friends, a second home (Greece), reading, eating, drinking, jazz, the simple pleasures, the inevitable battles with illness and aging. No one speaks in a more relaxed style. He isn’t “just” a poet he’s a prized illustrator and watercolorist, an accomplished prose storyteller, a perceptive collector and publisher. I’m sure there are many more to come, but these alone would constitute a life’s achievement. These are quite simply great poems. Additionally, he has been, from the start, a loyal friend . . . and I have never even met him. Gerald Locklin Modest Aspirations