Diary of a Glass Blower in Solitude

Hugh Oliver is Editor-in-chief of OISE Press, Ontario Institute for
Studies in Education.

T.S. Eliot, in one of his essays, argues that the reader must fully
understand a poem in order to like it. His argument applies aptly to my
feelings about many of Silverstein’s poems: I like his cerebral
imagery, I like the lyrical cadence of his verse, and I am aware of
emotional chords vibrating, but I did not always comprehend what he is
saying. For example: “For me, love has always been a movie theatre,
where the projectionist died of fright, viewing a film someone had
substituted for the one which he was familiar with.”

This volume contains one long poem—in which one character addresses a
series of letters to another, seeking elucidation (never forthcoming)
about some of life’s (and death’s) mysteries—together with some 25
shorter pieces. These range in subject matter from “Concerning Pope
Urban III, Who Had the Birds in the Vatican Gardens Killed Because They
Disturbed Him” to a “Symbolist Recipe for a Broken Heart.”

Silverstein may not be a great poet, but, based on this volume, he is
certainly a very good poet.