Nixon at Yaddo

58 the minnesota review Barry Sternlieb Nixon at Yaddo Awakens at 6 A.M. to sit lotusnude on the bed communing with his muse. Breathing deeply, a streak of dream is left in his look while yesterday's draft lies on the floor, beginning: Let me. . . He peruses the words wistfully as sunlight crawls toward him. This room will witness a distillation of the McCarthy years into a moving villanelle. Crows warp the quiet. Nixon clucks. Is no place free from distraction, from senseless ardor? He slaps page and pen away, retrieves them, kneels at the window and touches the glass, the voracious face, the sky's graying temples. ...