On September 8, 2001, a British poet, an English gent named Clint, walked into a bar on 86th and Broadway. He began a conversation with the bartender Raul, who was about to move up with a new position at Windows on the World, and an old Englishman, Joey Stone, who had survived "Black Saturday," September 7, 1940, the beginning of the Nazi Blitz on London. Most of the voices in this poetic narrative are those who took shelter in South Hallsville School in Canning Town, waiting for buses to evacuate them into the country. The counterpoint of London, on the brink of destruction, and NYC, oblivious of the terror that awaits, is at the same time subtle and horrifying. Maxwell never gets to 9/11 -- he doesn't have to -- we all know what happened.

Each voice has a different poetic rhythm and meter, granting each their individuality. On the back jacket quotes, Derek Walcott praises Maxwell: "Glyn Maxwell's originality lies in his astounding ability to orchestrate asides, parenthetical quips, side-of-the-mouth ruminations into a formal verse with a bravura not dared before." I heartily agree. ( )