James Cummins’s first book of poems, The Whole Truth, became known throughout much of the poetry world as the “Perry Mason sestinas.” His second book, Portrait in a Spoon, was chosen by Richard Howard for the James Dickey Prize Contemporary Poetry Series.

His latest and most accomplished work is collected in Then and Now, which reflects the same inventiveness and wit evident in his earlier books, with a deepening of tone and spirit. The result is a collection of poems filled with feeling and with Cummins’s signature anguished humor.

If the language of poetry is a way into a hall of mirrors of the self, it can be a way out, too. The voice that emerges in Then and Now is sane, imaginative, bemused, and sly, not only taking responsibility for the character of the writer put fully on display, but ironically and affectionately exploring how this process occurs.

Doing Lunch

You have lunch with a friend.

You put on a false face for him,

because he is your friend.

You want to spare him your

maunderings,

your lies and malfeasance.

But this is just what your friend desires,

because he is your friend.

He wants your face to fall open

in front of him and twitch

like a rabbit hit on the fly.

He says he wants the latest word

from the border region between

narcissism and an inner life.

And laughs.

Shamelessly, you tell him everything,

because he is your friend.