A slender volume of new poems by Marianne Moore, who won three prizes for her collected poetry, is a literary event, and one of the highest order. These poems are subtle, strange and beautiful, and illustrate in the extremist degree Miss Moore's gift for words and rhythms, a gift which is altogether original and individual. This slim volume deals with animals, plants and human problems. The mine and the porcupine catch the artist's fine eye, the sycamore elicits some of her strangest and most brilliant allusions and images. The herb rosemary, a famous race horse, Aesculapius' staff are among her other subjects. Miss Moore's poetry is never easy reading. But here she has graciously appended notes to the poems which clarify many of her associations which would otherwise be private and obscure. It seems that it is often a line in the daily papers, a word or phrase picked up from another post that proves the catalyst for her poetic mechanism. Rare is the word to describe these poems and though Marianne Moore is not every reader's choice she is deeply appreciated by an ever widening group of poetasters.