Anthony Ostroff's love affair with old Mexico seems to have been carried on for many seasons and he has here set down what all lovers of that ancient, mysterious, poisonous, beautiful country would like to see, hear, and record. His most telling symbol he saves for his last poem. ""Each country gives its emblem. Here/ the bougainvillaea flows red/ & is the land's blood. Primary/ and pure, it rises everywhere."" There are poems about places--""In Puerta Vallarta,"" ""Near San Miguel""; about tourists--the grim traveler of ""Notebook,"" the thin artist lady of ""The Light in Mexico""; about beggars, about ancient ruined monuments--""The Altar at Teotihuacan,"" ""Monte Alban""; and a grand central piece, ""To Barra de Navidad,"" full of personal and religious feeling, about a father and son on the deep Pacific, fishing for, gladly losing, a marvelous and muscular green dolphin. . . . Poetry grows more relaxed these days; Mr. Ostroff no longer writes in the Eliotic tradition that drew such warm praise for his first collection, Imperatives, from the hand of John Crowe Ransom. But Ransom's summary is still apt; Ostroff still has ""a decent and accomplished mind.