Charles Bound is a previously unpublished poet presently living in Africa, but these poems appear to have a New England background--several are about graveyards and gardening. There is something endearing about his verse, in spite of his tendency to use and almost quote older poets. Eliot is his principal mine, along with Frost and Stein: ""A rose,/ as someone said,/ will always be/ a rose."" Also, he moans rather ineffectively: ""I have known pain,/ of course,/ been inclined to curse the situation,/ the universe."" Large flaws in a small bit of marble, he might say. From Kenya, overlooking the Straits of Zanzibar, he writes with a good simplicity, remembering the area's large history, empathizing back in time. ""Children, scattering/ everything, drum-beat/ the earth with passing/ feet, squawk/ mockery at the dumb/ chickens disaster. . . . The chickens put on/ airs, return/ to scratching destiny/ in the dust."" Bound has lively invention in a variety of styles. He may turn up as a winner if he will stick to his own vision and views.