This collection of poetry follows closely the method and approach of his earlier The Book of the Green Man (1967) and again the expansive, sprawling Whitmanesque line, the curious use of quotations from others' works, the luxuriantly whorling but self-determined tangle of images, the acute sense of America's past--have the heady, persistent presence of Indian summer mist. For Mr. Johnson, a poem is a clutch of arrows pointing to a long ago field of here and now, or then and tomorrow. He makes continual use of changing dimensions and directions. The poem, ""The Different Musics"" begins, ""come simultaneously/ across water,/ accumulating fume, spray, the flex of ripple."" If Mr. Johnson has any potentially dangerous failing it might be the excess of different musics and wandering styles, but the core of his profligate poetry is exuberance.