Wild

The clarifying poems in Okri’s ruminative latest (after A Fire in My Head) guilelessly connect with the reader: “I need someone to sing/ To, can I sing to you?” As Okri writes in the introduction, these pieces are marked by “a quiet tone” aiming for “true lucidity,” though the simplicity of address does not equate to simplicity of thought. Okri tackles myth and horror just as often as he casts his eye on love and childhood imagination. The dual engines of experience and innocence drive the book’s momentum: “The world is a cauldron/ In which we are mixed”; “The age of magic has begun.” There are also moving elegies for Okri’s parents, focusing on the shifting responsibilities that come with age and the inevitable reversal of care: “I am watching over her./ My turn has come round at last.” The collection is equally interested in themes of reinvention and self-discovery: “You can develop habits of mediocrity/ Just by doing what is required.” Musical and daringly unadorned, these poems offer a memorable and lightly worn wisdom. (Oct.)