I finished A Free Man (Warsh). What strikes me is that it is not in any way inferior to novels written by writers known for their novels.

I got my copy of Stubborn Grew (Gould) yesterday as well. I've only read the first poem of the first section of Book I. I'm not going to comment extensively until I've read the entire book, but I have to say that the first line is arrestingly beautiful: "Time flowers on the lips of whispered clay."