The Constructor by John Koethe. 1999.

I notice an Ashbery meme constantly repeated in this book. Mono-syllabic adjective, comma, polysyllabic adjective, polysyllabic noun. I'll make up some examples myself: "flat, noncommittal discernments." "sharp, nonreferential landscapes." Koethe fills his blue, intellectualized ideolect of Ashberyese with an attempt to transcend his own strange, impassive solipsism. I want to say there isn't a physical sensation in the book. (Ok, maybe one or two.) "Mistral" is a brilliant poem. So is the title poem. Koethe does better when he has plenty of space to accumulate his wry, variegated reflections.

Since I read the entire book aloud, I noticed a tendency to string long passages of iambics together, stretching over several lines, and producing almost sing-song effect that cuts across the seemingly more prosaic tone.