I've been pondering how to rate this short book of poems translated from a renegade Zen monk. I've read it three times in the past fortnight and each time have enjoyed it more. I like the poems' brevity, and especially how that emphasises Ikkyu's clear seeing and general sensuous response to the world. BUT he is as attached to extolling the joys of his rejuvenated appendage as I am averse to hearing about it.
A pick, then, but with reservations.