In a post-war mood, in this volume published in 1955, Winthrop Palmer is disgusted with all things military, also governments, and powerful people in gleaming buildings. There's a strong strain of technophobia in her work that's a bit unusual for someone who worked with miners’ unions. She much prefers cathedrals and the work of bare hands (the two realms of holiness in the two stanzas of "Bahia"). These are short poems, written in a rhythmic but natural-sounding language, almost always avoiding twisted syntax and archaic vocabulary. They often employ rhyme or off-rhyme; the effect, again, is natural-sounding. I found much to enjoy here, with almost all the poems seeming fresh and worth reading aloud, often memorable. That makes up for my occasional doubts about whether the ideas in them are internally coherent (but really, that's asking a lot of any poet).