There is a nimble beauty to the poetry of Charles Simic that, given his Eastern European origin, makes many readers think of clever fairytale heroes, witty orphans who can charm any ogre with words alone. Yet Simic is vehement about his place in American culture. In a 1984 interview with Sherod Santos, he said, "As for Yugoslavia, I feel like a foreigner there. Everything I love and hate with a passion is over here. I'd die of grief if I left this country for long." Still, Simic's work is like no other American poet's. On the one hand, Sigmund Freud's world of dreams and the surrealism of Andre Breton are graphically represented; on the other, an abundance of peasants, crones, and woodcutters reminds the reader that, to use an agricultural metaphor, no poetic apple falls far from its tree. (In the Santos interview, Simic said, "I'm not so naive...