Most striking [about the work of Gary Snyder] is the fact that he avoids metaphor of the kind … [wherein] two realms of conjunction, frequently one physical and the other spiritual, mix on the surface in such a way that the depths beneath will beckon, until any surface glancingly has something of depth in it. Contrary to this principle of steady sympathetic evocation, Snyder gives us only the surface and expects us not to expect it to ripple down to the depths beneath:

             soaked drooping bamboo groves
             swaying heavy in the drizzle,
             and perfectly straight lines of rice plants
             glittering orderly mirrors of water,
             dark grove of straight young Sugi trees
             thick at the base of the hill….

Even the title of this poem ["Delicate Criss-Crossing Beetle Trails Left in the Sand"] alerts us to the presence of a devoted nominalist, perhaps of an oriental persuasion—a suggestion made...