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After flipping through a third of the anthology and realizing I cared for maybe 3% of the selection, I've resigned to the fact that my tastes and those of the 'old guard' do not coincide in the slightest. It reminds me of why I thought I didn't like poetry growing up -- it's because of selection and tastes like these. But of course it isn't that I don't like poetry per se (or even 'old' poetry -- I love Shakespeare's sonnets if not necessarily the ones picked out here), it's like I don't like this type of poetry. Who doesn't like images, metaphors, and words carefully put together to say and feel more than they really should? Any lover of words does. But this is atavistic, and if you're a modern reader like I am, don't be surprised if you don't find them fitting your predilection. This is not a slight to your proclivities -- nor is it, I might hasten to add, a slight on the sensibilities of the old white men that came before you and I.