In Donald Hall’s compelling new collection of essays on the state of contemporary poetry, he likens much of what passes for poetry today to the product of an assembly line – the McPoem. The McPoem may satisfy the desire for fame, the ambition for publication. But real ambition for the poet, says Hall, lies in the sometimes painful, always time-consuming perfection of the poem itself. You may not agree with Hall, but you cannot afford to ignore him.