The poems from this fine collection remind us that "nature enables and culture denies". They deal with professions and trades lost to most contemporary humans. The last blacksmith of the village joins the casket maker, the milkman, the traveling salesman, the TV repair man, the elevator operator, the mill worker, the night soil man, and the home guard all of whom teach us to attend to our own times, and to how we are shaped and formed by the experiences we have in childhood and how as those experiences vanish into the mist our past becomes, in the words of the prize winning title poem:
... a voice
you can't hear
though it's clear that the voice is your own
In the closing words of his introduction Lee writes:
... well as for me, I was born taking my first breath in the eternal and ever-present peril of total annihilation from thermo-nuclear war. According to my mother my first words were "Howdy Doody" and my final words, at least for now, "I don't know what that means ..."