Charles Simic, White (New Rivers Press, 1972)
I have quite quickly become convinced that Charles Simic's books belong on the same short shelf that holds Carruth, Sadoff, Robert Lowell, and a few other American poets. Seems like everything I pick up by the guy is wonderful. This early piece (a collection? A long poem? Can't tell) continues the trend.
It's either a collection of short, untitled pieces (which the acknowledgments section would seem to indicate) or a longer work called "White" with a postscript. Either way, it's classic Simic and well worth the trouble it will take to hunt down. It's more classically surreal than his later works, but with the same tone of understated wit, the same veneration of the odd ins-and-outs of quirky beauty, the same engaging, and distinct, diction.
If you're not yet familiar with the work of Charles Simic, the only reason not to start with this one is that it will take you way too long to find, probably. If you're already an established fan, or stumble across a copy in your local library, by all means give it a read. ****