I confess that there isn't much poetry I can truly say I've enjoyed reading. Whether I just haven't been exposed to enough poetry in my life, or because it's so much more difficult to write a decent poem than prose, most poetry I've read has left me cold. Stevie Smith is a rare exception. There's a mixture of doom and irreverence, crushing depression and childlike whimsy present in her work that I find absolutely intoxicating.