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Ina Coolbrith is a fascinating invidivual; among other things, she was the public librarian for a young Jack London (who called her his "literary mother") and dancer Isadora Duncan. She was friends with Bret Harte and Mark Twain, and had a history of California she was writing burned to a crisp in the the fire that followed the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake. She was also the first poet laureate of California; and the first poet laureate of any state in the United States. As the kids would say today, she was "dope af."
"California" is a love poem to her (and my) great state, written (rendered?) in the purplest, floweriest, Victorianest style I've personally read in a while; it oozes with sweet, sweet words like honey. It's high falutin', but because Coolbrith's deep love and understanding of the Golden State is so beautifully apparent in each and every lovingly written line, I forgive her, and you should to. Old poetry and old books are meant to be savored, not savaged.
The edition I read was a limited printing of only 500 copies, beautifully illustrated in the arts and craft style by a San Francisco artist named Laurence B. Haste. This only added to my pleasure of this poem and work.