Ciardi's work puzzzles me. The work--I do not think the man--seems schizophrenic, an odd combination of, say, Kenneth Rexroth and John Ashbery. At times he tells a straight-forward tale, usually interesting, sometimes comic. This may be followed by the type of disjointed, incomprehensible poem written by the likes of Ashbery. Discarding the Ashbery-type poems raises Ciardi up several notches in my book.
I choose this book for the title. Surprisingly, it contains no poem of that title nor is Pompeii ever referenced. But I enjoyed it and am more fond of it than "39 Poems" which didn't melt my butter. Worth exploring.