Legacy is a full-hearted, generous collection of prose and verse by Pat Mullan, a highly regarded writer of thrillers. It is a moving anthology of brilliant writing in three movements. One might almost say that it is symphonic. The first movement is one of lyrical poems-deeply felt, sad, and personal-expressive of a wistful, lyrical soul. The second movement is a group of powerful prose poems. The third group, "from the archives," is a collection of essay-like pieces from the past but drawn into the present. Combined, they comprise a legacy of profound thought and deep emotion. Let's engage for a moment with Part One, "a few poems . . ." "Solitude" brings to mind The Private Papers of Henry Ryecroft, George Gissing's withdrawal from new Grub Street. Hear this: SolitudeI am protective of my solitude nowSavouring it like a well-earned prizeFeeling it would be easy to be a hermitAnd shut out all the noiseThere are no voices in my earNone I miss that I hold dearSo let me ask you if I mayWould you seek solitude today?I've lived in crowded citiesWhere tall buildings blocked the lightWhere trains screamed through the nightAnd horns blared down belowSo you see why I have fledHave you fled too?Or do you still make your bedWhere the bright lights torture youSo let me ask you if I mayWould you seek solitude today?If you have a proclivity for meditation and are, perhaps, of a certain age, this poem takes you, as Robert Frost wrote, "back out of all this now too much for us," -or out of what we of the present age might call the explosive electronic circus.Section Two, "prose poems," recalls moments of emotion. This was so, wasn't it? This happened. But these moments have escaped in time, as do our very lives. These moments had a powerful impact on the poet. They are his life. Where are they? They are here in this poetic record. Pat Mullan makes us feel that we all want such moments back but they cannot be recaptured in full, only in memory. The emotion, the sadness of lost time, is given us as a wistful gift-à la recherche du temps perdue. Because of his expressiveness, we all know what the poet knows and feels, and through empathy he gives us back something of our own lives. We appreciate his gift. Going on to part three, "from the archives," you will find a brief article on the history of the digital revolution in publishing and more personal essays, the most interesting of these being "Craw: from Childhood Hills," a fascinating description of how Mullan came to write the poem, "Craw," which is not included in this anthology; but this reviewer thinks it should have been and presents it here: CrawI was born in Crawon a hill-farm in the heatherof an Ulster mountainThe old people said my great-grandfatherhad built the first wee house there: a craw, a thatched-roofed pighouse made of scraws.And named these hills forever.But you won't find Craw on any map;the townland, the postal districtand the parish: none of them are Craw.On a clear day you can see Slieve Snacht, the mountain of snow, over therein Donegal. They say my mother's fathercame from there. They called himWee Cocky. They said it was becausehe was so dapper. But I knew different.Craw stared across the Foyle in envyat Donegal, the Free State.This fine poem speaks for itself. Representative of the archived pieces, and outstanding among them, is "James Dickey's Poetry: the Religious Dimension." As an epistolary friend of James Dickey's, I can vouch for the ringing truth presented here. The great poet, Theodore Roethke, wrote "And see and suffer myself in another being, at last."If you read Legacy you will see and suffer yourself with this fine poet and essayist. E.M. Schorb