''In Shiva's Drum there are poems of sheer beauty - read '1963' and 'Sunday,' for examples - in which language is forced up by passion and blue notes soar. Indeed, a new music rises here, at times plaintive, at other times harsh and discordant, always memorable. In 'What We Do,' a kind of ars poetica, Cramer observes a street drummer: 'These sounds the music wants / to encompass, make its own, / so in the end, you can't tell if he's playing / the drums or if they're playing him.' This is an exciting book.'' Grace Schulman

