Tuesday, June 28, 2005

This month in Poetry's letters section, Christian Wiman channels his inner William Packard.

It's kind of unsettling, really. (And, to be honest, though there are some yucks, not so big-hearted.)

(If you don't know what I mean, go hunt down an old issue of the New York Quarterly. I haven't read an issue since Clinton was president, so I don't know if they've kept the same inimitably ruthless weirdness up or not. Though without Wm. Packard and his preoccupations, I don't see how they could.)

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