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“I’ve been thinking of a poet who is dying in New York, how these days she reads her beloved Dante, perhaps looking for something to frame what is happening to her. And whom, I wonder, do I turn to? Whom in this century do I read as if my life depended upon it?” — Joseph Stroud
I’ve been thinking of a poet who is dying in New York,
how these days she reads her beloved Dante,
perhaps looking for something to frame
what is happening to her.
And whom, I wonder, do I turn to?
Whom in this century do I read
as if my life depended upon it?