on my desk. Ever since I have wanted to write about the contents of the box. But because I'm a judge for the National Book Critics Circle prize and the poems in the box were under consideration, I couldn't. That prizewinner was named earlier this month, so I'm free to say that a box with poetry arrived on my desk and still sits here like the color of fog in the middle of a gray night. It contains photographs, ephemera, dictionary definitions, lyric shards, fragments, cutouts, clippings, handwritten jottings and corrupted incomplete narratives, and both live and dead languages. It contains bits of uncollected memories and discarded dissolutions. It even has some lines of poems.
from David Biespiel: The Oregonian: Poetry: 'Catullus 101' from 'Nox,' translated by Anne Carson
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