There's not too much to rave about in the intest NWW collection. The symposium on a Lowell poem is of course welcome: the critics are all pithy and so is Lowell's self appraisal. A short story from David Wagoner begins: ""The day Angelo Eenstermaker fell in love with himself..."" and then goes on its zany zeitgeist way, somewhat in the manner of Catch and almost as good. Two other tales: one from Ana Matute, a clear-as-crystal overall on of childhood inhumanity; the other from Ken Pitchford, a hokey Freudianized midwestern fable. James Dickey, an up-and-coming versifier is represented with his usual tight and tender deftness. Unknowns Nye and Berry offer lyrics of neat techniques, too not depth; the Hafiz translations by Rehder are mostly declamatory duds. The opening work, an essay on American abstractionist Mark Rothko, is from France's anti-novelist Michael Butor. When Antonlol, Italy's neo-realist director, viewed the former's paintings, he said: ""They are like my films, full of precision and about nothing"". He could just as well have been speaking of the Butor essay. All in all, a hardly memorable potpoured. Better luck next time, and let's have more Lowell.