Anne Carson

Not much to say but that I feel I haven't appreciated Anne Carson nearly as much as I should have.

There is an ineffable quality about her poetry that is at once large and small, that feels not like poetry and like poetry at the same time.

I was not thrilled by Autobiography of Red. But I was enchanted by The Glass Essay, and now I am deep into The Beauty of the Husband. Second reading to come. Perhaps a third.