So, today, my wife and I ate Indian food and hit up the Bookworm in Cranbury, New Jersey.  It’s a celebratory adventure we save for special occasions.  My hunt ended up in weird places.  I started out looking for Conan/barbarian volumes, found none, but found this Kathleen Fraser selected volume

I first met Fraser’s work in Morgantown, West Virginia, when I was an undergraduate.  She’d come to read at WVU, and I was certainly intrigued.   After the reading, I talked to her, about, among other things, the work of Mayakovsky, whom she confessed to admire.  I bought the book, had her sign it (and she personalized it something to the effect of, To a fellow Mayakovsky fan, all the best with you and your writing….”, and this stands out in my memory as the first volume of contempory American avant garde poetry I ever read.  Then, I lent it to a friend, who was a Charles Olson / Louis Zukofsky enthusiast, and never got it back, partly because I moved out of state.  So, my point is, I have sentimental connections to this book.  I’m very glad I own a copy of it, again.

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