“Read the City Walls for Signs of My Life”: Four Reviews Christopher Spaide (bio) More Anon: Selected Poems by Maureen N. McLane (Farrar, Straus & Giroux 2021) Blood on the Fog by Tongo Eisen-Martin (City Lights Publishers 2021) The Past by Wendy Xu (Wesleyan University Press 2021) Pilgrim Bell: Poems by Kaveh Akbar (Graywolf Press 2021) In early 1954, approaching his seventy-fifth birthday, Wallace Stevens faced a dilemma unique to monumental poets nearing the final stage of their careers: Should he publish a selected poems or a collected? Nothing but the hits, or everything, including all the misses? Writing to an academic acquaintance, he weighed his options: “They are different in the sense that people read selected poems but don’t buy them. On the other hand, they [End Page 150] buy collected poems but don’t read them.” It’s a fantastic little quip, a perfectly knotted rhetorical bow—but in Stevens’s case, it isn’t remotely true. When his Collected Poems was published that fall, it garnered him plenty of new readers and considerable sales, along with the Pulitzer Prize, his second National Book Award, and a celebratory birthday lunch at New York’s Harmonie Club, hosted by his publisher. (In the years since Stevens’s death, there have been several Selected Poems, any of which I recommend reading, buying, or both, even though none of them led to lunches of much literary-historical distinction.) Maureen N. McLane, the author of five collections and now her first selected poems, More Anon, has her own fantastic witticism about reprinting poems. It appears in her unsummarizable poetry-meets-prose-meets-everything-in-between memoir My Poets (2012), in an essay titled “My H. D.,” in a paragraph collaging appraisal and crafty quotation: It is no dispraise to be a poet best served by an anthology, a rigorously pruned selected—no dispraise particularly for this poet, who knew very well that “anthology” comes from the Greek: a gathering of flowers. “Little, but all roses.” True enough for H. D.; true enough for any number of poets whose work looks best when handpicked and arranged into a modest bouquet. But McLane, like Stevens, lucked out: her own gathering of flowers easily exceeds the rosy standards she set for H. D. Reprinting around a third of her previously published poetry, More Anon may be “rigorously pruned,” but its contents are so various, no mere bouquet but a botanical garden, that you might reasonably wonder how it all came from just one poet. The final poem in More Anon, “envoi: eclipse,” reads in full: [End Page 151] “I don’t trust myself / not to look.” From first page to last, More Anon presents McLane as a lowercase-e experimentalist, taking a methodical “look” at the marvelous; each new poem is an occasion to attempt something ever so slightly unprecedented, learn from the results, then promptly move on. Our ready-made phrase for dabbling among styles and stances, especially for young poets, is “finding one’s voice.” Counterintuitively, McLane found her first voices by throwing them every which way. The “envoi” to her debut, Same Life (2008), sounds like a post-breakup Chaucer, taking it hard, or a punkish Dickinson, promising mind-blowing sublimities: “Go litel myn book / and blow her head off.” That first book also includes a catechism, Sapphic love poems, a 118-line verse-essay on Susan Sontag, and episodes in the serial biography of a poet-scholar, Mz N. (That code name deserves an explanatory essay of its own: “Mz N” could be an alter ego for McLane—whose initials are two Ms and one N—or a glitchy abbreviation for an existentially “missing” person.) What all these one-off exercises had in common was their origin point: wonder. Sometimes it spilled from her opening lines (“Terrible things are happening / in Russian novels!”), and sometimes it came slowly to simmer: Sometimes we arrange to meetand after some wine they rememberand blush and wonderand ask if I too wonder. McLane embodied her wonder in a springy free-verse line, extendable and retractable as a lecturer’s pointer, and in her worldly palate for vocabularies, taking...