“Trevor Winkfield rang up yesterday evening, full of his usual lively talk, and somewhere along the line he mentioned that he had seen you recently and then asked me if I knew you. I had to tell him no, that your name was unfamiliar. That’s odd, sez Trevor, he’s written well about that Wisconsin poet you’ve published— Lorine Nigh-Decker, or is it Knee-Decker. (It’s the latter, Trevor).”
Other Documents/Assorted