I once wrote a poem that I titled ‘Reputation’. It reads, in part: Sorting through stones, large flat ones, the dry earth scraped away. It’s soothing until I wonder what to do. … I could strike a stone against the rocks near the wall. The impact is hard. The momentary effort. It’s all-consuming, it seems, this causing. … It appears that a small storm has broken out about an ‘anthology’ just recently posted on a site called ‘for godot’ (and while I’m obviously aware of the reference, I keep thinking ‘fergeddit’ when I read the url). My first reaction, and it probably still is, was laughter. It’s a joke, a stunt, a conceptual art/writing thing. Here are 3,785 poems by 3,785 poets, all with the same names as nearly 3,785 poets (apparently a few names appear more than once, and I think it’s agreed a few of the names are pisstakes and a few are names of people who, to anyone’s knowledge, have not written poems). Because, just as obviously, the poet named, for instance, ‘Jill Jones’ who is ...