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October 30, 2015

As both poets and personalities, Elizabeth Bishop and Robert Lowell could hardly have been more different. She: intensely shy and self-doubting, producing gemlike, allusive poems so infrequently that her collected verse fits easily into an inch-thick volume. He: extroverted and convivial, if afflicted, like her, with a fundamentally solitary nature, and a prolific writer who came to exemplify the confessional poetry of the 1950s and 1960s. And yet, as their long correspondence movingly attests, each considered the other a cherished friend — “best friend,” as they told third parties — as well as a sympathetic and understanding reader (and, at times, critic).

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