In Penelope Says, perhaps her best known poem, Katerina Anghelaki-Rooke not only tells the famous story of exceptional patience from the womans point-of-view, but also makes Penelope a writer: I wasnt weaving, I wasnt knitting / I was writing something / erasing and being erased / under the weight of the word. Although the first gesturea woman writer taking up the mantle of Greek history and literature from a new perspectivemight be the easiest figure for understanding the half-century of work represented in this new collection, the secondthe exploration and celebration of the physicality of languageis clearly the organizing principle of the books editor. It makes an appropriate and timely introduction to this remarkable poet, who turns 70 this year. Karen Van Dyck has chosen selections that cover the range of Anghelaki-Rookes writing life and represent the work of several different translators. Although to my ear Van Dycks own translations seem the best at both representing the original and rendering it in contemporary English, Anghelaki-Rookes complex vision of received history, gender, political engagement, and the weight of language rises clearly through the welter of different translators voices. The occasions for her poems seem inexhaustible. One prose poem in the voice of a cicada stands next to a different, decidedly serious poem: My Plastic Thing, about a dildo. No knowledge. Only stupid power. And there I was, expecting knowledge! There is a generous selection from a sequence written in reaction to the 1991 Gulf War, a devastating indictment of a military adventure we seem to remember only for its precision. But through all this imaginative wandering, Anghelaki-Rooke grounds her poems in the domestic details of her home on the island of Aegina. Thus Van Dyck concludes the book with a memorable recent poem, Translating Lifes End into Love, that recapitulates the now-aging authors concern with the relation of language to the body: Because I cannot touch you / with my tongue / I transliterate my passion. / Because I cannot take your communion / I transubstantiate you. / Because I cannot undress you / I imagine you in the clothes / of a foreign language.