There seems to be no particular reason for this anthology nor indeed, for the magic number 99 why not 66? Or 100? which makes it all the more appealing, just 99 mysterious and beautiful bursts of lyricism which materialise without further explanation on the pages. You would expect Baudelaire, Rilke, Heine, Levi, Machado and Akhmatova but not the Song of Songs, The King of Connacht, a couple of Japanese women poets and a blast of invective against the "piddle paddling race of critics" from Antiphanes. An intriguing little volume.
