"White Lily is like nothing else I know in contemporary poetry. It ranges without effort from quietly chilling parables to laugh-out-loud invective, from fleet-footed meta-poetic games to sudden, crushing depths, from serial elegy to one poem that's a single emoji. The titles alone are a poetic pleasure. Readers of Vincent's previous work will recognize his unmatchable wit, his genius for making huge leaps in small increments, his ability to re-see well-worn metaphoric terrain completely afresh, like it's no big deal - but even given that, I think this is his best book yet." Chris Nealon, author of The Shore "John Emil Vincent is a man with three first names: one each for erudition, pique, and hilarity. In these pages - which proceed from homage, from love - you will find many versions of his ardent regard for his friend and teacher Louise Glück. Sometimes he conveys that regard in the form of direct expression (poems about her), sometimes in conversation with or imitation (or mock imitation) of her poems; always he twines together scorching reverence and the internal tussle between breaking away from and accepting, appreciating, a lineage that is both circumstantial and spiritual, intellectual, devotional. Like Glück, Vincent knows the ancients.

His Sisyphus's hands never get free, though: up up up he pushes that rock. Meanwhile, we consider Syphilis (an actual shepherd) and Vicarius (a made-up Roman poet), denizens of White Lily's irreverent panache. To fully mourn - or, rather, cherish - one must not apotheosize but conjure and reinhabit the congenial, kindred climate of mind. And as Vincent might say, This turns out is fun." Sally Ball, author of Hold Sway.