Back in the 1990s, one day on a subway ride my friend Erik Rieselbach shared that marvelous sonnet ending “Whaddya mean perforce? / Army or navy or marines?” (in o•blēk). I loved it.

Over the years, I had suggested several poets to James Laughlin (who guarded the New Directions poetry list like a tiger), none of whom had interested him. I tried again, and he said Yes: “I admire her Catullus translations.”

It was Bernadette’s erudition—profound, eclectic, chewy, and deep—that opened the door to her many ND books.

And for me Bernadette opened vistas. I’d never known anyone so unconventional. Growing to sense how much her freedom and her genius fed one another has been a joy.

I feel so lucky to have made such a friend and to know her wonderful family. We’re so proud to publish her. (I can’t say I edited Bernadette, who, in a last hurrah, made smithereens of my Milkweed structure, availing herself of the floor for a fresh organization.)

I will so much miss her wit, her surprises, her letters (which looked as if her typewriter were part shotgun), her graveyard cackle, her huge heart. And if anyone gets flights of angels singing her to her rest, it’s our sweet prince Bernadette.