Anne Waldman is breathlessly encyclopedic. Her breadth is exhaustive, at times exhausting—the whole of a life filling, spilling over pages with the urgency of a woman who knows too well how things get lost. She is called on by her elders, as we (readers, poets, artists) feel called on by her; again and again she invokes Amiri Baraka’s call to action, the instruction she carries with her: “Don’t let this stuff get buried.”