Nonfiction | September 01, 1996

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Robert Lowell, circa 1962 or ’63, is looking at the camera with the sort of fixed intensity that’s displayed in so many of his photos.  He’s wearing the black owlish hornrims which were the uniform of the myopic early sixties, a time when the rose-colored granny glasses of the Byrds’ Roger McGuinn and John Lennon’s oval wirerims, shading acid-dilated pupils, were still unknown.

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