The Times takes a look at the voluminous correspondence between everyone's favorite depressed and drunken lesbian poet, Elizabeth Bishop, and her BFF, everyone's favorite depressed and drunken non-lesbian poet, Robert Lowell. Let's everyone hope that no hacky producers are inspired to make a movie out of this, because you know they'd turn Bishop into a frustrated heterosexual who was desperately in luuurrve with Lowell and privately unhappy her in volatile same-sex relationships -- relationships she was unable to walk away from because of the booze, or fears her partner would mentally collapse, or something similarly bleak. And you know there's a good chance the filmmakers would include a few pretentious queers looking for a bit of art-house credibility, which would make it even worse. So, on second thought, no one read the new book "Words in the Air", which collects their complete correspondence. We wouldn't want it falling into the wrong hands now, would we?