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It sets a series of poems in a dizzying sequence of musical styles that reflect the shifting perspectives on desire opened up by each poem he sets: the delicate darkness of William Blake’s “The Sick Rose”; the classical horror of Yeats’s “Leda and the Swan”; the sly lubricious perversity of a sonnet by Bertolt Brecht so obscene that his estate will not allow it to be translated; the rollicking jocks of E. E. Cummings’s “The Boys,” set in the style of Supertramp “with Wurlitzer.”

Designer Fausto Puglisi looked to a 1994 print drawn by the brand's founder Roberto Cavalli, itself inspired by a rococo depiction of the Greek myth of Leda and the swan, for the "Wild Leda" line, on show at London's Selfridges department store.

So Twombly’s “Orpheus” is connected with his many works addressing “Leda and the Swan,” including a superb 1962 canvas that contains a frenzy of marks in pencils, wax crayons and oil paint.

One bronze sculpture reimagines the classical myth of Leda and the Swan, with a saxophone replacing the bird, so the female figure appears to be making music rather than being violated.

Worse, they — we, I guess — have a long history of blaming women for our own crimes and failures, a tradition of misogynist scapegoating that Garland annotates with references to Leda and the swan, Ulysses and the sirens and other canonical touchstones.