March 19, 2010

Went to a reading at the university last night. Writing more fine than it was engaging. The interest was in the belle-ness of the lettres. Meaning tended to fade into the glow. Hilarious and informative talk-back afterwards, our students rather astonishingly well prepared with insightful queries.

Rose before light for my work-out at the Y. When I was finished, the sky was a gray silk, here and there shot with lilac and flamingo. I sat over bitter coffee in Mountain Java and wrote three scenes– all the way to the last scene, which was made at the same time implicit in my head– of Voices. Left from there to the arboretum where, to honor the glorious day, I hiked in the silver and blue forest. Sat down at a table outside the pavilion and wrote a poem. Stopped by Jesse Israel’s and dropped a hundred dollars on a golden peony and a fall-blooming scarlet camellia. Planted them, but also took a fit of brush-clearing, on the terrace, down at streetside, and the sad remnants of the deceased (except for a few shoots at the bottom) rhododendron. Scratched up heroically and poked viciously in the eye by the resistant foliage. Visited Ben, whose magic hands did their work. In less than an hour I’m off to St. Matthias to hear Dido and Aeneas. In short, an almost absurdly productive day.