August 23, 2018

All classes met at least once. I feel they are good. The Freshman are loaded with anxiety, but that is a constant and not open to my emendation, very much. Managed to get in a history of Occitan today, with Cavalcanti, et al, leading up to the Courtly Makers.  Creditable first tries by the playwrights. Climbing to our floor is a real task in my current condition. I stand at the top gasping for air, and a good part of my morning energy is thus dissipated. I mentioned that the elevator was out on the faculty list-serve and it appeared that nobody knew. Was FLOODED with concern and various voices demanding account from others and fussing about legal implications, but, as of today, still no elevator. I will live through it, but once I’m in my office I’m sort of trapped there, for there can be no casual going up and down.

My foot cooperating, planted a “chaste tree.” I’m sure that’s not its usual name, but I wanted it because it has blue flowers. Destroyed a yellowjacket nest drilled beside my little blue spruce.

On this night in 1966 I became a poet. It is a holier night to me than my birthday. I am there now, at my little desk in the darkness, smelling the summer night, weeping tears upon the page in Akron, Ohio. It was what gave me life.