March 6, 2021

Bright day, too cold for gardening, too late a start for a decent hike. 

S came last night, an image from bygone days. We decided that we could do without the masks.

Poking around in my Ancestry membership. Interesting discovery, that Grandfather Oliver was born in England. 

Grandma’s parentage reads “Ireland/North,” the first time I saw that in writing. 

Followed it far enough to reach Peggy O’Neill in Newry. 

IP sent me a book of poems to critique. I forget how I know him. I think I was on stage with his girlfriend. Critiquing poems is one thing I may be better at than anyone else in the world, but what a precise and minimal little talent after all! A further irony is that every book I’ve published has been hurled into a cloud of unknowing, without a single particle of advise or prior criticism from anybody. Times when I have sent something to people, longing for some sort of feedback, it was met with silence. One has the life one has. At least I don’t have to brood on not being understood by my friends. If I were I wouldn’t know. 

Oh, I take that back. P read The Sun in Splendor and her response was, “Why do you waste your time with that?”