April 8, 2022

Changeable days, blue sky followed by tremendous storm. Planted avens, spaded up more grass, settled the iron butterfly and the cement swan into new places. Bought a white geranium to keep by the fireplace until the freezes end. 

Suzanne says that DN is “hard and clear.” I always thought that if clarity could be achieved, all else would fall in line. 

Rehearsals compromised by hoarseness, but I do manage to get through. S cannot resist the temptation to vulgarize. I should endure this or move on. 

D characterizes his experience at All Souls as a radical inroad into “one of the most affluent churches in the area.” To those of us who have seen the books this is laughable. The project was an artistic coming-of-age. He is hugely proud of the work he did with this, and, all in all, he deserves to be. 

Bought a copy of Katherine Ann Porter’s Flowering Judas for $1 at the library. Into the pages its former owner had pressed flowers, all beige and translucent now. 

Reading about Elizabeth Hardwick. The path of the critic is one I might have taken, but didn’t. The Johns Hopkins debacle may have been the switch that turned me onto a purely, or primarily, creative track. Are there–what?– 20 people who make their living as critics in America? 100? Speaking only of the Asheville scene, a solid critic is what it most needs and what it sometimes pretends to want, but which it will never welcome, or tolerate. The contemporary perspective refuses the idea that some things are better than others. It maintains that the pure expression of the individual cannot be improved upon, and that it is an affront to try. I’m singing my song; who are you to say I’m under pitch or the lyrics are stupid? It’s not that I don’t understand that perspective, but till the end of days I’ll make a clear distinction between what suits my taste and what is great. Long ago I set myself the task of bringing those two principles as close together as possible. I don’t worry when there’s still a gap, but I do acknowledge it. 

I’m going to teach a class one day on the Objectivity of Aesthetics. 

Had hives for the second time in my life. Trying to imagine why, I recollected that I’d had nothing to eat but cashews. They may have been the culprit the first time too.

Wrote a poem first thing this morning. Picked up the notebook moments ago (it is now noon) and was surprised, having forgotten it.