March 31, 2023

Rain, which means the steam shovel will block my drive all weekend. I proved to myself that I can get out well enough, but some things stick in your craw whether they ought to or not.

Talked to the workers at the end of my drive. One young fellow manipulated the remote control that operated the steamroller that smoothed out the dirt. I said “Oh, that’s remote control; I thought it was moving on its own,” and out came his life story. He lives in Shelton Laurel, his home place, after having traveled a while working with the railroad. He explained the recent train crashes by outlining the way the railroads do everything on the cheap. If you get hurt, the railroad will try to cheat you out of compensation. According to him, that’s the origin of to phrase “to get railroaded.” He and I spoke different dialects, and my brain felt the way it does when I’m trying to deal with German or Italian. It was before the Trump arrest, so I didn’t get to ask him what he thought about that. Does he keep a diary? Did he mention the old guy hobbling down the drive to watch? 

 

March 30, 2023

Rehearsal enraging, of course, every bad habit a director can have rolled into a nervous ball . . .

David F there to hear what he wrought in the deeps of time.

Some possibility that HART will do Washington Place next season.

Trump indicted. A victory for the rule of law, even if (or especially if) he’s acquitted. 

 

March 29, 2023

More writing by the river, in cold just one hair short of unbearable. Planting and watering in the brisk late sunlight. 

This time the murderer of children is a woman. There is nowhere to turn. 

 March 28, 2023

Unseasonable cold didn’t stop me from gardening furiously, mostly the digging up of sometimes massive privet, and the unending uprooting of honeysuckle. Collapsed in exhaustion afterward, slept a nap of many dreams. 

Good ASC rehearsal. My sightreading may be as good as an amateur can get. 

The steel dinosaur in my drive is comforting, in a way, blocking access from the world in that direction. Also means I can’t get out without backing blindly into a busy street. 

 

March 27, 2023

Wrote beside the river. Happy. 

The unexpectedly good-looking sewer guys are chewing up the street again. About five years between devastations.  They ask if they can store equipment in my driveway overnight. The equipment turns out to be a steam-shovel sort of thing that takes up every inch side-to-side. It’s destroying the pavement, but replacing that was part of the deal, so–. 

Planted hellebore and black-eyed Susan. Uprooted vines. Transplanted holly volunteer from the middle of one garden to the edge of another. Re-planted viburnum uprooted by the wind. 

Anniversary

 March 26, 2023

On this day mother has been dead for 49 years. It is absurd. Brutal. I couldn’t sing the hymns this morning for the lump in my throat. At the beach I learned from my sister– I didn’t known this before– that mother did not die in surgery. The surgery was a success. She died when some apparatus did not drain as it should and blood gathered around her heart until it could not beat. If someone had merely checked on her she would have lived. What good do rage or anguish after so many years? You cannot reach back and strike with your fist they way you long to do. Darkness gathers in the garden. I’ll wait for full dark before I stand out there and howl. 

Blue Grass at the Cathedral, not good, but spirited and well loved by those who came to hear it. 

The Florida Review sends me proofs for a poem I didn’t know they’d accepted. 

 

March 25, 2023

Rain last night. From the evidence of drops on the windows, it blew from every direction at once. 

Hawks

 

March 24, 2023

Fully a quarter of my dreams involve being on stage. Perhaps I gave that up too soon. Last night’s was violent. Three of us were in a famous three-man show and realized we had to go on without having rehearsed the play even once. We got into a terrible row with our director, who was concerned about our costumes rather than the fact that we didn’t know the show.  She said she cast us because she figured we could handle a situation in which there had been no rehearsal. 

Shopped at Reems Creek, brought home hellebore, celandine, hollyhock, and heather. Some of that got into the ground today, some will tomorrow. Now that my car is damaged, I no longer hesitate to fill it up with pots and bags of dirt. 

Sweetboi and Denise have moved east from where they dwelt last year, almost in the same spot they occupied two years ago, when they ate from my hand. I sat in the garden after gardening, and they flew over, crying, their beauty and valor so great I sat in my chair sobbing. 

Hit & Run

 

March 23, 2023

After rehearsal, driving to the after-event at Juicy Lucy’s, I saw a car stopped in the turning lane. No traffic came toward us, and I didn’t see any street or drive to turn into, so I figured they were just stopped, getting their bearings, though oddly in the middle of the road. As I passed, they decided they weren’t going to turn after all, moved into my lane and sideswiped me. I pulled into a strip mall and waited, but they fled. Called 911. The dispatcher was unhelpful, and finally told me that if I wasn’t hurt and the damage didn’t look to be over $1000 I didn’t have to report it. By night it seemed just a crease and a scrape on my driver’s side. Haven’t yet looked by day. Probably more than $1000, but the driver was not there to be dealt with. Moral: No measure of caution or skill can fully prevent mishaps. I recall that every accident I’ve had in Asheville has been on Rte 25, Merrimon or Biltmore or, now, Hendersonville Road. Beware: these things never happen singly. 

Wrote beside the river, at first too cold, then plenty warm enough. A pileated haunted the nearby trees. Geese cried. Part of the time I was attended by a black German shepherd-looking dog with beautiful brown eyes. He sat and stared at me as I wrote. I read him a few passages and he listened attentively.

March 22, 2023

Rain. 

 

 

March 21, 2023

Brilliant morning. Wept myself to sleep; have decided not to try to remember why.

Linda found the notice for the auction at our father’s house in 2008:

HOPES, ET AL AUCTION

2415 FOXBORO AVE

AKRON, OHIO 44305

SUN. JAN. 27 12 NOON

MOST OF SALE TO BE HELD INDOORS WITH HEAT.

DIRECTIONS: FROM I76 IN AKRON, EXIT GILCHRIST RD, WEST TO CANTON RD (HWY91), NORTH TO EASTWOOD, EAST TO ALAHO, SOUTH TO FOXBORO.

FURNITURE:3 SOFAS, ROCKER, CHAIRS, LOVE SEATS, 4PC. STANDARD BEDROOM SET. SINGLE BEDS, DRESSERS, BOOKSHELVES, RECLINERS, BEAUTIFUL SMOKE GLASS TOP TABLE WITH 4 CHAIRS, NICE GLASS COMPUTER DESK/COUNTER, LAMPS, OLD OAK MIRROR, OLD MARBLE TOP STAND, PING PONG TABLE, METAL CABINET, WORK BENCH, HOUSEHOLD ITEMS.

APPLIANCES: 42" HITACHI TV, ADMIRAL REFRIGERATOR, GE ELECTRIC DRYER, MAYTAG WASHER, OLD GAS STOVE, MICROWAVE, EUREKA VAC.

TOOLS: MACHINIST BOX, MANY HAND TOOLS, LEAF BLOWER.

COLLECTIBLES: SHAWNEE, FRANKOMA, FENTON, BOOKS, OLD ADS, POLITICAL PINS, PEWTER TEA SET, OLD PURSES, POSTCARDS, DEGENHART OWLS, DEP. GLASS, OIL & CHALK PAINTINGS, BOOKENDS, XMAS ITEMS, & BOXES YET TO GO THROUGH.

SNAPPER SR100 25" CUT RIDING MOWER, POWER RIDING SCOOTER, & JET 3 MOBILITY POWER RIDING SCOOTER WITH BUILT IN CHARGER.  CHEVY MINI VAN NEW DRIVERS SEAT. CHECK BACK FOR UPDATES & MORE PICTURES.

UPDATES ARE: VINTAGE TABLE CLOTHS, PUNCH BOWL SET, ROSEVILLE BOWL ZEPHYR LILY #478-12, & CANDLE STICK HOLDERS #1163-4 1/2 ONE HAS SMALL CHIP ON TOP., COOKIE JAR, TABLE TOP LIGHTER & CIGARETTE HOLDER, OLD XMAS ITEMS BULBS, SANTA, ETC., BOY SCOUT ITEMS, OLD LAMP,  SM. PAINT SPRAYER.

HOME IS LISTED FOR SALE: 3 BEDROOM ALUMINUM SIDED RANCH  WITH MANY NEWER UPDATES, 1 FULL BATH, 1 HALF BATH WITH SHOWER IN MASTER BEDROOM, LOTS OF STORAGE LARGE WALL LENGTH CLOSETS, DINING ROOM WITH SLIDING GLASS DOORS TO DECK & PATIO WITH SMALL FOUNTAIN & POND, 2 CAR GARAGE WITH REMOTE OVERHEAD DOOR, FULL BASEMENT WITH FINISHED REC ROOM, CORNER LOT LOCATED ON DEADEND STREET. UPDATES; NEWER VINYL WINDOWS, NEW ROOF SHINGLES, WATER PROOFED BASEMENT, 7YR. OLD FURNANCE WITH CENTRAL AIR.

 MOST OF SALE WILL BE HELD INDOORS.

NUMBER DAY OF AUCTION 330-338-0536

SNACKS ONLY

CASH OR CHECK WITH PHOTO ID.

NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ACCIDENTS.

NO BUYER PENALTY.

JIM ALEXANDER, AUCTIONEER

330-762-4855

The drawings in chalk and oil were mine and dad’s. I wonder what became of them.

Vestry is a full gynocracy now. Not fully understanding the dynamic, but there is a lot of enthusiastic volunteering. 

 

March 20, 2023

Vernal Equinox

Starting to feel that I could travel again, realizing my hesitation arises from disinclination to leave Maud, who is desolate when I’m gone, and who has I don’t know how much of her life left. 

Painted a work based on a photo someone showed me for five seconds.

 

March 18, 2023

St Patrick’s evening spent at the Cathedral hearing a group out of Greenville called Chicora do Tallis and Byrd. Knew the one who looked like a truck driver had to be the counter-tenor. 

Haircut: the atmosphere chatty and cheerful. Hunter sang along to the radio. I liked that. 

Diane H, the beauty queen of Goodview Avenue, has died. 

Blessed Saint Patrick

 

March 17, 2023

Blessed Saint Patrick

Last night’s rehearsal: infuriating. 

Made a stew of many ingredients, then added sour cream. White stew is a little off-putting, but delicious. 

ASC plans a Mother’s Day concert of music by women. Classical music stations quarry pieces by women to play on the air. One of our chorus pieces is by Amy Beach, a truly colossal Mass. The mass is very big but also dull as your everyday dishes, its high points engineered to resemble the high points of the greats. Of all the new women’s pieces I’ve heard, none has been important in the same sense as Schubert or Mendelssohn are important– the B sides of their brothers’ masterpieces. This observation cannot be shared in any imaginable conversation, being for the moment a forbidden thought. If asked by an angel whether I think male art is better–in general–than female art, I would–to the angel alone–answer yes. It seems so to me. I have dedicated my life to the perception and evaluation of art, and it seems so to me. To the anticipated objections that I am used to male art and have not learned to appreciate a female perspective, that I prefer the art of men being one myself, that the best works by women have somehow been kept from the public, I have no response. Any or all of those could be true. If I set up a test where music is played behind a screen without anyone knowing who wrote it, and all present choose the piece by the man, the argument would still be made that our very ears have been twisted by the Patriarchy. Years ago in one the Lit Dept’s writing contests, all the winners were men, all the judges women. A young woman came to protest, and I told her that, and she said “Even the judgment of women is pervaded by patriarchal prejudices.” One wastes time trying to argue concepts which are, essentially, articles of faith.

Village Porch

 

March 16, 2023

Unsettled through the day. Drove to my favorite plant nurseries. Bought nothing. Was led by some impulse to Reynolds Mountain, where I stopped lunch at the Village Porch. Sat at the bar beside Alex, who manages the wine section at Trader Joe’s. Before COVID one favorite pastime was to go to a bar and strike up conversation with a stranger, and this got me back into the groove. Liked Alex instantly, and continued to even after discovering him to be a Trump apologist. He continued to like me even after I confessed to being an old-fashioned Leftist. We both lamented the forces that make Asheville unliveable but for the rich. He acknowledged Trump’s idiocies, but as though they were missteps of an otherwise cherished personality, like a favorite uncle for whose brutalities one must make excuses. I kept to myself the conviction that Trump is, all considered, the worst person in American history. Alex and I were gentle with each other’s clearly opposite convictions. He interpreted Kanye’s “I love Hitler” as a demonstration of Christian love for all people, however flawed. He wouldn’t call Jan 6th an Insurrection, but rather a Riot. Never got a clear distinction between those things. He insisted he’d seen video of ANTIFAs changing clothes and mixing in with the crowd, waving a false flag. He insisted he’d seen videos of the MAGA shaman– the guy in the Buffalo hat– being given a normal tour of the Capitol. It was interesting to see how each of us assumed the other had been Potempkined into believing a false narrative. There on the bar stool I could think of no way to prove, or even illustrate, the unlikeliness of such parity. But, I was happy in his presence. We punched each other in the chest as I departed. 

 

March 15, 2023

Ides of March indeed.

Gave in after many phone calls and allowed the Champion people out to do a “yearly inspection” of my furnace– they did one in September, the furnace was installed new last Ash Wednesday. I left soon after the technician did, and when I returned after ASC rehearsal, the house was at 60 degrees and the furnace unresponsive. They advertise “emergency service” but of course do not provide it. I drove to a motel up Merrimon, checked in, but was so appalled by the room and the circumstance that I came home and decided to tough it out. Phoned twice again, and was told a worker would call at 7:30. It is now 9 and no call. They come out, destroy a furnace that was working just fine, then dodge my calls. The level of rage in me just now cannot be healthy. 

The only thing I actually did in the motel room was look into the mirror. My face was covered in stubble, and patches of dry skin. I looked homeless. 

Accountant calls, though, to tell me how much taxes I owe (too much, though 1/3 of last year). Wonderful day already.

Evening: Tim the furnace man arrives and tinkers, rewiring some things that looked askew, replacing  thingamajigs whose something had worn off. In any case the furnace works now. I observe to the page before me that my furnace (just a year old now) went out on the two coldest nights of the winter. Causation or correlation? 

Went to pay my taxes and my preparer, and had already arrived in Biltmore when I realized I’d left my checkbook home. 

Secret

 March 14, 2023

The first art that attracted me as a child was painting. I wanted to be a painter. Why, when it came to actual practice, did I chose poetry? Because it could be hidden. Because it could be done in secret and kept in secret. 

 

March 13, 2023

Father’s 104th birthday. 

Full house at church for the Blue Ride Symphonic Brass.

Big guy in the prime of life (I’ve been lucky in that regard recently) came to the house to outline repairs the city is going to make to the street and to the end of my driveway, after a botched job of doing that earlier. He showed me where things were sagging and sinking. My amazement is their proactiveness, taking a job on themselves without six months of complaints from citizens. Maybe a new world. 

 

March 11, 2023

Handsome bearded Dylan (Brevard High, class of 2019) came to the door wanting to suggest repairs to my roof. The repairs are not likely to be made, but I was enjoying his company, so we went through with the inspection. He told me about him and his dad rebuilding his first car. His dad can fix or build anything. He is the all-American boy, filled with sincerity, eagerness, filial piety. He told me his mother named him after Bob Dylan, and I was able to tell him he named himself after Dylan Thomas, of whom my Dylan had never heard. I almost wish my roof needed to be replaced. 

Listening to Russian Oktavists. I have the range of any of them. A vocation missed.

 

March 10, 2023

Huge, elaborate dreams through the night, and then when I lie down for the afternoon nap, with Maud kneading my back with her paws. Does the proportion of “real” like and dream life change as you age? The dreams I remember are narrative, and cut off some time in the process of the narrative. Are they like stories abandoned? Do they continue in the unconscious until they are finished? 

Hiked briefly on the path on the southern edge of campus, from the Botanical Garden to Merrimon. Despite proximity, had never done that before. It struck me, once again, that being close to the university inspired not one flicker of nostalgia, and almost no curiosity. Is that sort of ataraxia common in retirement, or was there something specific about me and UNCA? I had no reception, no tree planting, no plaque or scholarship, no acknowledgment whatever of my passing– was that merely the midst of the pandemic, or something worse?  Not one of my English colleagues has made an effort to get in touch with me, except the first year to judge a writing contest, for which, against promise, I was never paid. Is it merely indifference equal on both sides? I gave 37 years to the institution: odd that I should feel nothing for it, or maybe just the slightest antipathy. I was hindered by the mediocrity of it all. But, also, the same quality gave me ease and peace, as there was none to call me to account. Maybe the bitterness of the last few semesters cast darkness backwards over all. Don’t care that much. It is curious nevertheless.

Hotel Pennsylvania

 

March 9, 2023

The Hotel Pennsylvania is gone. It was enormous. I stayed in it once, and found Irish coins under my bed. Had a good time in its bar, made friends, whom I regaled with the story of my play Edward the King, which I was in New York to see.

Sat all morning by the river trying to keep warm. I wrote a consequential poem. Slopes covered in veronica. 

Drove behind three cops up Biltmore, each of whom turned off at different places without a turn signal. 

 

March 7, 2023

Heavy gardening, no planting but much clearing. Repaired the final damages of last summer and the bears and the raccoons and the half-assed workmen. Grape hyacinth in flower. My lone remaining peach in flower. Painting will fill the evening. 

 

March 6, 2023

JC changed the level of expectation for the All Souls Lenten series. His performance would have been sensational on any stage in the world. In our little nave it was incandescent. One of the few times I witnessed a local performance and could not have said, “I could have done it better.” I sat very close and could see the seamlessness of concentration. Also, accidentally, I sat beside his mother, who was beside herself with pride. Full house, or close enough, many of whom (you knew by the staring and pointing) had never been in the space before. 

Fell on the steps in the dark. Descending, I thought, “Is this THE fall?” It wasn’t.

 

March 4, 2023

Exhausting rehearsal at Central Methodist. Our director’s mania for spending time fixing boo-boos (which, as a performing artist, I know mostly fix themselves) leaves us in the situation of never having sung the piece through. I got lost in my thoughts for an instant and came in a beat too early (on the triumphantly right note) and cringed inside because I knew he’d take everybody’s time and do the passage over, though it had not happened before and an unobsessed person would have put it down to error. That procedure does not actually make a performance better; it makes it more cautious. An unfamiliar voice behind me was so rich and sweet (and correct) that I had to turn to look. He was Philip, our baritone soloist. The differences among voices is remarkable. Some of us are pretty good, but he is a stand of lilies in a well-kept garden. 

Late: sang the Durufle. Was in good voice despite bellowing last night. The guy next to me anticipated three entrances and was almost never on pitch at the beginning of phrases. He missed last night’s rehearsal and always sings loud because he thinks he’s good. The concert was fun. Walked out afterwards under moonlight and the happy streets filled with revels of one sort or another. Came home, and a little beagle sat on my porch. We got acquainted, until the frantic voice of his human mom could be heard in the distance, and he zoomed home. 

 March 3, 2023

Couple of hours writing thank you notes to Cathedral pledgers. Surprisingly content sitting alone at tasks like that.

Stupendous storm of wind and rain, Dress rehearsal for concert tomorrow night. We have no contingency plans that I know of. 

Woke from a nap with Maud recognizing that my life has come to nothing. Realizations like that are so huge and unwieldy they last maybe an hour, then you go on with your life as though you hadn’t had them. Went upstairs and painted.

I heard your call, Lord. I followed it all my days. How could I have known you were not calling me? 

 

March 2, 2023

Long talk with M in the streetlight after rehearsal last night. Motherhood terrifies and frustrates her. Every second is a threat and a danger, her child and her happiness perpetually hostages to fortune. I’m aware that men get blamed for trying to solve problems when women, revealing their thoughts, do not want that, so I tried to remain silent and encouraging. I did observe that she approached my own biography from the other direction, that when I’m in anguish over being solitary and unfathered, some reconciling angel whispers the possibility that I may have been a terrible spouse, a destructive parent, and that some bottomless mercy in the world saved me from that. She understood instantly. 

Cool, sparse rain watering the herbs I planted yesterday and left unwatered. California under a mountain of snow.

 

March 1, 2023

Saint David’s Day. 

Planted rosemary and lavender, attacked the discouraging stands of honeysuckle and bamboo in the back garden. Sweet bay and quince in lovely bloom. My study window admits a surprising range of neighborhood sounds, some from considerable distance.