January 20, 2024

Snow endures and increases, like the winters of my childhood which were white from Thanksgiving to Easter.

Attended a Zoom poetry reading originating in Cambridge, MA, I think. Earnest people reading their earnest poems. They all had (perhaps we all have) the same cadence, the same tone of muffled urgency, trying to impress upon the audience the significance of the work without seeming to try too hard. The first and most extreme example (for me) was Louise Gluck, rest her soul, whose cadence of world-weary blandness was meant to convey the modesty of genius. Some god allowed that what was manifestly dust and ashes be received some how as subtle gold. But all the poets of Syracuse had it in my day, each poem presented with a slurring hush, as though it were a baby and a bad fairy near by, ready to curse it if it were elevated too high. The Slam, whatever its shortcomings, tried to cure us of that. The two best out of Cambridge were women clearly touched by the Slam tradition, which allowed them a little of the sibyl’s tone. 

K's birthday celebration at Rye Knot. Freezing & festive.

Lord, give me what You have made me want