August 31, 2017

Browsing the Internet, came across a video of a Kiss-cam ranging across the crowd in a baseball stadium. It zeroed in on a handsome man and the beautiful woman beside him. But it had made a mistake. When the man noticed the camera, he turned to the bearded man beside him, and the two male lovers kissed in front of the crowd, which sent up a shaking roof of cheers. I burst into tears–of gratitude, finally– almost unable to believe that this has happened in my time. Blessed, blessed, blessed.

Began the Brahms Requiem at choir. Holy. The Depot afterwards last night. We met the three burly men at the next table –Amy knew one of them–and I must say it has been a while since I’ve had such a good time. We were drunk and silly and affectionate, and I wondered why every hour could not be that merry, or some portion of that merry. The bartenders gave me a sensational birthday present, of rare things bought at yard sales through the years. A plaster Siva I will especially prize.

Realized I have a vitamin D deficiency. That sound is my slapping my head at the stupidity and simplicity of it all.

August 30, 2017

My frogs leap into the pond when I come out onto the side porch, fifty feet away. I think this is arbitrary and ungenerous– as if I were a threat to them! As if I weren’t the one who created their world!

Good classes this far. Several are in two of the classes and there is overlap of subject matter and I’m at pains not to repeat myself too completely. Though I find if I ask a question of them from matter presented one hour earlier, they don’t know or have forgotten the answer.

Student Michael wants me to read MacDonald’s Phantasties with him. Doing so, remembering nothing from the time I read it with Lynda S back in high school. One sees there the root of all things Lewis.

Exhausted afternoons, a giant nap between the actions of morning and evening.

August 28, 2017

Watched the following thought creep through my mind: St. Julian Press is in Houston. The effect of all this hurricane, therefore, is to delay my book. . . .

A student from my last Humanities class, and a student who just signed in to creative writing visited me today, candid and joyful, both of them. I think they are meant by the gods to sweeten my day, and they do, when I allow them to break through the apprehensiveness and integuments of resentment and defense. The first boy studies “pure math” and revels (correctly) in the infinity of options before him. The second boy says that theater should be the center of his ambition, but that the real center of it is to be a great dad, as his own father is. If I have any power to bless, I aim them at their backs.

Made delicious chili. Even then not all the tomatoes were used.

August 26, 2017

Hurricane in Texas. Great cloudy calm in my garden, except for the tomatoes, which put forth red and yellow fruits in a frenzy. I recall Marquez’s “Cease cows!  Life is short!” Cannot look another tomato sandwich in the face.

Beautiful dream at morning: I was hired to oversee the planting of a vast terraced garden, attached to some kind of institute. The person who hired me turned into a goose in the middle of the dream, and I had to think of ways to communicate effectively with a goose. I wanted especially to plant a very tall flower with a vivid umbrel at the top– sort of like a mix between and ironweed and a touch-me-not. The name of the plant began with “G.” Maybe I will find it. The people in the dream knew what I was talking about. That is going to be my motto: “The people in the dream knew what I was talking about.”

Brief, rather joyful visit to the studio. Did a rose and a Kentucky warbler. Sometimes S loves me, like today. Wish I could control that a little better.

Cleaned the pond filter. A handsome young bullfrog rocketed free and curved his way back to the water like a race car.

August 25, 2017

Auditioned for a play at UNCA, opposite an accomplished young man, whom I think I frightened a little. My lines were those of a spent and despairing old man trying to explain to a sanguine young man his reasons for wanting to die. I had said every one of the lines in real life, to myself, in prayer, or to others when the subject came up, they probably thinking I was speaking in the abstract.

First Cantaria rehearsal of the new season. We somehow sound pretty good. Who knows how that happens? My nerves came away jangled. Too much explaining, maybe.

August 24, 2017

A few minutes at the studio– came home when the cleaning lady texted that the doorknob had fallen apart. So far, the fix achieved by tightening screws seems to be working. Rent at the studio being raised for the first time since I moved to the Phil Mechanic. Woke with agonizing leg cramps, which reached briefly the point of “unbearable.” Again, the problem of having to bear what cannot be borne.

August 23, 2017

I have been a poet for 51 years. Here is the thing to be grateful for: I still am, and better than ever.