It’s a week into National Poetry Month and even the New York Times has a poetry link on its main web page, so it’s time for me to get busy, eh? But unlike the good folks at PFFA, I’m not participating in NaPoWriMo, and I’m not even sure I’ll make it to West Chester—though I’d purely love to take either X. J. Kennedy’s or Molly Peacock’s master classes, and there’s Rhina Espaillat’s on French forms and Sam Gwynn’s on satire and light verse, and Dave Mason, Tim Steele, Dick Davis, Alicia Stallings, Catherine Tufariello, Terri Witek, H. L Hix, Robert Shaw, Rachel Hadas, and, new to me, Eric McHenry. Anybody got $700?
Truth is, though I’m happier than I’ve been in years (thank you, sweetie), getting unmarried is dispiriting and poverty-making. I haven’t been able to write, until recently I’ve barely been able to read, and I’m astonished to find anyone is still visiting this place as barren as it’s been for nearly a year. So, thanks to you, too, for sticking with me.
Did you folks know about World Poetry Day? Pretty neat that it usually falls on an Equinox, and that this year Slate’s daily photo montage from Magnum Photos was of poets and people doing poetry things—one man recites poems at a rally against the Mafia in Sicily; another recites freedom poems in the streets of Hungary in 1956. My favorite, though, is a nerdy-looking James Dean reading James Whitcomb Riley’s Complete.
3:17:18 PM 
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