Random thoughts

Poetry is personal:   My mother used to have a “pizza frolic” when she came to town.   She maintained the “habit of frolic”.  The word always evokes her for me.  She stamped “frolic” with a copyright sign in my brain.  Today I get “frolic” second-hand through my cats.
I wish I had started the habit of “signing up for gaiety and grace”.  I wish I could embrace my own nuttiness instead of clinically examining it for signs of dementia.  I began the day wondering which of the characters from Muriel Spark’s delightful novel, Memento Mori I am most like.
I could not get my previous entry to look well on the page.   For some reason the final two paragraphs, which I’ve cut and pasted above, jogged out into an unsightly and unreadable column.   I was unable to fix it and so muster-flustered into a state of flurry-scurry and a bit of self-disgust, I’ve tried to remedy the situation by starting off a new entry.
Senescence continues apace.  I’m trying to keep up my spirits by being active in a Trollope group and a Booker Prize group.
I’ve become a bit preoccupied with William Logan recently.  His pronouncements about certain poets are ones that I have made (in my own mind).  It seems scurrilous to condemn those poets who actually have managed to win a few readers and yet they are so often vapid, predictable, artless, and disappointing.  I’ve ordered his books–both his poetry and his criticism.

Author: Gubbinal

Bookish, tea-drinking cat-lady who loves great poetry

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