Well maybe 3 a.m. is too early to get up, even for me. All but the ever train whistle in the distance sleeps; I will work my miracles in the dark. And here are clouds tumbling by the Arch, my last view of it from the van window on Sunday: first photos with the new camera. Very pretty. Like a goddamn big promise. Like a hump day.
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I've learned how to . Almost certain it will never come in handy.
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The point is every term blurs into days of getting to the next great thing and I drop off here only to get back weeks later, forgetting: that both classes are wonderful, that they laughed openly today. That Longinus and Burke, they got it. One leaving the classroom grinned to himself and I asked: what is it? And startled he said: oh just that I can tell it's going to be wild. Which is what I've been trying to say--this is the stuff of going to be wild. --And I saw good poems today, Brian's tiny poems both just as variegated and lush as anything I read elsewhere. Howard and I read student poems together, and I remembered again: he is a mighty fine reader. Mary and I arranged her thesis, the tightness of the collection emerging as I looked at the possibilities and saw continuity in the work, however which way it turned. And the enthusiasm of the last group--Chris, Hilary, Stefen--next week the Four Quartets and their poems--what more? Long Wednesday, you could be full of yourself. You could be vacuous.
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