Muddling along

Half-way through the day and nothing much achieved.

At the library yesterday took out Elizabeth Bishop and May Sarton instead of Robert Hass. I had forgotten about him. Memory failure, regrettably. Maybe I wanted to be among women again.

Read some May S before going to sleep. That was good. One of the books by EB is called One Art: Letters (R. Giroux ed., 1994, Farrar Straus Giroux, NY). A heavy book I am looking forward to. A writers' life, something to think about, maybe some further ideas about how to go about things. Sometimes an old idea can be expressed differently and it appears to stand up and command attention in a new way.

Celan is peering at me from the book cover as I write - I renewed him but they only give an extra week. At a dollar a time. I wish money did not matter so much for everything.

Was up early enough, walk and breakfast and then other 'urgent' matters took over.

Wrote two poems for my collection yesterday afternoon, in a window of time between one thing and another. The ballad is leaving me cold so far. I wrote something, but it was not ballad-like. I am going to attack it again now. At least I learnt more about Kate Bush, some respect.

Have just realised that I need to write a book review for Thursday and that I had wanted to write about Elizabeth Bishop. I'd better get on to that first. I won't have time to digest her writing well enough as it is. Also a blog review due, which is easier.

I had other plans for this evening. My afternoon is already earmarked for something else ('urgent') , and tomorrow afternoon too - seeing friends.