Without Lifting A Finger

... I HATED THE Salinger story. It took me days to go through it, gingerly, a page at a time, and blushing with embarrassment for him every ridiculous sentence of the way. How can they let him do it? That horrible self-consciousness, every sentence comments on itself and comments on itself commenting on itself, and I think it was actually supposed to be funny . And if the poems were so good, why not just give us one or two and shut up, for God's sake? That Seymour figure doesn't impress me at all as anything extra -- or is that the point and I've been missing it? GOD is in any slightly superior, sensitive, intelligent human being or something? or WHAT? and WHY? And is it true that The New Yorker can't change a word he writes? It seems to be the exact opposite of those fine old-fashioned standards of writing Andy White admires so, and yet it isn't "experimental" or original -- it's just tedious. Now if I am running counter to all the opinions at pres...

One Art The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster, Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. - Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

... In Time -- two weeks ago now -- I saw a mysterious little announcement of the death of Dylan Thomas. It must be true, but I still can't believe it -- even if I felt during the brief time I knew him that he was headed that way. I just can't believe it and dread what might have happened to him -- in New York ... Thomas's poetry is so narrow -- just a straight conduit between birth & death, I suppose -- with not much space for living along the way.

Of course my attention is very scattered these days. I do like her letters however, probably even more than most of her poetry. I will keep reading at least until Frisch's Montauk comes (up till now, a hard to get Frisch -- I've read it only once -- but the Kindle version is due out at the end of March). Elizabeth is in Brazil. She's in her Lota phase. * Excerpt: To Kit and Ilse Barker                October 12, 1952      ... One of the charms of this place is that it almost never feels like Sunday -- maybe because it's a sort of lukewarm Catholic country -- but today it does, and I'm all alone for the time being in the large half-finished chilly house -- with an oil lamp lit at 3 p.m. to keep me warm. No it isn't hot now, but it is starting to get warm again. It was scorching in Rio when I was there last week, but here it's always much cooler. I'll quote from my geography book: "Du...

Read her poetry years ago and liked much of it. Picked up both her poems and letters ( ONE ART ) via Kindle. Didn't know about the connection between her and Marianne Moore. Am jumping between Bishop and Boswell. * Excerpt (from a letter to Marianne Moore) from ONE ART:      I cannot imagine why I left without leaving you the picture of the Temple of Paestrum. I often become slightly confused at the very point of bestowal and feel that perhaps, after all, it is inadequate or unwanted -- but I'm sure I thought you admired the Temple as much as I did! I am glad that you liked the leaves and I do hope they arrived wearing something of the original coloring. They fade fairly slowly, but they do fade. It was a "Sea Grape" ...  I am enclosing another -- the front side is yellow marked with a marvelous blurred (as if done on blotting paper) cerise, at the moment, I'm afraid it will be faded, but you will still be able to see the peculiar linings ...