Looking back over the past 25 days, over the years, I see a unity, a common theme that can provide material for a novel, which is what November was supposed to be all about. I was surprised yesterday when my grandpop showed up out of the clear blue, but generations get skipped sometimes, and his favorite daughter, my mother, was already on the scene in the person of her macaroni and cheese recipe, which I made for Thanksgiving, and which went very well with the leg of lamb. I am rambling now, but there is even unity in the rambling, poetry in the disjointed clauses and phrases.
Job interview in Bethesda this morning. Time for something new, a new thing, a thing made new. Don’t worry, I will continue with #SaturdayLibrarian. Planning a roll call tomorrow in fact! I am missing poetry reading with the group, missing the camaraderie. Hey, did you see the Jorie Graham poem in December’s Poetry magazine? Center-tri-fold (is that a word?), folds out from the center of the magazine, back and front, The Mask Now. Is it a play on the Dunbar icon, We Wear the Mask? Naw, nothing to do with it. And there is a long essay by Carl Phillips, A Politics of Mere Being. I’ll read it, but I’m not sure I will dig it. Appears to be about political poetry, and that never ends well because politicians don’t really get poetry. And there’s a sonnet by Charles North, Lyrics of the Trouvères. Now we are talking. The rebirth of classical antiquity. Did you know Michelangelo wrote sonnets? His collection of sonnets is here in Italian and in English translation, and in other places on the internets.
Today’s post is more of a bridge than a chorus, thank the good Lord, the good Master as my grandmother would say, or so they tell me. Tomorrow a few students will trickle in, but most will still be at home with their families, still giving thanks.