Not long after reading over the weekend Ron Silliman's statement that "there is no such thing as poetry, only kinds of poetry," I read the passage below, which is somehow juxtaposed with it in my mind:
"Last night I was reading Lord Acton's introduction to a series of lectures on modern history. He offered as a truism that needed no underlining or amplification: 'Historians learn by writing, rather than by reading.' This had never occurred to me. Don't you think we could mak e a fortu n e (my typewriter occasionally splutters and skips spaces with anger) by starting a sanitarium to cure victims of ceaseless reading. Across the alley in back of our house, there is a reducing school. No one eats anything; but pyramids of garbage pile up - so high I sometimes can't force my car through them. This is the food they have left untouched, and the odor of its corruption is like incense, for each betokens a triumph of the will. So it would be with the book-cure; think of all the wonderful-really-necessary-for-one's-occupation-and-piece-of-mind books one could not read each day!" - Lowell to Bishop, December 29, 1955
Click here for Daisy Fried's letter to the NYTBR in response to Wm. Logan's infamous review of the selected Frank O'Hara - and a letter from someone who points out that "in the early ’60s there was an Olivetti showroom on Fifth Avenue. A pedestal [pictured above] stood in its entrance way, before one entered the actual shop, with an Olivetti mounted atop on which passers-by could type their ruminations."
Oh, and I'm also blogging you-know-where today!