I find out I'm the sixth alternate for my sabbatical leave, which means I might not get a sabbatical at all. The prophet is without honor, etc... I wrote a somewhat offbeat sabbatical application, saying that I was going to break out of my rut by working on several essays on poetics unrelated to Spanish poetry (except indirectly). I'm sure I miscalculated, and that a conventional proposal (I'm going to write one, two, three, articles on x, y, z) would have gotten me in unproblematically. Oh well. The more pleasant gifts awaiting me on my return to Kansas this evening are Million Poems Journal (Jordan Davis), and J.A's Master's Thesis on Henry Green. Submitted June, 1950, "in partial fulfillment / of the requirements/ for the degree of Master of Arts, / Faculty of Philosophy / Columbia University."

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Simic, in review of Koch in NYRB, speaks of the Oulipo movement "of the 1970s." Of course, the movement was actually founded in 1960, the year of my birth. I've spoken before of what a landmark year this was for the arts. But that has a lot to do with my egocentric perspective, I'm sure. I found I've been most deeply engaged by writers/musicians born in the 1920s and 1930s--my parents' generation. A few slightly older or younger. I'm sure anyone else could make a case for any other period being especially fruitful. For me, it's the cluster of years on one side or another of 1960.