Obviously I have nothing to say or I wouldn't be changing the langauge of my date every day and going on about the internet jazz station.

Whoever programs this radio station loves Eric Dolphy. The description of the station is "the likes of Coltrane, Ornette Coleman, and Er..." I was trying to figure out what the Er... stood for and it suddenly came to me. He is not only on his "own" recordings, but also playing with Max Roach, George Russell, and Coltrane himself. I'll probably hear him next with Mingus.

I'm wondering whether they have only a limited number of songs in their playlist. They've played a lot of a Chico Hamilton/Eric Dolphy group that I had never heard before. On the other hand, I have only 260 songs in my hard drive, all of which I've bought on cd, so I am more than doubling my music, even if they have only 500 which they play repeatedly.

And a version by Cecil Taylor of the Monk composition "Bemsha Swing."

I finally have a decent internet connection at home, with an airport card in my laptop. There is a wonderful internet radio station that plays only things like Coltrane, Miles, Dolphy, Shorter, Taylor, Coleman, and Shepp. DIfm modern jazz. I haven't heard anything shabby on it yet.

Date format of the day = Swedish.

The language of the day is Catalan.

Dictat pel capvespre,
dictat per l'aire fosc, el cercle s'obre
i hi habitem: transicions, espai
intermedi. No el lloc
de revelació, sinó el lloc
del retrobament. El glavi
que divideix la llum.

--Pere Gimferrer

If Jimmy Behrle can put his dates in Finnish so can I. I am guessing "kuu" means "month."

1946-1947 Fall term:

English Aa
(English Composition, Mr. Morrison and others)

German Aa
(Elementary German, Dr. Zipf and others)

Music Aa
(Elementary Harmony, Assisant Professor Fine)

Psychology 1

(Elementary Psychology, Professor Boring)

I saw the typo in last post "justificably" and decided to let it stand. I found it case of "justificable" error.

No, you cannot be Frank O'Hara "minus the gay parts." I don't remember which blogger said that.

"At this time I reread Ulysses, needing to throw up my sensibility and Joyce's art into the face of my surroundings; I found that Joyce was more than a match, I was reassured that what was important to me would always be important to me; deprived of music I wrote pieces which turned out to be something like the early Bartok, and I wrote awful poetry compounded of Donne, Whitman, and Cummings, which I later destroyed. I found that I myself was my life: it had never occured to me before; now I knew that the counters with which I dealt with my life were as valid in unsympathetic surroundings as they had been in sympathetic ones; for art is never a retreat; the person who cannot face himself enough to face the world on certain given terms may find that other terms are more suitable to his psyche: this is a matter of self-knowledge, not cowardice; there is no ivory tower; there are arrangements resulting from physical, intellectual, emotional, aesthetic sensitivities which dictate a particular way of life; but no one way of life is more valid than another; I had subconsciously felt this, and now I knew it. From that monstrous womb: a second birth."

This is a canny aestheticism, that asserts itself.

Needless to say, Frank's piece was vastly more brilliant than my paper on Flann. Albert G. thought Flann O'Brien's prose dull (and my own as well, more justificably.) I was a TA in his class with Maria Damon and Tom Lutz.

Of course, Frank was not yet "Frank O'Hara" at that point. Trying to imagine him as a Military Policeman!

Albert Guérard once gave me an A- for paper I wrote on Flann O'Brien. He gave Frank O'Hara a B+ for "Lament and Chastisement," a memoir of WW II.

I am rarely in Kansas when I am not teaching. I have a week of relative freedom, however, in which I am attempting to put together most of a book of criticism I have been working on since 1996. I finally think it has a shape flexible yet coherent enough to work. I am using three sections of three chapters each.

Dale Smith points out that I got the title of his poem wrong in the BAP face-off. It is Haniel Long not Daniel Hang. I am deeply embarrassed. It makes me wonder how many other errors are lurking there.

Eeksy-Peeksy:

"I start at three machine-tanned bottle-blonded women who come together, peel to bright dresses, and perch under the lights along the bar. They get identical orange drinks, which they sip through thin straws and pretty good teeth. Outside, it's still December and we're on the old cold Baltic shore. Inside, cheap vacations are still available."

This is the sort of writing that grabs me. The same goes for the prose-poems on "texture notes." Yet I am indifferent to the poems of bloggers x, y, and z.