etc.

I have to confess that Proust begins to drag heavily on the mind. Am I a Philistine? Deep down, perhaps. But the whole social scene among those who live by its rules gets to be wearisome. Better to have a neurotic child acting out his own neuroses while observing those of others. But, as they say, I will try to stay the course.

When I get into this sort of funk, I start picking up other books to read. Chase Twichell's fine new book, Dog Language. And I'm finally getting to Jenny Penberty's edition of Lorine Niedecker's complete poems. As noted earlier, too, Lyn Hejinian's The Fatalist. I tend to put the big ones off till I get my mind into some sort of focus. It did help that I just reviewed Michael Heller's Uncertain Poetries, he being the author and champion of the Objectivists. I've been looking into Ron Silliman's blog every day, as well. A very good, "encyclopedic" might be the better word, critic of what you might still be able to call the alternative poetries of the last century.