I don’t write in a journal everyday, but I have accumulated many entries over the past 50+ years beginning in 1966. Some items evolved into longer works. Among the leftovers little pieces survived. I thought a collection of these with a piece culled from the same date in a past year would make an interesting yearbook. The consistencies and inconsistencies of mind, skipping back and forth across time, provide varied perspectives. It is difficult to remember the context of the past we’ve lived; we also make suppositions about times that predate ourselves.

The few alterations from original drafts were to improve clarity. The worst of my work is not included. There remains enough mediocrity and immaturity to make me feel humble and you feel smart. There are also moments of accidental insight and incidental humor.

Author Stephen Crane referred to his little pieces as pills…apparently they were small and somewhat hard to swallow, but good for you.


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Sunday, June 6, 2021

Eng. 225 3cr.

 

June 6, 1968  (I was 23)

 

Eng. 225  3cr.

The too young professor of English

PhD Stanford

studied cynicism in tweed

now professes Shakespeare polysyllabically

and organically of course

abhors the theatre

and women educators

of both sexes

fluctuates between

Tillyard and G.W. Knight

Flying Dutchman and Newports

and discusses The Winter’s Tale

the night of Bobby Kennedy’s death.

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