Tom and I are heading south today, for an overnight in Portland. Tom will be showing work samples to a curator who's putting together a photo show, and I will be wandering around by myself having fun. We'll be staying on Peaks Island in a Victorian-era hotel built by the Eighth Maine, a Civil War regiment that met every year on the island for its reunion. Apparently, at one point, the soldiers decided they needed a hotel to house the wives and children. Conveniently, the general of the regiment then won the Louisiana State Lottery, and the hotel was born. (Needless to say, it does not have wifi, so you may not be hearing from me till Saturday.)
In the meantime, add your comments to yesterday's post. Teresa's entry reminded me of how scary it can be to disagree with a poet whose work I respect so much. And I do love so many of Rilke's poems. I taught "The Panther" on Tuesday, when I was leading that workshop for the domestic-violence support group. The women were overwhelmed by it . . . as I am, every time I read it.
In other news, the Haverford College alumni magazine has just published a small feature on Same Old Story, if you feel like taking a look.