Dig it, man.
From Mr V: Para Rumbiar (Fernando Perez)
Ball players are mercenaries, taking assignments indiscriminately.
Perez’s musings about poetry got me thinking: Robert Creeley and Allen Ginsberg featured prominently in my least favorite college class, American Poetry since 1945.
Least favorite in part because it was jam-packed with the sort of hipper-than-thou types that make my skin crawl and my eyes roll. Unfortunately for me: they were the most vocal and got the lion’s share of our professor’s attention and encouragment.
That said! I want to re-read a bunch of that assigned reading from my junior and senior years. I’m curious how much of it I: still like, still don’t like, hated then but like now, still don’t like but get, and still can’t fucking stand (I’m looking at you, Jack London; Sea Wolf).
So perhaps I won’t always be frowny when someone mentions Creeley or Ginsberg.
