My Bits

For those of you who e-mailed (and even called!) about FW's letters to the editor in May's Poetry, thanks for the heads up. I was in B&N this evening and read them. All I can say is my hate letter was way cooler.

The Happy Booker sure is hooking me up. In the very short time I've known her, she's given me a monthly poetry column at her blog (She even gave me a deadline! Those fiction-types are professional.) and she's arranged for me to participate on two more blogging panels later this fall. Looks like I'll be bringing my filth to the washed literary masses for some time to come.

In non-literary news, my stomach, lower-back and hip muscles ain't working right, or maybe they're not working at all. This morning in yoga class I tried to do a shoulder stand, had both my legs flipped over my head, but couldn't straighten them. I'm not saying it was difficult. I'm saying it was impossible. Not good. Not good. To make matters worse, yesterday the instructor of the post-partum yoga class called to inform that it was cancelled. That class was supposed to focus on those kinds of problems. So now I can't talk about "baby yoga." "Baby massage" class is over too. I'm going to have to find some new yuppie-scum-baby classes to sign up for. There's "baby sign language" class that Chris is really excited about, but Gideon is still a little young for that. I can't wait for the day he can sign "Get over here and take care of this load in my diaper."

Kiss Kiss

The Page is featuring No Tell poet Jasper Bernes today. It's a regular menage a trois. (I sent Molly out for an alcohol run. What a dupe!)

We really do have to keep meeting like this.

Fantasies

Last night I had this fantasy. That I was going to wake up this morning at 9 and boast that it's finally happened. Gideon slept 5+ hours. I had reason for hope. The night before he slept 4.5 hours in one stretch. Last night at 2 he downed 6.5 ounces (that's a lot) and seemed almost drunk with drowsiness. I thought, tonight I will sleep.

Stoopid new mom. He woke up at 4, then 6, then 7, took a brief nap and stayed up until noon (another brief nap).

Often I come back to something a blog buddy said to me a few weeks ago. He told me smart kids don't sleep through the night and he had some pretty persuasive anecdotal evidence. Every night in my delirium I think this is the lot of a mother of a genius.

Imagine my glee when I had the brief hope my son wasn't a genius. I mean, who wants a genius? Geniuses are freaks. I want him to fit in with society and not have to take his cousin to the prom.

Well, there goes that dream.

Hotttatatata

Our call for anthology submissions has only been out for a few days, but we already have quite the selection of naughty, yet discrete poems. Please keep them coming. I need something to talk about over dinner aside from what appeared in diapers.

I'll continue making my "typing with one hand" jokes and it's true. More often than not, I am typing with one hand -- because I'm holding an infant with the other. Like I said, the poems are good, but I'm somebody's mother now. Watch what you think and what you say! How would you like it if somebody thought that about your mom?

Better Panel Summarization

Ron's superior version of events. Lest I sound like a total teetotaler, after drinks with them I went out and did lines of . . . OK, nevermind, I went to a late dinner with Chris and Gideon and then came home and was in bed by midnight.

The Morning the Lights Went Out

The fuzz (aka the electric company) shut No Tell Motel down for a few hours today, but we're back up and running. I guess Jasper Bernes blew their freakin' minds out.

Also, if you sent me e-mail today (or a No Tell submission), I should eventually get it, but if you want to be sure, resend it.

It's amazing the amount of work one can accomplish without the distraction of the Internet.

This Week at the No Tell

Jasper Bernes crazes sleepless with puckered zeroes this week at No Tell Motel.

Panel

Saturday's panel covered an interesting hodge podge of topics. Basically, if it was on the Internet, we touched on it. Aside from discussing our own sites, the conversation briefly turned to Foetry and the 100 million dollars Poetry received, but we never strayed too long because the Happy Booker was moderating and she's a captain that stays on course. Most of the questions were pretty basic, how does one go about getting a blog, how does one make money (hah hah), etc. I kind of wished we spent more time explaining the difference between blogs and literary journals because judging by some of the questions some folks were confusing the two. But it was fun and I was amazed that 30+ people were willing to attend a panel at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday.

When I got home that afternoon Chris and Gideon were still out (the last baby massage class and afterwards visiting a friend). So what did I do during those precious childfree hours? Did I write a poem? Did I read submissions? Did I clean the rat nest my home has become? Nope. I went to sleep. If I had to do it all over again, I'd do the same thing.

P.S. Rebecca, I bought two pairs of shoes at Kenneth Cole, this pair in blue and a pair of purple and black suede wedges that aren't on the site yet.

Early Night

I'm headed to bed in a few minutes because I have to get up early for this panel. If you're in the D.C. area Saturday morning, come on by. I hear they're serving lunch.

Spent the evening having drinks with the Happy Booker and Mr. Beatrice along with a bunch of Northern VA fiction-types. The thing about fiction writers is they blend into society much better than poets. They look practically normal. Sometimes people pay for what they write and there's this thing called an agent. Sounds like the tooth fairy to me.

This morning was baby yoga class which will probably be cancelled because there aren't enough moms signed up. The afternoon was another shopping trip, this time with Tender Buttons. I bought shoes at Kenneth Cole.

Call for Submissions

The editors of No Tell Motel are looking for previously unpublished poems for a new print anthology The Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel. This anthology will include some of the most seductive poems that have already appeared at No Tell as well as new ones from poets who have not yet appeared at the journal.

WHAT WE'RE LOOKING FOR

Sex appeal, playfulness and discretion in the broadest sense. (So please refrain from sending us "sex act" poems, unless they're really good and we mean, really good. Hint: If you're rhyming "cock" and "rock" or "breast" and "chest," it's probably not really good. Probably.) For an idea of our editorial tastes, visit our journal and read the poems we've already published.

GUIDELINES

Send up to 3 poems to bedsidesubmit (at) notellmotel.org in the body of the e-mail. DO NOT SEND ATTACHMENTS.

Unpublished poems only.

Include brief bio.

Deadline: May 31, 2005

Payment: Two copies of anthology

Editors: Reb Livingston & Molly Arden

Mayflower Madman

I always get The Mayflower Madam and The Happy Hooker confused. I remember both books from the family library when I was a child, but for some bizarre reason, I never read them. I'm pretty sure Tender Buttons did and that would explain everything.

Had a brief rendezvous this afternoon with The Happy Booker, not to be confused with The Happy Hooker. I think. No, I'm pretty sure, not the same woman. Anyhow, she invited me to write an informal poetry column for her book blog and I agreed and I have three gorgeous chapbooks sitting right next to me that I plan on writing about. Timing baby, it's all about timing.

Speaking of whom, somebody is just waking up. Damn it!

Oh Aren't We Pretty?

You know you're spent when it's a beautiful sunny 80 degree day, your husband is working from home and you're able to leave the house for hours, yet you sleep on the sofa instead. Why am I saying "you"? I'm talking about me. Actually, I'm not talking or saying, I'm writing, to be more specific, I'm typing.

This is all obvious. And mundane.

Two month doctor's check-up this afternoon. Weight: 12 pounds, 11 ounces (75 percentile), Height: 23 3/4" inches (80 percentile -- I was expecting this to be higher, tried to hide my disappointment), Head Circumference 42 cm (88 percentile -- genius!).

4 shots in the thighs. I thought I already heard every scream. I had not heard every scream. It was pretty bad. I didn't watch. Chris held his arms and chest and laughed! I was angry that he laughed. One should never laugh in a suffering person's face. Laughing should always be done out of earshot.

I also got angry this weekend at the Lake Anne Coffee House when some guy sitting right next to Gideon lit up a cigarette, noticed there was a baby next to him, apologized and got up to move and Chris said "Oh, it's OK, you don't have to move." Yes, he did have to move and it was good he was going to move and I can deal with people lighting up around me, but keep it away from my baby and I don't feel the need to be polite regarding these kinds of things.

Spent the evening at the spa. I have quite a bit of credit stored up there from gift certificates. A spa certificate is a delightful gift. One I appreciate. But the little voice in my head says: "He got this for you because you look like a hag." It's a mean little voice and does me very little good but he's covered by rent control or something like that because I can never get him to leave. If he did die, I'm sure his good-for-nothing nephew would claim residency, be even crueler and bring cockroaches.

My feet look really cute.

I'm going to post a call for submissions here soon. I sent it over to Molly for her to proof but she's had other stuff going on and hasn't gotten around to it. I usually try to run things past her because she's an awesome editor and has that eye and makes my language sound pretty and points out things like "this is really vulgar -- do you even have a goal?" or "it's spelled O-R-G-Y not O-R-G-E-E, you twat." Gee whiz.

------------------------------

Sam just sent this me. I'm not smart enough to comprehend most of it but I figured out that JUL isn't July, it's Julian -- like the calendar, no, it is the calendar. There's a calendar named Julian. I think. I wanted to name my son Julian, but Chris thought the name too effeminate. I always liked Julian Lennon and felt bad he didn't get the attention he needed from his dad.

Oh, yes, this is what Sam sent regarding Gideon's milestones. Sam doesn't measure the passage of time like the rest of us -- or at least not like I do. I shouldn't make assumptions about my readers, since I only know a handful of you and it's very likely many of you are freaks like my good friend Sam.

(For those unfamiliar with metric prefixes: Ms=megaseconds, Gs=gigaseconds, Mmin=megaminutes, kh=kilohours, d=days, kd=kilodays, mo=months, kmo=kilomonths, yr=years. 1 year is of course 365.242198781 days and 1 month is 30.4368498984 days.)

Born: 2453418.44097 Jul - 2005 Feb 16 22:35:00 UTC - 2005 Feb 16 5:35:00 PM EST
100 d: 2453518.44097 Jul - 2005 May 27 22:35:00 UTC - 2005 May 27 6:35:00 PM EDT
10 mo: 2453722.80947 Jul - 2005 Dec 18 07:25:38 UTC - 2005 Dec 18 2:25:38 AM EST
1 yr: 2453783.68317 Jul - 2006 Feb 17 04:23:46 UTC - 2006 Feb 16 11:23:46 PM EST
10 kh: 2453835.10764 Jul - 2006 Apr 9 14:35:00 UTC - 2006 Apr 9 10:35:00 AM EDT
1 Mmin: 2454112.88541 Jul - 2007 Jan 12 09:14:59 UTC - 2007 Jan 12 4:14:59 AM EST
2 yr: 2454148.92537 Jul - 2007 Feb 17 10:12:32 UTC - 2007 Feb 17 5:12:32 AM EST
1 kd: 2454418.44097 Jul - 2007 Nov 13 22:35:00 UTC - 2007 Nov 13 5:35:00 PM EST
3 yr: 2454514.16757 Jul - 2008 Feb 17 16:01:18 UTC - 2008 Feb 17 11:01:18 AM EST
100 Ms: 2454575.84838 Jul - 2008 Apr 19 08:21:40 UTC - 2008 Apr 19 4:21:40 AM EDT
4 yr: 2454879.40977 Jul - 2009 Feb 16 21:50:04 UTC - 2009 Feb 16 4:50:04 PM EST
5 yr: 2455244.65197 Jul - 2010 Feb 17 03:38:50 UTC - 2010 Feb 16 10:38:50 PM EST
2 kd: 2455418.44097 Jul - 2010 Aug 9 22:35:00 UTC - 2010 Aug 9 6:35:00 PM EDT
200 Ms: 2455733.25579 Jul - 2011 Jun 20 18:08:20 UTC - 2011 Jun 20 2:08:20 PM EDT
100 mo: 2456462.12596 Jul - 2013 Jun 18 15:01:23 UTC - 2013 Jun 18 11:01:23 AM EDT
10 yr: 2457070.86296 Jul - 2015 Feb 17 08:42:40 UTC - 2015 Feb 17 3:42:40 AM EST
100 kh: 2457585.10764 Jul - 2016 Jul 15 14:35:00 UTC - 2016 Jul 15 10:35:00 AM EDT
5 kd: 2458418.44097 Jul - 2018 Oct 26 22:35:00 UTC - 2018 Oct 26 6:35:00 PM EDT
15 yr: 2458897.07395 Jul - 2020 Feb 17 13:46:29 UTC - 2020 Feb 17 8:46:29 AM EST
500 Ms: 2459205.47801 Jul - 2020 Dec 21 23:28:20 UTC - 2020 Dec 21 6:23:20 PM EST
10 Mmin: 2460362.88541 Jul - 2024 Feb 22 09:14:59 UTC - 2024 Feb 22 4:14:59 AM EST
20 yr: 2460723.28494 Jul - 2025 Feb 16 18:50:19 UTC - 2025 Feb 16 1:50:19 PM EST
200 kh: 2461751.77431 Jul - 2027 Dec 12 06:35:00 UTC - 2027 Dec 12 1:35:00 AM EST
25 yr: 2462549.49593 Jul - 2030 Feb 16 23:54:08 UTC - 2030 Feb 16 6:54:08 PM EST
10 kd: 2463418.44097 Jul - 2032 Jul 4 22:35:00 UTC - 2032 Jul 4 6:35:00 PM EDT
30 yr: 2464375.70692 Jul - 2035 Feb 17 04:57:58 UTC - 2035 Feb 16 11:57:58 PM EST
1 Gs: 2464992.51505 Jul - 2036 Oct 26 00:21:40 UTC - 2036 Oct 25 8:21:40 PM EDT
300 kh: 2465918.44098 Jul - 2039 May 9 22:35:00 UTC - 2039 May 9 6:35:00 PM EDT
35 yr: 2466201.91791 Jul - 2040 Feb 17 10:01:47 UTC - 2040 Feb 17 5:01:47 AM EST
40 yr: 2468028.12890 Jul - 2045 Feb 16 15:05:37 UTC - 2045 Feb 16 10:05:37 AM EST


------------------------------

It's nice that Sam took the time to figure this out. Maybe Gideon will be smart enough to appreciate it.

I haven't seen Sam since he moved to Florida. This was the main reason I was against him taking that job and I have yet to replace him. I tried talking him out of it. I said the town he was moving to was an armpit. I don't even remember the town's name and have no idea what's it's like, but I did my best to be discouraging and I should have known better. He never listens to me.

Maybe I'll see him this summer if Ivan ever actually has that wedding. Ivan's already married to Juana, they had to do it quick else she was going to get sent back to Columbia. But they're not getting a gift from me until I get an invitation or an announcement or some kind of tangible evidence that he didn't just make up a woman named Juana. I'm not calling Ivan a liar. He's not, but his view of the world is different than mine and I just want to make sure we're on the same page before I plunk down cash on a crystal fruit bowl.

Or maybe I'll see Sam in November when I'm in Miami participating in this reading.

Maybe I'll see P.F. too. He says he'll be living in Miami for a year. I can't imagine P.F. in Miami. Maybe I need a better imagination.

This Week at the No Tell

Elizabeth Bradfield is boomvy as a D-cup in angora this week at No Tell Motel.

Odd Ends

Had my second pilates session this morning. Surprisingly, not sore. They must be going easy on me. The yoga instructors will not be so soft on me this week when I resume classes.

Pushed the stroller around Lake Anne today.

Went to Tyson's and tried on clothes. Hadn't been that depressed in a changing room since my miserable AOL days. I bought this shirt in olive and this skirt in black.

Up tonight reading No Tell subs. Sub reading pet-peeve #1: folks who only send one poem. Aside from the obvious these people have never looked at our site or even bothered to read the guidelines, who the hell sends only one short poem anywhere? We get several of these types of subs a week. I used to take the time to explain the guidelines but now I just send a rejection. Seriously, there are enough poets out there who take the time to familiarize themselves with our journal and guidelines. Those are the submissions I'll give my time.

Speaking of submissions, Molly and I will be sending out a special call later this week. It's an extra naughty call. Check back for details.

This Week's Wee Hour Please Go Back To Sleep Gideon Reading List:

32Poems, Vol. 3, No. 1

Effing Magazine # 3

Music and Suicide by Jeff Clark

That's Right

Take my iPod and I'll kill you, motherfucker.

I'm Hercules and . . .

You're Siddhartha!

by Hermann Hesse

You simply don't know what to believe, but you're willing to try
anything once. Western values, Eastern values, hedonism and minimalism, you've spent
some time in every camp. But you still don't have any idea what camp you belong in.
This makes you an individualist of the highest order, but also really lonely. It's
time to chill out under a tree. And realize that at least you believe in
ferries.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Came Home and Found 2 Dudes in My Bed . . .

. . . and they're just my type. Bedwetters!

OK, only one's a bedwetter, but out of kindness I won't say which.

The Littlest Lies

Had my first pilates session this morning. It's way tougher than yoga. My stomach is going to kill me tomorrow.

My ever-ambitious neighbor fixed up his front yard (he did his backyard a few months ago). Now my house looks ghetto from every angle. I said that to my neighbor and he lied and said "Oh, no it doesn't!"

It's the little lies that hurt the most because they're so obviously lies and they strike at the root of what really bothers us, er what really bothers me, no I mean the royal we, OK, maybe this is just my own personal damage.

For instance, all silly lies at the pilates studio. None of the instructors had seen me before I got pregnant. They have no idea what I used to look like -- so why lie and say how great I look and how my size 12 ass gives their size 2 asses hope? I don't look great. That's why I'm dropping serious cash for these sessions. Instead of saying how wonderful I look, why not just say "We're going to get you back into shape and you'll look better than you did before you got pregnant." That would make me truly happy. That would give me hope.

This weekend my neighbor and his fiance dug a hole in the 3x3 ground that is their front yard and put in a small goldfish pond (which is surely against our home owners association rules). My mother-in-law asked "Why a goldfish pond?" My answer: "Because they're young."

It felt good to say that. I think it was the truth too.

Onward

Here Comes Everybody Presents Robert Creeley, "Onward"

O Yeah

Attention fellow yinzers, my cousin's film will premiere May 26 at the Waterfront Loew's. It's called Captain Blasto. Aw yeah.

This Week at the No Tell

Roderick Maclean slurps from the foamy la-la lagoon this week at No Tell Motel.

Karma

It's real and if you don't behave yourself, it's a bitch.

Weekend

A particulary unliterary weekend. Saturday was baby massage class, Sin City (I liked, but since I don't know much about graphic novels I'll refrain from attempting to write anything intelligent about it) and I investigated some new walking paths near the house (Gideon, hurry up and grow, I want to use that jogging stroller). We had dinner at Shamshiry, a Persian restaurant we eat at a lot (or used to). We hadn't been there since early February. All the waiters said hello and looked at my stomach, but didn't say anything. I hope they realized I wasn't pregnant anymore.

Sunday is a day of vice. This morning I went to Charles Town to play the nickel slots with my mother-in-law. I lost my shirt, bra and most of the skin off my back. That place is terrible. I don't know why I ever go there. Oh, I know why I went their today.

Gideon hasn't been sleeping well this past week. I put a CD player underneath the crib and have been playing the beautiful lullaby CD Laura Carter sent. I don't know if it's working on baby, but I fell asleep on the floor Tuesday night.

Contest Answers

Nobody guessed correctly, but that's probably my fault for not giving better hints. I'll think up a poetry related contest to unload these fabulous prizes.

Contest #1 Answer: $5. The tickets were $7, so not only did I have to pay for my own ticket, I had to give Chris $2 for his. His excuse was that he spent all his money at the grocery store buying the food for dinner. That was a very lame excuse. Let me make this clear. If you ask me out on a date, I expect you to offer to pay. Especially if your invite involves calling and waking me up in the morning knowing I just got home from working a graveyard shift and then proceeding to chastise me for "still being asleep."

I also expect you to hold the door open for me and all those other chivalrous acts. I'm not saying I'd like it, I'm saying I expect it.

Contest #2 Answer: Sliver It was no Basic Instinct.

Contests - Prizes - Sex!

Today is our nine year wedding anniversary. Yeah, congratulations, thank you very much.

To celebrate, I'm holding two contests. Post your answers here by noon (ET) on Thursday, April 7.

In May 1993 Chris and I went on our first date. He biked to my apartment, prepared dinner (chicken and rice - the whole time bitching about my cutlery) and then we met with friends and went to a movie.

Contest #1 - How much money did Chris have in his wallet when it was time to buy the movie tickets?
Prize: A Trojan Mint Tingle Spring Break 2005 T-Shirt XL (don't ask me how I acquired this)

Contest #2 - What movie did we see? (Hint: It wasn't very good)
Prize: Lover's Choice 52 Weeks of Romance Kit (a $9.95 value! -- again, don't ask me how I acquired this)

Why am I parting with these items? Because I'm no longer a woman, I'm a mom!

Bethesda Literary Festival

Hey look, I'm getting out of the house and it's not for a doctor's appointment or baby class:

Bethesda Literary Festival

Saturday, April 23, 2005
9:30-11:30am – Literature on the Web
Panelists include Ron Hogan, Reb Livingston, Wendi Kaufman, and Jeannie Smith and Andrew Lundwall. General admission is $10 and includes a lunch following the panel discussion.

This Week at the No Tell

Brandon Shimoda sheds his enormity this week at No Tell Motel.

Thieving Blog Poem 4

What do I have against the darling Charles Jensen? He didn't post once to his blog the whole time he was in Vancouver. He was probably having a great time. God damn him.

--------------

Charles Inside

O how he positions his desire
contrasts the erotic against historical
glimpses the stranger
haunting the tavern
grizzling my crossword puzzles, my scribbled nostril

He asks about quality, it’s fuzzy identity
a hidden, hungry thing

He says, “Something queer is going on”

I nearly faint

Thieving Blog Poem 3

C. Dale sent Gideon a rubber ducky. He's a doctor. He helps people. How could I break into his blog and steal his words and phrases, scramble them up and use them as my own?!?

There really is nothing worse than a thief.

--------------

C. Canada

Vancouver hasn’t met
Anthony Robinson or
the tall naughty grin

Dare not say his name

I saw someone
phantom student, a fool
oddly friendly, sans nametag

Oh, stop marveling

Who Stole My Hour?

I'm happy to have more daylight. I never worked on a farm and never fully appreciated "daylight savings." But man, the short Sunday always sucks.

I've finished two of the theiving blog poems and will post them here shortly. Shortly is right, they're all pretty short. Cut me some slack. I'm responsible for an angry tyrant and I have no clue what I'm doing. That's right. I said it. No clue.

In the meantime, partake in Molly Arden's review of Star Black's collages and MiPO's interview of Jane Hirshfield.

Baby Massage, Not Just For Rich Kids

This morning we participated in our first infant massage class (every Saturday morning this April). Today's class focused on legs and stomach (i.e. squeeze out the crap). I must be a natural at it since after just a few minutes of massaging Gideon's leg and foot he crapped all over the blanket. Adorable! That's when I let Chris have his turn and I practiced on the scary non-pooping doll.

The instructors assured us that we weren't "spoiling" him -- that there are all kinds of health and neurological benefits and that he'll even grow faster. The last thing we want is to be responsible for him throwing like a girl, or worse, becoming a sensitive poet-type.

Spring

Paris in August? Miami in November? Hmm. . . maybe. But for now, it's looking like Pittsburgh in May. Aw, yeah.

Hey, invite me to give a reading in your city. Come on, I don't eat much! The fam seems to be very supportive of my getting back in the swing of things and are rather generous with Gideon-watch offers. That or they want as much time as possible to reverse all the damage I've been doing. Either way, I should probably take advantage of this before Gid starts talking, makes enemies, gets cut out of the will, etc.

It's spring and my heart turns to getting the hell out of my house every and any opportunity I get. I'm no Emily Dickinson. This was a fortunate week for me. Chris worked from home on Weds and my mother-in-law came over for two hours Thursday afternoon. Fresh air! Oh boy. Once upon a time my daily schedule was a 3 mile walk outside followed by an additional 2 miles on the treadmill or yoga. I will be able to resume that sometime this summer, depending on when Gid is big enough to be in the jogging stroller, but for now, he's not ready to join me on the mean trails of Reston and they sure are mean. Yesterday I caught some kid getting high in one of the underpasses. I yelled, "You're stunting your growth! Frying your brain! You'll never get into a good college! Your balls will shrink to marbles! Your colon will explode! Blood will squirt from ass! Girls will smoke your stash but never put out!"

Yep, that's what I said.

Right now I'm mostly just on the treadmill. Praise my iPod. I have my first pilates session in two weeks and yoga resumes in three. I'm going to be a sore and miserable person for some time after that.

But about getting out of the house -- Saturday night my mother-in-law popped in for a couple of hours and Chris and I went out to dinner at a crowded Mexican restaurant. We were seated next to two women with infants and one woman was breasfeeding at the table. Suddenly I got it. I never was one of those people who got outraged at mothers breastfeeding in public, but I always wondered why they would bother. Why not just stay home until the baby is older? Now I understand. For those of you who get all pissy about the idea of breastfeeding in public, turn your fucking head if it offends you. Or better yet, stick a fork in your eye.

------------------

Mailed out a submission last night. Got home from the post office, looked at the Word document that was still open and noticed a typo in the last line of the last poem of the manuscript. Sigh.

Back to canvassing blogs.