Thursday, November 20, 2008

How lucky I am.

Talk about a good run.

I'd just picked up the full size Bartlett's Roget's Thesaurus,
which was long overdue, and got a sweet deal: new for
$14. Then came today.

The mail was louder than I can remember in quite some
time. The package was an early arriving Christmas gift.
Any sensible person would hand it over to the wife, wait
a month and get what was sure to be a very pleasant
Wassail companion. (The sender is one of the best gift
givers I know, he always has me down cold.) It was
obviously a work of substance in all ways one can mean
that. Any sensible person I am not, so I ripped into the
package while my second cup of Yorkshire Gold waited
for the point between too damned hot and stone cold
spent.

And there it was, in all of its glory: "Letters of Ted
Hughes."

Just when I thought the Translations was an extra gift
from the gods, something even better comes along. Initially,
I didn't know how valuable this volume would be. After
a cursory glance, I can report to the Hughes fanatics that
might happen by my hobbling, neglected ornipomorphic
electronic apartment that this is essential stuff.

What a time to be alive. This tempts a man to pick up the
pen again.


***

Side note: I should put a bit of cross-promotion to my music site,
where I'll likely adding putting poetry/essays. It is still under
construction, but there is free streaming of an album's worth
of songs.

Frankprophet.com

Nostrovia, brothers and sisters.