Ducking in to the Piper Writers’ House I feel privileged to sink into an overstuffed love seat and, with silence at the center, read an essay by Tony Hoagland.
I trip-out on the details, like the serifs in the 11 point Warnock type, then pleasantly, linger over how Hoagland blithely downplays 90 percent of the definition of Rhetoric to emphasize his particular point, or how he dismisses the middle section of Wallace Stevens’ “The Well Dressed Man with a Beard” as “frothy and immaterial,” leaving my attention focused on a darn good, and lasting, last line.
It can never be satisfied, the mind, never.
Once I reach the end of this chapter, I’m in a good place, both literally and figuratively, to let my interests lead me.