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Loving the cold, loving the leaves, loving the trains.

Hating Foucault, hating homesickness, hating the border which I may be dealing with for the last time finally Friday, not counting shopping or visiting breezethroughs when they finally let me leave. But also maybe not, there are complications. I've had it halfway to your house with all these complications. I want problems I can at least remember all of for a change.

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68. Selected Poems of Christopher Logue

The stray War Music episode here is fantastic, and his adaptations of Neruda and a Sophocles chorus quite fine too. His original poems are mixed - he's bitter and fitful, but never unreadable. He's self-announcedly of the Eliot school, and maybe the purest continuator of Eliot's bilious strain, though as far left as Eliot was right, so that part's good. His most political poems are usually not that interesting, whether from having dated some or having been written too angrily to be clear. Though a lot of '50s poets wrote a muddy or staticky sort of verse, it was the fashion for a while, I guess following Pound. He's better later, maybe nudged better by Homer, though father-daughter incest gets weirdly prominent among his themes, maybe some spillover from his pornographer side-career? Shorter: you can read mere Logue if you like, but you have to read Logue/Homer.