"...a bare bright ship-attic..."

All this year I've been going back and back to my mother's house, back to the underworld, like a rapid-cycling Persephone.  What keeps me going is the serendipity.  Oh, there's the feather hat!  She kept all those valentines?  How did that saber get into my closet?


This time, I found boxes of my juvenilia, from lamentable childhood poetry (some on shirt cardboard) to college pastiches.  


Here's a letter I wrote from the other Cambridge on October 20, 1974:  "Quite by fortune, this afternoon I visited Green Knowe..."
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