Thinking of the Brothers K in Room 212 of the Fairfield Inn

“That’s quite true, I’m not a king. And just imagine, Pyotr Alexandrovich, I even knew it myself, by God! You see, I’m always saying something out of place! Your reverence,” he exclaimed with a sort of instant pathos, “you see before you a buffoon! Verily, a buffoon! Thus I introduce myself! It’s an old habit, alas! And if I sometimes tell lies inappropriately, I do it even on purpose, on purpose to be pleasant and make people laugh. One ought to be pleasant, isn’t that so?”

—“The Brothers Karamazov.”

**

I’m in Cincinnati where tonight I’ll give a reading and I woke early this morning thinking of the Brothers K and pathological lying. Donald Trump is pere Karamazov with all his oily business, his disdain for women, his 24-7 social lying, and yes, his old habits, learned at the knee of Roy Cohn.

It’s a shame really to wake this way.

Good thing I have a dog with me.

**

Why Trump doesn’t have a dog:

“If a dog will not come to you after having looked you in the face, you should go home and examine your conscience.”

― Woodrow Wilson

**

With my friend John Drury last evening, remembering what a brilliant poet James Merrill was.
A true genius of light and air. Just try writing about light and air.

**

Dreamt last night I was in Finland at the Velamo Monastery. I once ate strawberries there in summer with a 100 year old monk.

**

I’m in Cincy where there are many many good poets.

**

If you’re in the market for a solid, smart read, I recommend “Teaching Plato in Palestine” by Michael Walzer.

**

The Marriott has a brochure here on my desk entitled “Arrive”—irony sub-rosa but received.

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