“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.