". . to love, it turned out, also meant to to ridicule, to exploit, to hurt, to violate. . ." from a wonderful review of Lee Server's "Ava Gardner" by Peter Bogdanovich. Read here.

Glorious summer days and the joy that the sun brings and the way it makes me feel that nothing is really so far out of reach, but maybe I live in a fool's paradise. Cherry blossoms and all. . .

Next semester should be exciting: a literature seminar with professor Edward Mendelson, intro to Hebrew Lit with (the super-intelligent) Dan Miron, and advanced writing workshops in fiction and poetry with, respectively, Sam Lipsyte and Paul Violi.

I don't know a whole lot about poetry but I do really like Czeslaw Milosz, the Polish poet who died just about a year ago.

Here's a poem of his that I like a lot:

Not Mine

All my life to pretend this world of theirs is mine
And to know such pretending is disgraceful.
But what can I do? Suppose I suddenly screamed
And started to prophesy. No one would hear me.
Their screens and microphones are not for that.
Others like me wander the streets
And talk to themselves. Sleep on benches in parks,
Or on pavements in alleys. For there aren't enough prisons
To lock up all the poor. I smile and keep quiet.
They won't get me now.
To feast with the chosen—that I do well.