Truth and beauty bombs.
Back to school this evening. My advanced ESL class at English Montreal School Commission. The fact that after all these years of doing this I'm looking forward to it -- intrigued by possibilities of doing new activities I as well as improving on the old, saying Hi again to colleagues and welcoming back returning students I enjoy -- testifies that I must be made for this. (In measured doses, of course.)
This is also ripe time for putting things in the mail -- submissions (oops! assertions), manuscript samples to publishers, etc. I thought I might prepare things in the final weeks of August so I'd "hit the ground running" -- but beyond working on the manuscript itself, just couldn't get into it. "The bare-limbed hedonism of summer", as Don Delillo put it once. Why, when I think of this sort of thing, do I imagine bending over some round porcelain bowl, sticking a finger in the back of my throat? Must counter with images positive -- my missives floating off like white birds over the ocean, the resounding cry of "land, land!", applause from all assembled animals (my poems) on deck and below. Something of that sort. "Turn that frown upside down!" etc.