y a beautiful girl, I could tell,whom I would never meet-'Pardon the egg salad stains, but I'm in love.'

Even Irish monks in their cold scriptoriajotted along the borders of the Gospels

we did not just laze in an armchair turning pages; we pressed a thought into the wayside,p

'Man vs. Nature'in a margin, perhaps nowis the time to take one step forward.

Yes.' 'Bull's-eye.' 'My man! '

One scrawls 'Metaphor' next to a stanza of Eliot's.Another notes the presence of 'Irony'

Students are more modestneeding to leave only their splayed footprints

rying to imagine what the person must look likewhy wrote 'Don't be a ninny'alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

trying to imagine what the person must look likewhy wrote 'Don't be a ninny'alongside a paragraph in The Life of Emily Dickinson.

would bolt the door and beat some logic into your head.Other comments are more offhand, dismissive -'Nonsense.' 'Please! ' 'HA! ! ' -

Sometimes the notes are ferocious,

n the early mornin

and, if necessary, the windows—trees fifty, a hundred years old

dictionary and atlas open on the rug,the typewriter waiting for the key of the head,a cello on the radio,

maybe a splash of water on the face,a palmful of vitamins—but mostly buzzing around the house on espresso,

This is the best—throwing off the light covers,feet on the cold floor,and buzzing around the house on espresso—

hen night with his notorious perfumes,his many-pointed stars?

Why do we bother with the rest of the day,the swale of the afternoon,the sudden dip into evening,