warily, I take issue with Jonathan Mayhew when he says that Olson is overrated. by who? not by me. Olson has remained a poet of importance for me for more than 30 years. I realize that Jonathan means the rep thing but I don't know how one measures that. I can't stand Robert Bly but I can't say he's overrated if people buy what he sells. okay, their taste sucks, but. I was reading Olson yesterday, still feeling the energy. his correspondences with Creeley and Corman have always given me a charge. I think of him like Jung, who I've been immersing in: both are scientifically minded crazy people. the rational and the less so meet. I had the benefit of some reading of Olson with Robert Grenier (in class, I should say, not to sound too much of a pal), with maps, and the flush concerted curiosity and drive that Grenier had as a teacher. I wasn't inculcated, I was inspired. Olson had undeniable influence on a lot of people, I mean real poets, which it would be hard to overrate. I recognize that others may not like his work, that his energy may be seen as bullying, but his work is an important consideration out there.

I also was reading Spicer, whose work I have yet to do justice to in reading, yet which I find to be utterly wonderful. not long ago Maggie Z wrote about going thru Spicer archives. I wish I were serious enough to do such a thing. I was thinking as I read last night, I need more of Spicer's work in me. one thing I already have, a sense of serial. I can remember long ago piling papers fresh from the typewriter into chrono piles. Spicer's use of books fits my own thinking and method. I don't have the energy right now to do much writing. as piddling an experimentalist as I am (but I am an experimenter: for instance efforts to make flarf), I haven't the push to do such. overwhelmed in feeling. maybe I should take the time to work visually. I've been sketching, which maybe I'll scan and post, when my computer is returned. at one time, Jung set aside a block of time everyday after lunch for play. child's play, even: playing with blocks. words don't exactly fail me now, nor I them, but I am tired. sometimes, there are too many words, or too many things for the words to do.