{Publication [continued (5)]}[29th August 1978]

[Redbook2:129-132][19780829:2025d]{Publication [continued (5)]}[29^th August 1978]

19780829.2025

[continued]

So, oddly and ironically (can it be both?), and perhaps stupidly, at least the end of uncertainty hardens my purpose – or does it?!

Perhaps a desire for 'objectivity' in writing has simply made me too formal – for myself, I mean.

Even more ironically, today in the Times was published a poem by Christopher Logue, 'The Poet Mandel'shtam's Debut'** (an anagram?) which seemed to me to be painfully apposite to my situation*. Then I came home, and Gollancz's parcel was delivered to D on the doorstep (I must move home!). *(Poor S[E-T]'s position is obviously painful – for both of us).

Now I am tired.

**

[Image of press cutting (above) inserted <20190129>]

[re ll7-9, cf [Redbook1:206][19710612]{Vacant Possession}[12th June 1971] <20190129>]

[continues]

[PostedBlogger17102014]