A cabin in Maine. Bare, except for the essentials, books, records, a record player, and a chair or two.
Living such a sparse life, he focuses daily on Dante's Cantos.
The idea of verse being as concentrated as diamonds, the more eyes and voices that read them.
And the more valuable.
Short stories, novels and other tangibles have a quiet birth, a quiet life as they get passed around. And quiet recommendations.
Theater is born into ephemera. A brilliant burst, and then moment after moment. Lessons carried or not, the very material are the minutes of life, by definition shared.
Books allow sharing asynchronously. The living and the dead. The young and their older versions.
Holding a book is momentous.
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