An artist whom I know draws on the back of used envelopes. The envelopes, she says, by virtue of their redundant state, make less extreme demands on her than proper drawing paper. I say that I know what she means. She dates her drawings and puts them in batches in larger envelopes for storage. I suggest that she might arrange the drawings in a big book side by side on the page, where the drawings and the envelopes would display their distinctive qualities to best effect. She says, that's a good idea.
In the book on Elizabeth Bishop which I bought serendipitously from Amazon, I begin to read an essay on Bishop by Miriam Bellehigue, Mâitre de conference á la universitée de Paris, Sorbonne.
It is called Four Poems: humilité, intermittance et plaisir. This is the price, I say to myself, that I have to pay for careless ordering. But one of the four poems subjected to analysis is the sestina which led me back to reading Bishop a few months ago. And I relish, though do not entirely agree with it, the judgement quoted by Bellehigue, in a letter from Bishop to Marianne Moore, that the sestina is "just a sort of stunt". Bishop of course takes the form more seriously than that as the poem testifies. But oh my goodness, I have put my toe in the waters of academe and I think that I will quite soon remove it.