Up 7:30. At E77 an hr. or so later, finished Robins. The longer poem “Circus” (that I read last night) gives a possibly deceptive impression of larger, sustained organization through a reference-shifting placeholder, “Q.” Otherwise – verse. State names; imaginings from the warmth of the domestic bed. I’m being unfair, but a lot of it slid off me, and I’m not actually sure the couplet thing plays that well w/ his sense of syntax. Posted a bunch of these entries, caught up on daybook, Shazam’ed what turns out to be Postmodern Jukebox’s version of “This Must Be The Place,” and an A Camp song I liked quite a bit. (I may have that CD.) Wrote to the rest of the band w/ a link to the November rough mixes. Read a few pages each of Lynn Crawford, Fortification Resort and Henri Poincaré, Science and Method (just Bertrand Russell’s foreword and the author’s introduction.)

Took train to Lincoln Center to see 2 in their melodrama series w/ Bree, Only Yesterday (John M. Stahl 1933; loosely based on the same novel as Letter From an Unknown Woman) and Back Street (Robert Stevenson 1941), both w/ Margaret Sullavan (the first was her film debut). Could say a lot, and a good conversation about them w/ Bree but I’ll leave it at: If you sleep with someone who’s leaving town, make sure you don’t miss their boat the next morning. Also, Frank McHugh is one of my favorite actors. In between, we went over to the library so Bree could see the photos from 1950s productions of Balanchine’s Nutcracker, because she’s so devoted to Bob Baker’s puppet version in L.A. Had just enough time to check out Blue Blood, a biography of the arts patron/occasional composer/crazy rich lady Rebekah Harkness (explaining why would take too long; file under Subjects for Further Exploration).

Got a bite at Spicy Tibet on the way home. Nothing of note in the evening. Read to about p. 30 of Poincare before bed: “Who can tell that what we believe to be simple does not conceal the most alarming complexity?” (18). Lights out 11:30.