All The Untidyactivity Continues, Awful But Cheerful.

I Caught A Tremendous Fish And Held Him Beside The Boat Half Out Of Water, With My Hook Fast In A Corner Of His Mouth. He Didn't Fight. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I Stared And Stared And Victory Filled Up The Little Rented Boat From The Pool Of Bilge Where Oil Had Spread A Rainbow Around The Rusted Engine To The Bailer Rusted Orange, The Sun-cracked Thwarts The Oarlocks On Their Strings, The Gunnels-until Everything Was Rainbow, Rainbow, Rainbow! And I Let The Fish Go.

Bishop On "at The Fishhouses"at The Last Minute, After I'd Had A Chance To Do A Little Research In Cape Breton, I Foundi'd Said Codfish Scales Once When It Should Have Been Herring Scales. I Hope Theycorrected It All Right.2quite A Few Lines Of "at The Fishhouses" Came To Me In A Dream, And The Scene- Whichwas Real Enough, I'd Recently Been There-but The Old Man And The Conversation, Etc.,were All In A Later Dream

What One Seems To Want In Art, In Experiencing It, Is The Same Thing That Is Necessary For Its Creation, A Self-forgetful, Perfectly Useless Concentration.

Time To Plant Tears, Says The Almanac. The Grandmother Sings To The Marvelous Stove And The Child Draws Another Inscrutable House.

Ports Are Necessities, Like Postage Stamps Or Soap, But They Seldom Seem To Care What Impressions They Make.