Ports Are Necessities, Like Postage Stamps Or

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.

It Was Cold And Windy, Scarcely The Day To Take A Walk On That Long Beach Everything Was Withdrawn As Far As Possible, Indrawn: The Tide Far Out, The Ocean Shrunken, Seabirds In Ones Or Twos. The Rackety, Icy, Offshore Wind Numbed Our Faces On One Side; Disrupted The Formation Of A Lone Flight Of Canada Geese; And Blew Back The Low, Inaudible Rollers In Upright, Steely Mist.

Oh, Must We Dream Our Dreams And Have Them, Too?

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

But He Sleeps On The Top Of His Mast With His Eyes Closed Tight. The Gull Inquired Into His Dream, Which Was, "i Must Not Fall. The Spangled Sea Below Wants Me To Fall. It Is Hard As Diamonds; It Wants To Destroy Us All.