Poetry emerged from a certain fevered teenage mind back in the early seventies. A certain Professor Nelson Bentley was not much impressed with it…
A certain overgrown teenager remembers Professor Bentley as a much older man than this contemporary image would suggest.
I reckon these words bubbled up again this morning, as I showered off the dust of the previous day, with the poignancy one might expect from the vantage point of one’s mid-sixties. I might speculate, however, that the lack of enthusiasm from a certain professor those many years ago may have been due, at least in part, to the typical denial one might encounter, poet or not, by one’s mid-fifties.
