By golly it's summer, and a young man's fancy turns to thoughts of Caped Crusaders. So I'm off to a noon matinee of the new Batman movie in a minute. First though I'd like to agree with Mark: the deeper history he finds for contingent poetry (including many English poets like David Jones, who I'm afraid I always confuse with the Monkee) does indeed suggest my fears for the fate of lyricism are groundless. Interesting to have Geoffrey Hill singled out: that takes me back to the last chapter of The Extravagant, where Bob Baker suggests that Hill and Oppen offer possible alternatives to the endless play of postmodern negativity, with their intense historico-rhetorical awareness being a major factor.

Batman calls—I'm sad in advance that they've dumped Tim Burton's score from the earlier movies. But maybe even that was too campy for the ultraserious ubermensch they've conjured up this time. I hear Gary Oldman's great.