Letter this morning from John in prison which I put off reading till I’d got all my business done, like paying off the visa, letting Greg know of The Promise and Quentin I’d a clipping for him on Totnes. It was erotic and funny, proposing a flat for him by the seaside, so we could alternate with Richmond, about which I don’t know what to say except he should do as he wants and train travel to and fro might prove expensive. I’ll answer it in my Epistle to John on the Road back to Damascus he wants me to write for him to read on the train, though he won’t know the title, and is over a fortnight long already because he came unexpectedly Saturday before last and the letter wasn’t yet copied.
His letter roused one set of feelings, Karen’s email another, what I call my loving feeling which is usually when my heart accords with my thinking. Her proposal to put the scanned material onto plates solves the problem with CORRESPONDENCE I couldn’t solve, that of the necessity to explain verbally what doesn’t need words when any reader can see at a glance how poems and letters were arranged on the page. By her solution Karen makes the book fit to be read, ready to be published.