Boston- Copley Square, May-Dinner at B.U West three nights this week

Boston

I wanted to make love tonight before writing and now its after midnight, but qucikly.

We have had dinner three nights in a row this week at B.U. West, and my idea was to walk through the common, visit the swans, walk through Copley Square and then have dinner, but we had dinner first.
As strange as it would seem, we usually watch the news near B.U. when there. This afternoon, she overrode my idea and we went to dinner first. We watched CNN, which is how we spent Patriot's Day. Copley Square happenned to again be on CNN this time, so I kept the original idea. When we got there the same to anchorwomen we were watching on television were still there. Usually we visit Marsh Chapel, but this time we went to Trinity and Donna took a raincheck on a tour of the church
 (I don't really see Trinity as a museum, and I only casually mention I was in the basement a long time ago with Steven Tyler, the lead vocalist, I think the same year that I talked to  Livingston Taylor at the Garden Street Church--but I said that we could tour the church and go in and she could pray....I'm not rambling, Daltrey "waved back" to me right in front of Boston Public Library near the subway years later...but its late and she and I  been together all night.)
So Donna got to see two television journalists, which was part of her major in college and we spent the afternoon that would have been with the Swans and the swanboats walking past the statue of  John Singleton Copley. I can't find a picture of Trinity this late at night, so I quickly add a map.
The poetry of it I tried to explain was that it was about innocent people and other people that were unharmed left pictures of Jesus, so I said that in part was the theory of Jesus and arriving at a good thought or feeling, or a thought of goodness. I also tried to explain that prayer was ok because we were near there that afternoon without telling her that we we near both B.U and M.I.T and it would better to write a prose description of the latter, that she didn't see the helicopters at midnight going toward the University and that I wouldn't tell her with my voice that "a barrage of sirens" could be heard going towards M.I.T,( that she didn't really hear, although I know I did) if  I could put it into short story.

I'm tired from making love and its late.

The above link is to the below volume on the Colonial, untill I find other books...for now:

Boston:A dome of many-coloured glass- we walked by her house today.

A dome of many-coloured glass

Please use the above link for a (free) electronic copy of this volume of poetry.
Living on the North Shore, near Rockport, between Salem and Rockport, rather, I had a copy of this book, the same first edition, I believe, when I was in High School during 1978-79. Most of my volumes of poetry were Riverside Press Editions published by Houghton Mifflin after 1885 and before 1900. But I do very fondly remember reading Amy Lowell when I was sixteen, seventeen.
Today we walked by her house.  Last year Donna and I infrequently visited Mount Auburn Cemetery and included walking tours of Brattle Street. So to begin Spring we took the parallel to Brattle and found the Oliver-Gerry-Lowell House, built in 1767. Not to be coy or pretentious but I've always known it was the home of the poetess, but it is real deceiving to walk down Brattle and try to see it. This afternoon we went to the front entrance of Elmwood, but its gate was closed. We admired the house and read the plaque and agreed that it could in fact be a private residence. We wondered who would live in it and if they would have to be a famous author, Donna then offering to keep it mind that when we could later afford it that I would like it. There was a chauffeur parked outside in a minature limosene, and  I politely tried to find out who lived in the house and the driver only provided the information that the Longfellow House was open to the public, and I acknowledged my knowing that and thanked him.

When I returned to our apartment I did a little looking and found out who presently does reside in the building.
Donna has a small purple violet in her purse that I picked from their outside gate (just over the lotline? I hope) that is like one of the purple violets that I had in my backyard on the North Shore. I told her that honestly, they didn't seem that hard to replace; they're pretty, but not expensive.

Scott Lord

Patriot's Day Weekend, Boston

It is with sincere appreciation that I thank the woman that I had dinner with, hold hands with, and live with, for everything this weekend, especially for trusting my judgement, if only that. For making love and for allowing me to say in bed, "Thank you for trusting me." For having dinner with me and for allowing me to say, "Thank you for acting accordingly.", whether or not that was the exact right thing to say, and for its sentiment. Thank you for your company, Donna. ---------------------- added later today: We only just returned from having dinner. As a prayer from Donna, add to that we had our date tonight at Boston University West and skipped going to Marsh Chapel after, where she often enters the church alone, while I wait outside. We were in fact waiting to eat there yesterday at precisely when the news broke- I got her to Harvard University as quickly as I could, where we had dinner there (Harvard Square) (which is what I meant by her allowing me to bring her). It wasn't untill dinner tonight that we learned that Boston University was involved.

Gift From the Sea- a present for Donna on the way to Marsh Chapel

The radio station in Cambridge Boston keeps playing I Don't Know How to Love Him, by Helen Reddy, which is fine initself and foritself. Donna and I were at Macy's again and because most of the old book stores have left Cambridge I went to West Street and picked up a copy of Ingmar Bergman Directs, by John Simon and a replacement copy of Images by Bergman. I needed to look for books and appreciated Donna having gone with me, so while she was busy for an hour near Boston University, quickly scooped a copy of Gift From the Sea in Allston. I would have gotten it for her in Boston had I seen itWe went for breakfast and when she got home she pointed out that she had had seven pieces of French Toast, more than she had ordered, which was endearing. She visits Marsh Chapel to quietly pray alone. The stained glass is pretty with the backlight. (She just walks in and spends a couple minutes in the church in prayer and then leaves). With the nicer weather, we coupled it yesterday afternoon by going to the Square and through the Common. Apparently she was noticing thins that were always there that you don't really pay attention to and we found the "Washington Elm", an oak tree that was there in the 1600's that had been a marker for Washington's revolutionary was command and the colonial elections- but there is also a plaque on Ann Hutchinson that I had missed that seems to say that she just missed being seen as a witch, interestingly. So Gift from the Sea began our Spring, a little late after Easter due to the weather. She watched Mrs. Dalloway (Vannessa Redgrave) in bed while I typed. The film is good, in between belletristic or literate and artificially opulent and pretentious to where it is ostentatious. It happens to involve relationships and character study. The ideas are supposed to be those that challenge a generation, but the whirlpool they find themselves in is youth and affectation. The writing I like- the acting I'm hesitant, the Prime Minister showing up at a party is a little heavy given their form of social climbing, but a good script. I skimmed Gift from the Sea and came up with the analogy that seashells are (can be) inexplicably symbolic for Gravestones.