So I'm watching Scorsese's "Bob Dylan: No Direction Home," and Alan Ginsberg comes on the screen, which took me back a bit, not expecting to see him speaking ever again, and he talks about the first time he heard Bob Dylan. Ginsberg is talking in that sensitive, emphatic voice of his, saying that when he heard "Hard Rain," he wept. He wept. He wept because he knew right then that the torch had been passed from the Beats to a new generation. And I started to cry, overcome with the thought that wrapped up in Ginsberg was a movement that changed poetry as the world knew it, and here he could recount for us the very moment when he realized that the new voice had come. I was overwhelmed with the power of that transition, and I was saddened by the feeling that we are missing this today, a generation that reflects society through brilliant young wordsmiths. In an age that screams for poster bearers and criers I don't know where to turn.

Very unrelated, I found this today, which might be a good resource: http://articles.poetryx.com/

My zen moment of the day was working to wash dishes and JUST wash dishes, letting the thoughts of 'what if I had received different news' and 'i have not been working on my novel' flow through and out like the water from the faucet. Tough practice as things go right now.