Phil, stoned mountain cultivator, drinking stiff, poet by habit and lover by heart: I write this letter 1 A.M. after having dissipated all Sat— slept in, went to the beach, played chess with Layeh watching Carol Burnett Show. Read a little Jacob’s Room (by Virginia Woolf), but didn’t write my paper, didn’t plan class for next week, didn’t read Dryden. Just ate well and Sat around. Now it’s Sun, so now I write. Poems I have written under the influence of wine but wine poems I don’t know. As you know wine is influential but has no real authority. How’s that? You can use it if it ain’t contraire to your theme if you want. Call it “Virgin Spring.” No— call it “From the editor.” Would you believe “Study in Pink & Blue”? “South African Kinship”? “Down on the docks”? “Why Did the Chicken”? How about “This is just to say”? (Wm. C. Williams)? Yes, I like that. Has a nice ring to it. I swear this is unpremeditated. A Poem for the Gewürztraminer A love of gobs on the wine (pronounced “vine”) of Gewürztraminer Gee how I’d love to mash you, my little German beauties, and rack you, and drain you into bottles, in my search for the final secret. —Up. It’s 9:42 A.M., Sun.. Do you get KFAT in Lodi? Near 94 FM: soft Country and Assorted good music. Sonoma Gewürztraminer Gothic exubers, incandescent hills, Twelfth reincarn of First Reich stock; Stoned trolls encrusted with jewels of juicy Gewürztraminer. Grapes Cut em back to make em grow Crush em up to make em flow Enough. Thanks for your offer. If I get up there, when I get up there, I’ll buy a glass. love, Tom Sharp
30 January 1977