One of my teachers in high school used to admonish us that there were more important and pertinent things in poetry than the news. My newscarrier seems to agree with him and delivers my New York Times after the leisurely hour of 7:00 or 7:30 AM. This morning was typical. No paper yet. So before turning on my computer, for some unfathomable reason, I turned to the first Satire of John Donne.

It’s a dialogue between Donne’s soul and his body. In the course of the poem, Donne first resists the body’s plebian needs and impulses. Then he accompanies his body to the street where he watches and eventually succumbs to the ravishments of young men and whores. Good morning. My paper is here now.