For every drop of truth, an ocean of speculation…
For every drop of truth, an ocean of speculationIn nineteen-eighty, while living alone in downtown Toronto, I was visited by the now-famous poet, Anna Geller. The reason for the visit (according to her) was that she stumbled upon a poem I’d written, published in a periodical that would soon go out of business, had her interest piqued and wanted to meet me. At some point during the visit, she took a photograph of her face. At another point, she gave me a poem she’d written and said it was a gift.
Three aspects of what is now commonly referred to as the Toronto Visit set it apart from the other ninety-six. The first is the date on which it occurred, making it the earliest on record. The second is the poem itself—the only one left unnumbered
