Reading my NY Poets anthology (Padgett/Shapiro, 1969) now. I think I still like some of what I liked back then, and dislike all of what I disliked. Is this (not) a good sign? Still vastly enjoy the silliness, the light touch. Like John Perreault especially. John Giorno adds a different note (serious). Can smell the Ashbery & O'Hara (over-)imitators in less than a nanosecond.

Ashbery, actually, I find sort of depressing, despite his skill. There's a fatalism, a pessimism, a cynicism about saying anything... in the approach to his recalcitrant lyric-dreaminess he has to spin so many cobwebs... of course, he was the one I liked the most... remember reading the "Ella Wheeler Wilcox" fandango aloud to people while laughing hysterically...

This was one of the anthologies I read, but there was a big red paperback - an earlier anthology, that was my real introduction to this stuff. Will have to try to identify it.