Early in the morning deer appearout of the dark, a flicker of eyes.They allow me to get quite near, then vanish noiseless in the brush—like stars over a busy city—like lines that come in midnight’s hush and are gone at dawn—like a whirlwind that scoopsup trash from a parking lot, . . . . Continue Reading »
The saints are quick to give their hearts awayAt every gentle prodding from above,And bear the scars that visit mortal clayThat dares to venture near God’s burning love.So grateful for the price that has been paidTo change mankind’s infernal destiny,They joyously accept the holy tradeOf . . . . Continue Reading »
Mid-September, dear woman, and the monarchlights once more upon the purple panopliedbutterfly bush in the now-decaying garden,as it has for these past thirty Septembers. And once again, like the softest breeze, I feelyour gentle presence and lift my open handtoward it, toward you, hoping for a sign, . . . . Continue Reading »
A Saturday night, late February. Eileen and mein the back of the cramped car, Julie driving,Bruce riding shotgun. We’re heading downto Amherst for an evening of Borscht Belt vaudeville,Fifty Shades of Oy Vey at the local Jewish temple,and Julie’s taking all the back roads, so that, thoughI’ve . . . . Continue Reading »
Jane Tyson Clement's life and poetry are given the attention they deserve in Veery Huleatt's biography. Continue Reading »
In this episode, Matthew Mehan discusses children’s literature, the power of poetry, and his recent book, Mr. Mehan’s Mildly Amusing Mythical Mammals. Continue Reading »
If you’re going to take on a monument and judge it false, you need to get your facts straight. Continue Reading »
Did heaven ever seem so far?Remember—we are as You were,but all our lives, from birth to death—Gethsemane in every breath. —Michael R. . . . . Continue Reading »
Chaucer: A European Life marion turner princeton, 624 pages, $39.95 Chaucer has not lacked for biographies, but Marion Turner’s is of a rare ambition and competence. Its method is geographical, even topographical, approaching the poet’s life by way of the extraordinarily disparate places . . . . Continue Reading »
It is warmth which floods you,the plane tree, peeling, new, the bud, the tingled lips,bark smooth to fingertips your own trunk pulsing throughwith love. With coffee, too. —Alison . . . . Continue Reading »
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