I see one bumblebee heading over the fence and into the doorway of this shrunken Old Field’s Baptist Church. The trees are tagged with signs of modern advancement: KEEP OUT, BAD DOGS, as out of the big house comes a white-haired man saying he’s Harry Smith, maker of this miniature, and . . . . Continue Reading »
I have walked now for days on end with my eyes closed, thoughts centered at the point of my nose as I imagine a cat’s to be, drawn wink by sleepy wink forward from the brain until the inner resources are pruned purple into a pure moment of insignificance. I walk this way because I see better with . . . . Continue Reading »
(chanted to no tune in particular) BEFORE: by Julia Ward Howe Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. He has loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on! Glory, glory, . . . . Continue Reading »
The Public Square Like many American Jews, Martin Peretz, editor in chief of The New Republic, had until now a deep inhibition about ever, ever visiting Germany. But he took the plunge and returns with some instructive observations about that country, and ours. Germans, he suggests, have almost gone . . . . Continue Reading »
Exiles from Eden: Religion and the Academic Vocation in America by mark r. schwehn oxford university press, 143 pages, $19.95 I am a teacher of undergraduates at a major research university. I am also the mother of two recent college graduates. From both inside and out, I am keenly aware of the . . . . Continue Reading »
Dear Nephew, my plutonic sprout, I am pleased as punch (spiked with Demon Rum, of course) at your recent success in instilling in young Missy Smith the conviction that she is “fat” and must starve herself into conformity with the popular image of an attractive young woman as looking exactly like . . . . Continue Reading »
The only thing deader than dead politics must surely be dead political science. It is thus remarkable to find that after several decades, these essays by Bertrand de Jouvenel (1903–1987) remain surprisingly lively. This is ironic. For Jouvenel, writing during the so-called behavioralist . . . . Continue Reading »
In the beginning there was no beginning; no no; no was; no in; no there— nothing that was, was, and all that wasn’t, inconceivable, and there was no one and nothing, and anything, to care: until such time—in due course—creation had begun So Mozart ages . . . . Continue Reading »
I invoke the air in rage, am like a cancer in a cage— only myself to burn, to burn; mere glass and sun on an empty stage. Pick and spade, curse and yearn— agatefulls are struck and turned, one by one and year by year, until the hollow has been earned. Now the . . . . Continue Reading »
Five years ago, well before the fall of the Berlin Wall, the National Geographic Society had anticipated the reunification of Germany, and thus when the happy day came, it was ready for the onslaught of map revision that was shortly to follow. Prepared as the Society was then, however, it must now, . . . . Continue Reading »
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