Read more about Autumn in America>
Every year we have been
witness to it: how the
into a rich mash, in order that
it may resume.
who would cry out
to the petals on the ground
knowing as we must,
how the vivacity of what was is married
'Tis no good pretending that this Midwinter is a merry one.
by John Keats
Read more about Drear December Indeed>
IN a drear-nighted December
Too happy happy tree
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:
The north cannot undo them
With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.
’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Read more about November 8th>
“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!”
I can almost picture Thomas Hardy, working late one summer night, the window open to cool the heat from an August day when, perhaps, it had been a bit too hot to work. And I was delighted to find that a dumbledore is not only a wizard, but also a bumblebee.
While quoting last week from a novel by Toni Morrison, I was reminded of this poem. An old favorite of mine. You must forgive - even, I think, accept - the occasional use of language we don't like to use today. Benet died in the year that I was born, not quite a month later actually. No wonder I feel a connection. Read more about American Names
I didn't know my friend Hall's father, Jim Lovell, as well as I might have liked to. I know that he liked birding - we went together, he and I and Hall and his wife, Hall's mother, she in a wheelchair. She counted off more birds than any one of us. The too few times I visited Pete and Hall on my own, Jim would take us all out to dinner. He was a nice man. He was a learned man. He was an English professor, in his working days, and we might have had some delightful conversations had time and chance allowed. But not too long ago, time ran out. Read more about For Jim Lovell
with an invocation to Venus, whom Lucretius addresses as an allegorical representation of the reproductive power. (from the Wiki)
Spring is nearly here and it seems that Lucretius, much like myself, is sometimes in it for the metaphor: Read more about The Nature of Things