Baltimore native, Poet Adrienne Rich, has died. I have her book, Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law: Poems 1954-1962. It was one of many things given to me by my grandmother — long before she passed. The copy she left me (a collectible) was not read but boxed away for when I …
I’ve drifted to sleep this week to Ken Burns, The Civil War. The photos gave me pause. We killed each other well, we did. On a somewhat related note, this is our National Poetry Month, and this is a brief note on a poem. Christmas Bells was a Civil War …
Sifting through a 2006 David Foster Wallace essay on Roger Federer in NYT Play, Federer as Religious Experience, I realize that this internet is good for some things. Recently finding old David Foster Wallace pieces is one of those things. I can come to no conclusion as to the benefits, …
Today is international women’s day. I can think of no more worthy a celebration than to sit down to a glass of wine (cocoa, tea, beer, cranberry juice), while reading the poetry of Edna St. Vincent Millay. My acquaintance with her is slight, by way of Witch Wife and First …
It Is March “It is March and black dust falls out of the books Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here has Left already On the avenues the colorless thread lies under Old prices When you look back there is always the past Even when it …
