It’s not every month that a poet—let alone a simple versifier like yours truly—gets to see his work in print in not one, but two major journals of thought. Yet this is the precisely the catbird seat on which I have alighted. The May 29 issue of The New York Review of Books carries “The […]
“The Dybbuk” and “The Whole Shebang”
Je croyais l’arbre de Judée mort mais il se réveille… Le liquidambar affiche son vert tendre de printemps…Je l ai planté il y a dix ans ( il faisait deux mètres)…Il en fait plus de huit… Et le rosier grimpant Louis de Funès est bien prometteur… Le thym se multiplie partout… Bref..On dirait le sud […]
Impressions jardin II
I’ve let many weeks slip by without posting here, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been idle. What I wouldn’t give for a stretch of idleness just about now… Teaching at the University of Tulsa has been wonderfully rewarding and inspiring, but between preparations for class, childcare, and an occasional conference—even an energizing one, like the […]
Kazimiera Iłłakowiczówna and the Light of Childhood
Born April 10, 1778, William Hazlitt transformed English literature through essays that fused intellect and emotion. His vivid style, critical insight, and personal voice helped define the Romantic era and shaped modern literary thought, influencing generations of writers and deepening the way we reflect on art, politics, and human nature.
Birth of William Hazlitt – Voice of the Romantic Essay
With mid-April on the horizon, we’re heading towards another of Karen and Simon’s highly enjoyable ‘Club’ weeks – focusing, in this instance, on 1952. Starting Monday 21st April, the #1952Club is a week-long celebration of books first published that year. These reading events are always great fun, with various tweets, reviews and recommendations flying around […]
The forthcoming #1952 Club – some books I highly recommend!
Maison et jardin vivent encore je le sais, mais qu’importe si la magie les a quittés, si le secret est perdu qui ouvrait, -lumière, odeurs, harmonie d’arbres et d’oiseaux, murmure de voix humaines qu’a déjà suspendu la mort, – un monde dont j’ai cessé d’être digne ?. Il arrivait qu’un livre, ouvert sur le dallage […]
Où sont les enfants?
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