NOTE:
SAFARI seems to no longer work
for comments...use another browser?

Saturday, February 09, 2013

Snowy morning with books

Nemo

Mike and I rolled from bed at five to shovel snow and send your youngest off to Syracuse for a wrestling tournament, as he wanted to see the seniors wrestle in sectionals. My brain is full of light, fluffy stars this morning . . .

Reading Yeats's Ghosts: a few quotes from Yeats I did not recall

I began to wonder whether I have and always have had some nervous weakness inherited from my mother. . . . I escaped from it all as a writer through my sense of style. Is not one's art made out of a struggle in one's soul?

She read no books, but she and the fisherman's wife would tell each other stories that Homer might have told, pleased with any moment of sudden intensity and laughing together over any point of satire.

I have a great sense of abundance--more than I have had for years. George's ghosts have educated me.

Reading Ink and Spirit

There is something about the best poetry that is above time. So when we talk about literature, and put it beside the word 'millennium', there is a danger that we will forget literature's great gift of getting to the heart of things outside the dimension of linear time. In this, religion and literature share a room; poetry, with its sharpened point of word-choice, and polished crystal of rhythm, does it very powerfully. --David Scott, "Religion, Literature, and the Third Millennium"

5 comments:

  1. Please. no. Let us not give in to the Weather Channel's lame "name that winter storm"

    ReplyDelete
  2. You always make my day with what you are thinking and reading.

    ReplyDelete
  3. zephyr,

    I don't watch TV--wondered where the "Nemo" came from! I prefer Captain Nemo and Little Nemo...

    ReplyDelete
  4. Robbi,

    I do hope I'm not pulling the wool over your eyes. XD Thanks.

    ReplyDelete

Alas, I must once again remind large numbers of Chinese salesmen and other worldwide peddlers that if they fall into the Gulf of Spam, they will be eaten by roaming Balrogs. The rest of you, lovers of grace, poetry, and horses (nod to Yeats--you do not have to be fond of horses), feel free to leave fascinating missives and curious arguments.