May 2012
12 posts
“Damn it feels good to be a reader.”
– (via wwnorton)
more than 95 theses: A Tragedy of Homeric... →
millmans-shakesblog:
And now for something completely different: Macbeth acted out by the voices of “The Simpsons.”
No, really.
Rick Miller is the inspired lunatic responsible for MacHomer, a one-man show in which Miller, doing the voices of dozens of Simpsons characters, acts…
NOUVELLA: The Ultimate Guide To Writing Better... →
nouvellabooks:
DON’T PROCRASTINATE
Procrastination is an alluring siren taunting you to Google the country where Balki from Perfect Strangers was from, and to arrange sticky notes on your dog in the shape of hilarious dog shorts. A wicked temptress beckoning you to watch your children, and take showers. Well,…
April 2012
12 posts
Wulf
Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.
Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode;
þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt,
þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde,...
"Llanto por la muerte de Ignacio Sánchez Mejías"...
1. La cogida y la muerte
A las cinco de la tarde.
Eran las cinco en punto de la tarde.
Un niño trajo la blanca sábana a las cinco de la tarde.
Una espuerta de cal ya prevenida a las cinco de la tarde.
Lo demás era muerte y solo muerte a las cinco de la tarde.
El viento se llevó los algodones a las cinco de la tarde.
Y el óxido sembró cristal y níquel a las cinco de la tarde.
Ya luchan la...
"Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard" by Thomas...
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o’er the lea,
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds:
Save that...
"Mac Flecknoe" by John Dryden
A Satire upon the True-blue Protestant Poet T.S.
All human things are subject to decay,
And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey:
This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young
Was call’d to empire, and had govern’d long:
In prose and verse, was own’d, without dispute
Through all the realms of Non-sense, absolute.
This aged prince now flourishing in peace,
And blest...
"When I Consider How My Light Is Spent" by John...
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide;
”Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?”
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent
That murmur, soon...
"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden
Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.
I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,
Speaking...
"Slow, Slow, Fresh Fount" by Ben Jonson
Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears;
Yet slower, yet, O faintly, gentle springs!
List to the heavy part the music bears,
Woe weeps out her division, when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers;
Fall grief in showers;
Our beauties are not ours. O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,
Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature’s pride is...
"When We Two Parted" by George Gordon, Lord Byron
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It like like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in...
March 2012
45 posts
“The US government can listen to my phone calls and read my emails, detain me...”
– Preston Martin (via bostonreview)
"The Fish" by Elizabeth Bishop
I caught a tremendous fish
and held him beside the boat
half out of water, with my hook
fast in a corner of his mouth.
He didn’t fight.
He hadn’t fought at all.
He hung a grunting weight,
battered and venerable
and homely. Here and there
his brown skin hung in strips
like ancient wallpaper,
and its pattern of darker brown
was like wallpaper:
shapes like full-blown roses...
Recipe: Molasses Cookies
When we lived in Boston, Dancing Deer Molasses Cookies (from Suzanne Lombarti’s Dancing Deer Baking Co., where we never went but they were available at Stop & Shop) were a staple of our diet. I do not know if they’re still available, but even if they were I coudln’t buy them anymore because I don’t live in Boston and I’m too cheap to ship across the country. The...
"My Husband Discovers Poetry" by Diane Lockward
Because my husband would not read my poems,
I wrote one about how I did not love him.
In lines of strict iambic pentameter,
I detailed his coldness, his lack of humor.
It felt good to do this.
Stanza by stanza, I grew bolder and bolder.
Towards the end, struck by inspiration,
I wrote about my old boyfriend,
a boy I had not loved enough to marry
but who could make me laugh and laugh.
I...
"Whoso List to Hunt" by Sir Thomas Wyatt
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, alas, I may no more:
The vain travail hath wearied me so sore.
I am of them that farthest cometh behind;
Yet may I by no means my wearied mind
Draw from the deer: but as she flees afore,
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her to hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I,...
Recipe: Cornmeal Pancakes
It’s Saturday, and you should make some pancakes. Everyone likes pancakes, especially me. I like these ones with cornmeal in them for the hint of toothsome texture they add to the softness of the buttermilk batter. This recipe I got from my friend Brenda Janke.
Ingredients
1 1/2 cup cornmeal
1 1/2 cup flour
1/4 cup sugar
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon soda
1 teaspoon...
“To his many ways endeared friend Master Robert Keysar
Sir, this unfortunate...”
– Walter Burre (the W. B. above who wrote the letter) was the publisher of Francis Beaumont’s fabulous play The Knight of the Burning Pestle in 1613. The play was a flop in performance, which Burre acknowledges, but he saw value in the play and wrote the letter above in support of it.
May we...
“Books are attention machines. In web metrics, we look at average length of visit...”
– - How We Will Read: Richard Nash (via ayjay)
"What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, And Where, and...
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
Under my head till morning; but the rain
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain
For unremembered lads that not again
Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what...
“We have already had occasion to observe that the word here rendered...”
– Jon Levenson. Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son, Yale UP. 1998. p 208.
