To Do List

“The Turn of the Screw,” Henry James“The Illiad,” Homer – again“The Magic Mountain,” Thomas Mann“The Odyssey,” Homer – again And onto revisiting Virgil’s Aenied and Ovid’s Metamorphoses… Onwards. (Backwards?)

To Do List

“The Turn of the Screw,” Henry James“The Illiad,” Homer – again“The Magic Mountain,” Thomas Mann“The Odyssey,” Homer – again And onto revisiting Virgil’s Aenied and Ovid’s Metamorphoses… Onwards. (Backwards?)

Collage (Leaving Hanover)

THIS SONG, by Max Richter.“On the Nature of Daylight.” + “Then round about that place there grew up a wall of thorns,and the thorns held fast together like hands.”-The Brothers Grim, Sleeping Beauty + OFTEN I AM PERMITTED TO RETURN TO A MEADOWby Robert Duncan as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,that is not mine, but is a made place,that is mine, it is so near to the heart,an eternal pasture folded in all thoughtso that there is a hall thereinthat is a made place, created by lightwherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.Wherefrom fall all architectures…

Collage (Leaving Hanover)

THIS SONG, by Max Richter.“On the Nature of Daylight.” + “Then round about that place there grew up a wall of thorns,and the thorns held fast together like hands.”-The Brothers Grim, Sleeping Beauty + OFTEN I AM PERMITTED TO RETURN TO A MEADOWby Robert Duncan as if it were a scene made-up by the mind,that is not mine, but is a made place,that is mine, it is so near to the heart,an eternal pasture folded in all thoughtso that there is a hall thereinthat is a made place, created by lightwherefrom the shadows that are forms fall.Wherefrom fall all architectures…

Dante

Finally finished Paradiso. It’s hard not to be moved by the sheer ambition of this poem, not to be heartbroken at the thought of the human who wrote it. Here are my favorite lines from the final canto. Thus the sun unseals an imprint in the snow.Thus the Sybyl’s oracles, on weightless leaves,lifted by the wind, were swept away. O Light exalted beyond mortal thought,grant that in memory I see againbut one small part of how you then appeared and grant my tongue sufficient powerthat it may leave behind a single sparkof glory for the people yet to come… In…

Dante

Finally finished Paradiso. It’s hard not to be moved by the sheer ambition of this poem, not to be heartbroken at the thought of the human who wrote it. Here are my favorite lines from the final canto. Thus the sun unseals an imprint in the snow.Thus the Sybyl’s oracles, on weightless leaves,lifted by the wind, were swept away. O Light exalted beyond mortal thought,grant that in memory I see againbut one small part of how you then appeared and grant my tongue sufficient powerthat it may leave behind a single sparkof glory for the people yet to come… In…

James Longenbach

My favorite poem by James Longenbach, originally published in the New Yorker in 2008, and found in his new collection The Iron Key: On Beauty A sword held high above a goat’s head,Then the goat with no head—Calcutta, where my father was stationed in the war.Tiny black-and-white snapshots in a row. By the time his ship sighted AustraliaOne soldier had been burned in a vat of oatmeal,Another swept from the deck and drowned. What happened next was like a movie.Soldiers clambering through knee-high water to a beachWhere villagers have set up card tables,Platters of food—what foodThe camera doesn’t care about…

James Longenbach

My favorite poem by James Longenbach, originally published in the New Yorker in 2008, and found in his new collection The Iron Key: On Beauty A sword held high above a goat’s head,Then the goat with no head—Calcutta, where my father was stationed in the war.Tiny black-and-white snapshots in a row. By the time his ship sighted AustraliaOne soldier had been burned in a vat of oatmeal,Another swept from the deck and drowned. What happened next was like a movie.Soldiers clambering through knee-high water to a beachWhere villagers have set up card tables,Platters of food—what foodThe camera doesn’t care about…

Christian Wiman

Two breathtaking poems by Christian Wiman, editor of Poetry. DoneMen living in the dark regardof their own facesin the night’s black panespause finally as if for air, and standing thereat desks or kitchen drainsare so ghosted by those spacesthey look into and are that something in them goes hard.They are their choices.They are what remains.And they stare and stare until a man who had their eyes, their hair,who answered to their namesand spoke with their voices,falls from them like a star. – from Hard Night, 2005 One Time 1. Canyon de Chelly, Arizona Then I looked down into the lovely…

Christian Wiman

Two breathtaking poems by Christian Wiman, editor of Poetry. DoneMen living in the dark regardof their own facesin the night’s black panespause finally as if for air, and standing thereat desks or kitchen drainsare so ghosted by those spacesthey look into and are that something in them goes hard.They are their choices.They are what remains.And they stare and stare until a man who had their eyes, their hair,who answered to their namesand spoke with their voices,falls from them like a star. – from Hard Night, 2005 One Time 1. Canyon de Chelly, Arizona Then I looked down into the lovely…