POETS Day! Some Sonnets with 14 Lines
The “little song” can be corrupted only so much.” So, a bit of liberty here or there, but don’t push it.
The “little song” can be corrupted only so much.” So, a bit of liberty here or there, but don’t push it.
As best I can tell, this is the entirety of an unfinished poem written between 1869 and 1886 by Dante Gabriel Rossetti.
I can’t imagine anything more irrational than, when assured of eternal damnation, acting to immanentize that fate.
It’s a great word so I wouldn’t blame her, but more time was spent on transcendental chapters of that text than any of the novels on the syllabus.
He thinks Browning has a point to make but is too hard to understand, is a possibility. He could be dense. The problem is that Browning wasn’t just a shower.
Philip Larkin is brilliantly acerbic. He cuts cruelly because he cuts directly when mockingly describing habits and rituals of life he finds silly or undignified.
Chesterton got roped into a production of Old King Cole and it roused his muse.
Matthew Arnold’s literary personage stands in contrast to his father’s upright example. And then it doesn’t. And then it does again.
What’s an otherwise famous dead English poet named Jonson to do when the Doctor hogs the name in such an un-Christian manner?
I think Kingsley Amis is also showing us something sh**** and then showing us something he thinks is sh****ier. He’s making a point.
What I was reading before the encounter is on the back burner for a bit, but that’s okay. I like my stints in the Borges trap.
When you read about Langston Hughes, you see adjectives like “melodic” and “rhythmic” tossed around. “Vibrant.” They’re apt.
Christopher Marlowe’s translation of Ovid’s “The Amores” is fantastic. I think you have to say that, or no one will take you seriously.
This is a recipe for Springtime. It’s lamb shank in a white wine vegetable braise; rustic osso buco. I’m a sucker for lamb shank
It was during Paul Laurence Dunbar’s time as an elevator operator that he put together “Oak and Ivy.” A lot of his sales went to regular elevator customers.
This post is about making meatballs, and how grandmothers are duplicitous, self-interested, conniving, and not to be trusted.
William Butler Yeats, R.S. Gwynn, Ellen Kay, and other selections from ninth grade along with an admonition to not get on my lawn
This week’s poem is “The Rape of the Lock” nods at Homer, Virgil, and Milton. Like ‘American Vandal,’ it’s a true crime send up.
This is not the comfort food steam table stuff. This Salisbury steak is cleaner and satisfies a different hankering.
This is what you do, Ted. You will never be loved. If Hughes was cruel, he was thorough.