Words in air
Even if we didn’t have Elizabeth Bishop’s and Robert Lowell’s letters to each other, we would have their conversations in poetry. See previously.
Even if we didn’t have Elizabeth Bishop’s and Robert Lowell’s letters to each other, we would have their conversations in poetry. See previously.
Herman Melville once declared his Redburn: His First Voyage “trash,” but the novel’s digressions prefigure Moby-Dick, says Ron Silliman.
I doubt I would have been so ticked off at Garrison Keillor’s death-of-publishing op-ed this morning if a friend hadn’t called yesterday to tell me how insulted she was by similar comments he made at a recent Authors Guild gala, but seeing newspapers endorse this sort of twaddle does get tiresome. Judy Berman invited me to elaborate on my Twitter . . .
In what he later called “a rather clever undergraduate essay,” Kingsley Amis argues that Keats was not a great poet, just “an often delightful, if often awkward, decorative [one].”
Organization, as you may recall, is not a virtue I possess in excess. And it depresses me when plans are drawn up and fail. So I hadn’t attempted to outline my novel draft in a couple of years. Now that the project has changed so fundamentally, though, I decided to spend a couple hours this weekend mapping out the story . . .