My medieval literature professor -- who was both absolutely exceptional & absolutely vicious, not even trying to hide her contempt for subpar students -- threw a student out of her class once with the words: "I cannot let you taint Villon with that provincial accent." I'm guessing her approach wouldn't go down well at Berkeley of 2026.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff's talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed...
Tomas Tranströmer, tr. Robin Fulton ~
I wrote so meagerly to you. But what I couldn't write
swelled and swelled like an old-fashioned airship
and drifted away at last through the night sky.
James Merrill. “No dread. No bitterness. The end beginning. Today’s / Dusk room aglow / For the last time / With candlelight. / Faces love lit, / Gifts underfoot. / Still to be so poised, so / Receptive. Still to recall, to praise.”
The Letters of Seamus Heaney. (I dream we will bring paper letter writing back from the brink) If anyone has an essay about the nature of the centuries of minds shaped by correspondence set down on paper vs those born into the technological age — I’d love to read it.
Lord help me, I have entered the sonnet discourse—but for a good cause. My latest for @TheTLS is a review of Paul Muldoon’s wide-ranging SCANTY PLOT OF GROUND: https://t.co/KDpOXiFxNa