I was looking for Reynolds Price‘s email address at Duke to ask him for any written instructions or rubrics he gives his students for their gospels, and I found this.
What a loss.
On slow reading
- Thirteen views on slow reading by Dave Bonta, Teju Cole, John Miedema, Robert Ray, Satya Robyn, & Peter Stephens:
- The art of reading
- Bedtime poetry
- Conversations with poems
- Cross-referencing
- East Coker on the rebind
- How to mark a book
- How to read slowly
- The leisure of bygone readings
- Our sardonic Lord
- Poetry & sacred reading
- Reading like writers
- Slow reader
- Slow reading
Marginal
- On Liberty and inequality. G.K. Chesterton would have been my kind of Union man had he been an American. While he faulted the English Socialists for denying the poor their humanity in the name of an ideal, he faulted the Tories for dong the same in the name of tradition's accident. Chesterton’s Edmund Burke was Lincoln’s John C. Calhoun – an ... - More: # - 11/21/2013
- On Prose to the Gettysburg Address's poetry. "A writer’s new works are, more than most anything, new attempts to frame or answer old, nagging questions." I wrote that in the context of Lincoln's recurrent themes. Walter Lippmann, I just discovered, wrote the same thing in the context of philosophic writing: Philosophies . . . are the very soul of the philosopher ... - More: # - 10/27/2013
- On "The basis of liberal-conservative rapprochement." In his 1955 book The Public Philosophy, Walter Lippmann points out how progressives need conservatism: . . . no one generation of men are capable of creating for themselves the arts and sciences of a high civilization. Men can know more than their ancestors did if they start with a knowledge of what their ancestors ... - More: # - 09/08/2013
Recent jags
Passages
I am still knitting, though trying to read a bit more as well, and I've not had so much heart of late for posting about such fluffy stuff I suppose. But it's still [Read more...]
What’s sure and cold reaps excess fallen before its blade. What’s shorn gives off the scent of green— cut grass, tumble of weeds, sharp tang of dandelion leaves. What lies in [Read more...]
Among my workmen and then to the office, and after that dined with Sir W. Batten, and then home, where Sir W. Warren came, and I took him and Mr. Shepley and Moore with me to [Read more...]
BRIDGE OF FLOWERS, EASTER MORNING Because we had to hurry to go through the river and our bread fell off our backs. I was an Israelite. I love the daffodils best. They' [Read more...]
This entry is part 76 of 76 in the series Toward Noon: 3versesA chickadee in the garden fills its beak with thistle down and flies off to its nest. I take a closer look: that’ [Read more...]
Six years ago, I attended Easter services in Williamstown for the first time. Our friend Bernard was here that year and needed a place to worship. He was far away from his hom [Read more...]
It’s Easter Sunday, and it's raining, and my thoughts turn to the Camino. I haven’t consciously thought about the Camino for a long time, but today my thoughts are full o [Read more...]
Up with my workmen and then about 9 o’clock took horse with both the Sir Williams for Walthamstow, and there we found my Lady and her daughters all. And a pleasant day it was, [Read more...]
is a book of lack, of wanting, of disruption; its index made of trails and backroads cutting through fields of cane and red earth to shantytowns whose roofs have the glint of [Read more...]
INCISED MOONOnce I would have woken at threeto see our planet's shadow carving a black crescent.To watch her face disappearonly to return, round and redas though hiding a [Read more...]
Three bears talk about someone over three bowls, three chairs, and three beds, and the perpetrator herself shows up in the last bed. This dramatic irony, along with the rule o [Read more...]
This entry is part 75 of 75 in the series Toward Noon: 3versesAn oak tree toppled in a high wind 20 years ago has rotted almost to nothing, leaving just the twist of roots— sp [Read more...]
Admiral Horthy enters Budapest on a white horse, November 1919Márai laments lost opportunities after the failure of the 1919 Bolshevik revolution. The country not only missed [Read more...]
of spring is a thaw or the river’s swell— At the beginning of dusk is mauve or teal. At the beginning of love, a tendril or tear. —Luisa A. Igloria 04 18 2014In response to Vi [Read more...]
By land and saw the arches, which are now almost done and are very fine, and I saw the picture of the ships and other things this morning, set up before the East Indy House, w [Read more...]
I confess: I’d begun to doubt the 100,000 Marathon Daffodils volunteers planted between Hopkinton and Boston as an emblem of hope and renewal after last year’s bombings would [Read more...]
I'm about to begin teaching a weekly Omer spiritual study group at my synagogue, and as a result, I've been collecting materials to share. We'll be working some [Read more...]
Bee fly.Early this morning I heard a knocking noise coming from the kitchen. I ignored it, thinking it was the central heating pipes. But when I finally went to investigate I [Read more...]
ATTRIBUTES God, do You ever grow weary, snap at Your children, say things you regret once they leave Your mouth and we shrink away? Slice the words off before they're s [Read more...]
This entry is part 74 of 74 in the series Toward Noon: 3versesThe sun slips over the gray pelt of a vole zipping from one hole to another and catches on a distant gleam of fro [Read more...]
Blogroll
- (thus)
- 3rd House Journal
- Autobiology
- Blaugustine's Other Blog
- Book Bench
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- Cassandra Pages
- Couch Trip
- Coyote Mercury
- Crack Scull Bob
- Creature of the Shade
- Dick Jones' Patteran Pages
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- Every Day and Every Night
- Feathers of Hope
- Finding Time for God
- Fragments from Floyd
- George Szirtes
- Gwynt
- Heraclitean Fire
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- Human Transit
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- Mole
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- Physika
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- Top Hat
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- Velveteen Rabbi
- Very Like a Whale
- Via Negativa
- Voice Alpha
- WMC Is Now Here
Oh, that is sad. Reading it though I saw, to my surprise and pleasure that Dick Brodhead is now president of Duke. I knew him at Yale: he was one of those disguised bodhisattvas. Everyone who encountered him felt heeded. It’s nice to know someone like that can make it to such a position.