Tag Archives: poetry

Poets and Old Age: Emily Dickinson

One of our best poets about growing older and about death was Emily Dickinson. And the best known of all her poems about the subject was this one. The Chariot Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped

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Some more poetry

William Butler Yeats wrote a good bit of poetry about growing older—I’m not sure why. But this is one of his best known. That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees

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The Poet and Old Age

Old age is frequently a subject that inspires mirth, and of course much of it comes at the expense of us, the old people—of which I am one! But none of these intend to ridicule, so enjoy, whatever age you

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Poets grown old: T.S. Eliot

I’m going to New York City for a week. I could just leave the blog, stopped short, with no new words or thoughts, like a spring that ends before it starts. (An image that’s appropriate when you live in Vermont

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Are we losing our ability to memorize? And if we are, does it matter?

Years ago, when I taught, I resisted the requirement that I give tests that required memorization. I remembered the many nights as a student that I memorized material, aced the test the next morning, and promptly forgot everything. I wanted

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Odd thoughts from a relativist

I have to keep reminding myself that the world looks very different to different people—that we each bring who we are to what we observe, hear, taste, smell. We recreate the world in our own image (so to speak). It’s

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W.H. Auden and the God Who Suffers

I happened to run across a review of Auden and Christianity by Arthur Kirsch in an old New York Review of Books the other day, and while I didn’t read it word for word, I read enough to be intrigued.

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People quitting art

I knew a very fine classical guitar player once – not well – who told me he was quitting because he’d learned that he’d never be the world’s best guitarist. So sad, I thought. What about the music? What about

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What is poetry?

What is poetry? And what can we learn from it when we can’t write it but wish we could?

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Memory grows older: Wallace Stevens

The mother dies, the memory of the mother is all that’s left and then it begins to die. Memory grows older.

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