Tag Archives: Wallace Stevens

A jug, a man and the circling world

A few months ago I attended a memorial for a friend—a man, a husband, a father, a community activist and a Quaker. I hadn’t known Nash as well as many of the 150 or so people there. We’d both worked

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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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