Month

November 2010
Tonight was the first of what might become a regular event in my life. I organized a party for word lovers at Irvings, a local “Panera”-esque place right on College Ave. The idea was to get some word lovers together, share some favorite passages from some favorite authors, share why they are favorites, and see...
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by Jane Hirshfield November. One pear    sways on the tree past leaves, past reason. In the nursing home, my friend has fallen.    Chased, he said, from the freckled woods by angry Thoreau, Coleridge, and Beaumarchais. Delusion too, it seems, can be well read. He is courteous, well-spoken even in dread. The old fineness in him...
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