Another daily poem from The Paris Review – this time an early piece by Adrienne Rich. Recorders in Italy It was amusing on that antique grass, Seated halfway between the green and blue, To waken music gentle and extinct. Under the old walls where the daisies grew Sprinkled in cinquecento style, as though Archangels might have stepped there yesterday. But…
“The pleasure [of motoring] is seeing Nature as I could in no other way see it; my car having ‘tops’, I get Nature framed —and picture after the other delights my artistic eye.” * Henri Matisse is famous for his paintings of views through the windows of hotel rooms, studios, and houses. This is a landscape triptych through the windscreen…
Norman Pearson returned towards the end of January, after an absence in Spain and Portugal, bearing two bananas, two oranges and a pineapple. The bananas and oranges were simple, Hilda and I had one each. Apart from a few green apples and some berries in Cornwall, it was the first fruit that we had tasted for two years. It seemed…