Monthly Archives: January 2020

Poem of the Week

斧入れて 香おどろくや 冬木立

Ono ire te

Ko odoroku ya

Fuyu kodachi

Cutting into with the ax,

I was surprised at the scent of.

The winter trees.

By Yosa Buson

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Posted by on January 24, 2020 in fiction, poetry


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New Online Book Club

PragerU has a new book club with Michael Knowles. Each month he and a guest will discuss a great book. This month Michael and Dennis Pragerdiscuss Viktor Franks’s Man’s Search for Meaning. 

I enjoyed their in-depth conversation and they’ve convinced me to move this book up in my reading queue. I’m curious about what book Michael will discuss next and who he’ll have on. I do wish they’d tell us the next book so I could read it before the February video comes out.

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Posted by on January 22, 2020 in classic


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Clever, but sterile, Tom Stoppard’s play Arcadia didn’t grab me. I could appreciate the weaving together of characters from the 19th and 20th century, but the play never grabbed me or carried me away. One part of the play focuses on a precocious young lady who exasperates both her lascivious tutor and her mother; the other looks at a small group of annoyed and annoying modern intellectuals who bicker about Lord Byron and their professions. While the play won awards, I wouldn’t run to a theater to see it. In fact I’ve never seen it advertised so I assume it’s not going to be a classic.

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Posted by on January 16, 2020 in British Lit, British literature


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Poem of the Week

it may not always be so

By e.e. cummings

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips, which i have loved, should touch
another’s, and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart, as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such a silence as i know, or such
great writhing words as, uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
if this should be, i say if this should be—
you of my heart, send me a little word;
that i may go unto him, and take his hands,
saying, Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face, and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands.

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Posted by on January 15, 2020 in American Lit, fiction, poetry