For Walt's birthday

The first stanza of one of the best poems: OUT of the cradle endlessly rocking,
Out of the mocking-bird’s throat, the musical shuttle,
Out of the Ninth-month midnight,
Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander’d alone, bare-headed, barefoot,
Down from the shower’d halo,	5
Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting as if they were alive,
Out from the patches of briers and blackberries,
From the memories of the bird that chanted to me,
From your memories, sad brother—from the fitful risings and fallings I heard,
From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears,	10
From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist,
From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease,
From the myriad thence-arous’d words,
From the word stronger and more delicious than any,
From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting,	15
As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing,
Borne hither—ere all eludes me, hurriedly,
A man—yet by these tears a little boy again,
Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves,
I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter,	20
Taking all hints to use them—but swiftly leaping beyond them,
A reminiscence sing.

John O'Hara's Pottsville

I confess that I haven't read any O'Hara yet, but I can already see how he could have been an influence on Updike based on this story in to the Inky.

John O'Hara's Pottsville in the Inquirer today.

Memory Arpeggios in Updike’s Sunset

In today's Times.

Memory Arpeggios in Updike’s Sunset

Fitting for Memorial Day I suppose. I lament that there will not be many more articles reacting to Updike's publications, this being the last. Enjoy the bittersweet taste.

`H

Small feeling of accomplishment

Well, the grades are in as of 5:45 this evening, which is over 12 hours before deadline, and at least 7 hours ahead of my usual schedule. All that's left now is the crying. And knowing that I have a summer ahead that will be must be has to be dominated by dissertating. I hope your own end-o-semester is turning out well.

After submitting the grades, I walked down the hill to catch some of the Bach Festival in Packer Chapel from the lawn, and got there in time to hear the last two movements of the last cantata. Oh well. Maybe I'll have time to drop by tomorrow, weather permitting.

And one last random thing: I don't know if I told you that I received a copy of Updike's Endpoint for my b'day. It is wonderful to read through; feels like a vacation from all the other stresses of this grad school, crappy economy mess. It is relieving, if not cheering, to focus on things that actually matter (in the artsy-idealistic sense). Also reading an old John McPhee book about the Pine Barrens.

Take care of you and yours.
B.