I am in here.
I spent the afternoon/evening with Other Patti and our friend Sally, watching several episodes of an absolutely brilliant British sitcom entitled “Black Books.” It follows the exploits of Bernard Black, a bookstore owner, his employee Manny, and Fran, who has the shop next door. I would describe it further, but I would only gum it … Continue reading Black Books
I just passed the bookshelves with Dad’s old collection of Rafael Sabatini‘s works. One book startled me with its title: The Nutballs of Corbal. This worried me, so I looked closer, and the title resolved itself into The Nuptials of Corbal. I feel a little better, though a residuum of worry still lingers.
His poetry emphasized the personal and the lyric: Robert Creeley, one of America’s most celebrated poets and for more than half a century a leading figure in the literary avant-garde, died Wednesday in Odessa, Texas, of complications from lung disease. He was 78.
I’ve been reading Bruce Chatwin’s In Patagonia these last couple of months (I read lots of books at the same time; that’s why it’s taken me so long even though it’s a pretty short book). Therefore, I start wanting to head out to vast empty spaces that are hard to get to. I’m not the … Continue reading Traveling in my head
white pebble 