larryhammer: a low-fidelity picture of a man, label: "some guy" (Default)
Characters frequently appearing in this drama:

  • I - your humble narrator, sometime writer and poet (preferred pronoun: he/him/his)

  • Janni - spouse and writer (preferred pronoun: she/her/her)

  • TBD - nom de internet of our child, not yet a writer (preferred pronoun: they/them/their)
larryhammer: a woman wearing a chain mail hoodie, label: "chain mail is sexy" (warrior babe)
On the agenda today are owls, big ships, and valkyries:

The 100 Greatest Owl Pictures You'll Ever See is not inaccurately titled. Content warning: not actually a Buzzfeed listicle. (via)

Timelapse of 30 days on a container ship at sea, including unloading/loading at various ports. Content warnings: pretty thunderstorms, lack of owls. (via)

Famous Viking Warrior Had Two X Chromosomes, No Y Chromosome. At least, that's what the headline should have read. Content warning: lack of owls. (via)

And in conclusion, owls!

---L.

Subject quote from "The Earthly Paradise, introduction to July, William Morris.
larryhammer: canyon landscape with saguaro and mesquite trees (desert)
For Poetry Monday, something a little different:


A Quarrel of Crows: A Villahaikunelle, Bruce Pratt

A quarrel of crows
glean treasure from torn trash bags
on a rural road,

strut and cakewalk with
raspy-throated posturing.
A quarrel of crows

strip away limp gray rind
like coyotes feasting on doe.
On a rural road,

coon-toppled barrels,
bequeath uneaten orts to
a quarrel of crows

who caw, grateful for
this dessicated banquet
on a rural road.

On the first Friday
of the last month of the year,
a quarrel of crows
on a rural road.


Needless to say, I approve of this formal variation, and want to see more done with it. Possibly something more imagistic.

---L.

Subject quote from "No Gringo," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: Enceladus (the moon, not the mythological being), label: "Enceladus is sexy" (enceladus)
In honor of today's end of mission, here are some Saturn flyby movies using Cassini photos. (via)

ETA: Animation of some of Cassini's last photos, showing Enceladus setting behind Saturn.

The world's oldest known trigonometric table is a 3,700-year-old cuneiform tablet. It is, to boot, highly accurate. (via)

Rocket Man, Elton John (Official Music Video), directed by an Iranian refugee. (via Janni)

---L.

Subject quote, also in honor of Cassini, is from the "The Earthly Paradise," Introduction to March, William Morris.
larryhammer: drawing of a wildhaired figure dancing, label: "La!" (celebrate)
Because I had something better to do, I checked the number of AO3 fics for TV shows TBD has watched more than a couple trial episodes (that I can remember):

Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood: 0
Tayo the Little Bus: 0
The Wonder Pets!: 0
Peep in the Big Wide World: 0
The Cat in the Hat Knows a Lot About That: 0
Hurray for Huckle/Busytown Mysteries: 0
Chuggington: 0
Space Racers: 0
WordWorld: 2
Curious George: 4
Peppa Pig: 5 (all crossovers)
Dinosaur Train: 7 (half written for Yuletide 2012)
Blue's Clues: 8
Caillou: 11
Bob the Builder: 16
Dora the Explorer: 24
PAW Patrol: 46
Thomas & Friends: 80
Transformers: Rescue Bots: 270

The Thomas franchise has been around so long and Rescue Bots crosses over so much into the rest of the Transformers franchise, I don't it's fair to compare them to the others. OTOH, the large number of PAW Patrol fics speaks to just how engaging the show is: TBD interacts with it more enthusiastically than with any of the others, even those, like Blue's Clues and Dora, that invite viewer interaction. (Rocky is their favorite pup, because he fixes things.) Not to mention, has acquired more merch for it, not counting books.*

I'm most disappointed in the first number.** But there's still all the other zeroes. That's a lot of children's media filled with all sorts of fic-able holes that aren't getting filled, despite being co-watched by caretakers. Someone get on this, 'k?


* Books, it's the Marvel comics universe, hands down, with DC and Busytown not far behind.

** And that's even aside from how little Daniel's Dad, the original Daniel Striped Tiger grown up, has an absurdly sexy voice.


---L.

Subject quote from "Nothing Without You," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (birds)
Reading Wednesday, with a few things to report --

Finished:

Poems of the Sea ed. by J.D. McClatchy, another Everyman's Library pocket anthology, which I snorked down like wahoo. I especially appreciate the songs and chanteys section. And ending with Whitman. Not quite as good as the seasons one, but close, and scratches a different itch anyway.

The Long Way to a Small Angry Planet by Becky Chambers, which I greatly enjoyed, despite stalling a few chapters from the end for a week -- it's been that kind of reading time. Ragtag crew of a wormhole boring ship heading into a recent civil war zone on the prospect of a very well paying job, but unlike much space opera, the politics are downplayed to focus entirely on the crew and their relationships. I like the ways generic and individual characteristics are handled, and the whole crew in general. Want the sequel, even though it focuses on the character thread I'm least interested in.

In progress:

On Wings of Song ed. by J.D. McClatchy, yet another Everyman's Library pocket anthology, this one all about birds. My main complaint here is that there are too many very short sections, with title pages that take up space that could have been devoted to, yanno, poems. Am about halfway through, having just finished reading about owls.

Classical Chinese Literature v1 ed. by Minford & Lau -- crunching to about ~¼ in, having reached the Han dynasty. (One advantage, albeit a dubious one, of volume 2 being existentially challenged is not having to cross the Ming Dynasty without a camel, which is never fun.) I do like the editors' focus on how translations have been handled over the centuries, highlighting how western understanding of China and Chinese has changed -- as well as making sure ALL the modes are covered in reasonable depth. I think I very much need my own a copy of this.

---L.

Subject quote from "Paradise Lost" book XI, John Milton. Yes, I know, him.
larryhammer: a low-fidelity picture of a man, label: "some guy" (Default)
For a Poetry Monday in a September that remains hot (highs still reaching 40°C):


Sestina d'Inverno, Anthony Hecht

Here in this bleak city of Rochester,
where there are twenty-seven words for “snow,”
not all of them polite, the wayward mind
basks in some Yucatan of its own making,
some coppery, sleek lagoon, or cinnamon island
alive with lemon tints and burnished natives,

and O that we were there. But here the natives
of this gray, sunless city of Rochester
have sown whole mines of salt about their land
(bare ruined Carthage that it is) while snow
comes down as if The Flood were in the making.
Yet on that ocean Marvell called the mind

an ark sets forth which is itself the mind,
bound for some pungent green, some shore whose natives
blend coriander, cayenne, mint in making
roasts that would gladden the Earl of Rochester
with sinfulness, and melt a polar snow.
It might be well to remember that an island

was blessed heaven once, more than an island,
the grand, utopian dream of a noble mind.
In that kind climate the mere thought of snow
was but a wedding cake; the youthful natives,
unable to conceive of Rochester,
made love, and were acrobatic in the making.

Dream as we may, there is far more to making
do than some wistful reverie of an island,
especially now when hope lies with the Rochester
Gas and Electric Co., which doesn’t mind
such profitable weather, while the natives
sink, like Pompeians, under a world of snow.

The one thing indisputable here is snow,
the single verity of heaven’s making,
deeply indifferent to the dreams of the natives,
and the torn hoarding-posters of some island.
Under our igloo skies the frozen mind
Holds to one truth: it is grey, and called Rochester.

No island fantasy survives Rochester,
where to the natives destiny is snow
that is neither to our mind nor of our making.


I don't think I could pull off using the name of a city as an end word in a sestina. For foreign context, the city in question is on the south shore of Lake Ontario, and northern winds pick up lake moisture and then dump it on the city as snow. all. winter. long.

---L.

Subject quote from "Homecoming (Walter's Song)," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: drawing of a wildhaired figure dancing, label: "La!" (celebrate)
TBD is four years + four months old. Not as much noted down this month because life.

Achievements unlocked this last month: concentration-style games, a magnifying glass, twist-ties, recognizably writing own name (by copying letters from a model), rock paper scissors, camping, scrambling eggs.

Apparently Lunchbox Squarepants is the official headcanon name. Other media recently consumed eagerly include Paw Patrol, Space Racers, and Dinosaur Train -- as well as several Mandarin learning games, in part because we allow extra screen time for those. Which we do because TBD has started weekly Mandarin lessons at the local Chinese Cultural Center. As well as biweekly Hebrew school. Added to the occasional First Day School at Quaker Meeting, we have very full Sundays -- we'll see if this works out.

The camping trip was greatly enjoyed, as was hiking a mile without having to be carried (though we had to talk them into finishing the last 100 meters). TBD was disappointed we didn't do it again the next, holiday weekend. We're hoping this Friday night -- it's clear getting up the mountain is good for TBD, in many ways.

Lots of work at school and home on writing and drawing skills -- copying letters is only the start. One key skill I noticed: when coloring in an area, trying to color along the edge instead of stopping a line from crossing it.

Another key development: TBD is starting to volunteer more details about things that happen when we're not around.

Speaking of which, there's a few bits of talking, talking:

(while playing at camping, a campfire story was needed:)
"Once upon a time it was Halloween, and there were a lot of monsters, and a lot of ghosties, and a lot of zombies, and a lot of robots, and it was very spooooky. They all went out in the street, scaring people, and they went trick-or-treating because there were people inside, the end."

"If you smush a bug by accident, that's okay?"
"It's okay. It's good to try not to, but it happens."
"Mommy, you be the bug."

"Rock, paper, scissors, poop!"

"I wish we had a baby. Because I get lonely here."


Because sometimes, alas, the grownups have other things to do than play.

---L.

Subject quote from "St. Stephen's Cross," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: drawing of a wildhaired figure dancing, label: "La!" (celebrate)
New job has been eating up my brain, thus the relative lack of posts. Including, even, mentioning the new job -- it's more technical editing than writing, which is exactly where I want to be, and for a company that makes medical devices, which is good work. Lots and lots of required training, though, given being heavily regulated — thus brain.

But despite that, here's something for a Poetry Monday:


Ghost House, Robert Frost

I dwell in a lonely house I know
That vanished many a summer ago,
    And left no trace but the cellar walls,
    And a cellar in which the daylight falls,
And the purple-stemmed wild raspberries grow.

O’er ruined fences the grape-vines shield
The woods come back to the mowing field;
    The orchard tree has grown one copse
    Of new wood and old where the woodpecker chops;
The footpath down to the well is healed.

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
    On that disused and forgotten road
    That has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

The whippoorwill is coming to shout
And hush and cluck and flutter about:
    I hear him begin far enough away
    Full many a time to say his say
Before he arrives to say it out.

It is under the small, dim, summer star.
I know not who these mute folk are
    Who share the unlit place with me—
    Those stones out under the low-limbed tree
Doubtless bear names that the mosses mar.

They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
    With none among them that ever sings,
    And yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.


From his first collection, A Boy's Will, near the start. That's a lot of layers of time for such a short piece.

---L.

Subject quote from "Your Last Drive," Thomas Hardy.
larryhammer: a wisp of colored smoke, label: "softly and suddenly vanished away" (finished)
Reading Wednesday, with actual reading yay. This isn't a huge list, but there's a doorstop in the works.

Finished:

Erotic Poems ed. by Peter Washington -- the hodgepodginess is delightful: Tennyson sandwiched between Baudelaires. Recommended still. If you do read it, be aware that the last poems are all about the fire gutting out, so plan when you read it accordingly.

Villanelles ed. Finch & Mali -- a morning in a hammock in a ponderosa forest gets me to the end. Good stuff, both the older and contemporary workings of the form. Recommended.

Plus various poetry anthology readings not otherwise noted.

In comics: 1) The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl and the Great Lakes Avengers, a compilation of a four-issue arc plus some specials (including her first appearance, as a teenage Iron Man fangirl). Oddly dark, but fun when Squirrel Girl herself is onstage. 2) Super Hero Girls: Summer Olympus, words by Shea Fontana, art by Yancey Labat -- a couple times through, reading it aloud to TBD.

In progress:

Classical Chinese Literature: An Anthology of Translations: Volume I: from Antiquity to the Tang Dynasty ed. by John Minford & Joseph S.M. Lau -- a thick brick to match the long title, being 1130 pages plus preface and appendices. Found this browsing in the library, and we'll see how far I can get before I run out of renewals. I am very much enjoying the sheer SCOPE: it starts with oracle-bone and bronze-ware inscriptions, which are even more interesting than expected. (Note: volume II seems not to have been published? If so, BOO HISS!) Am less than 20% in, which still covers a lot of ground.

---L.

Subject quote from "Goblin Market, Christina Rossetti.
larryhammer: stylized figures of a man and a woman on either side of a shopping cart carrying a heart (shopping cart of love)
A Poetry Monday without comment:


Meeting Point, Louis MacNeice

Time was away and somewhere else,
There were two glasses and two chairs
And two people with the one pulse
(Somebody stopped the moving stairs):
Time was away and somewhere else.

And they were neither up nor down;
The stream’s music did not stop
Flowing through heather, limpid brown,
Although they sat in a coffee shop
And they were neither up nor down.

The bell was silent in the air
Holding its inverted poise—
Between the clang and clang a flower,
A brazen calyx of no noise:
The bell was silent in the air.

The camels crossed the miles of sand
That stretched around the cups and plates;
The desert was their own, they planned
To portion out the stars and dates:
The camels crossed the miles of sand.

Time was away and somewhere else.
The waiter did not come, the clock
Forgot them and the radio waltz
Came out like water from a rock:
Time was away and somewhere else.

Her fingers flicked away the ash
That bloomed again in tropic trees:
Not caring if the markets crash
When they had forests such as these,
Her fingers flicked away the ash.

God or whatever means the Good
Be praised that time can stop like this,
That what the heart has understood
Can verify in the body’s peace
God or whatever means the Good.

Time was away and she was here
And life no longer what it was,
The bell was silent in the air
And all the room one glow because
Time was away and she was here.


---L.

Subject quote from "Snow-Bound," William Greenleaf Whittier.
larryhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (seasons)
For Poetry Monday, looking back a little further into the year:


March, Edward Thomas

Now I know that Spring will come again,
Perhaps to-morrow: however late I've patience
After this night following on such a day.

While still my temples ached from the cold burning
Of hail and wind, and still the primroses
Torn by the hail were covered up in it,
The sun filled earth and heaven with a great light
And a tenderness, almost warmth, where the hail dripped,
As if the mighty sun wept tears of joy.
But 'twas too late for warmth. The sunset piled
Mountains on mountains of snow and ice in the west:
Somewhere among their folds the wind was lost,
And yet 'twas cold, and though I knew that Spring
Would come again, I knew it had not come,
That it was lost too in those mountains chill.

What did the thrushes know? Rain, snow, sleet, hail,
Had kept them quiet as the primroses.
They had but an hour to sing. On boughs they sang,
On gates, on ground; they sang while they changed perches
And while they fought, if they remembered to fight:
So earnest were they to pack into that hour
Their unwilling hoard of song before the moon
Grew brighter than the clouds. Then 'twas no time
For singing merely. So they could keep off silence
And night, they cared not what they sang or screamed;
Whether 'twas hoarse or sweet or fierce or soft;
And to me all was sweet: they could do no wrong.
Something they knew—I also, while they sang
And after. Not till night had half its stars
And never a cloud, was I aware of silence
Stained with all that hour's songs, a silence
Saying that Spring returns, perhaps to-morrow.


---L.

Subject quote from "The Faithful Shepherdess," act II, scene 1, John Fletcher.
larryhammer: a wisp of colored smoke, label: "softly and suddenly vanished away" (vanished)
Slightly late, but still in time for Reading Wednesday:

Finished:

The Four Seasons ed. by J.D. McClatchy. This has immediately become one of my favorite anthologies ever. Heartily recommended.

In Good King Charles's Golden Days by Bernard Shaw. Shaw's influence is all over 20th century drama, isn't it. Parts of this could have been written by a young Stoppard.

A Popular Schoolgirl by Angela Brazil. This one is set just after the Great War, and its shadow looms over civilian life. Read it while recovering from a kidney stone attack, and it did the job admirably of distracting me without any need for serious thought. Not her best or even most interesting, but a solid instance of her sort of schoolgirl stories.

In progress:

The Intelligent Woman's Guide to Socialism and Capitalism by Bernard Shaw, which is lucid and entertaining, if marred by occasional bits of condescending. Would that more books on economics were written this well. Maybe a quarter of the way in? -- it's hefty, but quick reading.

Love Poems ed. by C.N. Edwards, which is the sort of anthology where the illustrations are much of the point: there's an old painting opposite every poem. (The cover has Klimt.) Not many poems that are both good and new to me, so far, though many lovely paintings I hadn't met before. Overall, acceptable as a member of its class. The text is oddly marred by proofreading errors, including several instances of two stanzas being run together. Am ~½ through.

---L.

Subject quote from "The Tragedy of Charles, Duke of Byron," George Chapman.
larryhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (seasons)
Another look-back poem for Poetry Monday, though in this case looking back to a less-sultry season:


April in Town, Lizette Woodworth Reese

Straight from the east the wind blows sharp with rain,
That just now drove its wild ranks down the street,
And westward rushed into the sunset sweet.
Spouts brawl, boughs drip and cease and drip again,
Bricks gleam; keen saffron glows each window-pane,
And every pool beneath the passing feet.
Innumerable odors fine and fleet
Are blown this way from blossoming lawn and lane.
Wet roofs show black against a tender sky;
The almond bushes in the lean-fenced square,
Beaten to the walks, show all their draggled white.
A troop of laborers comes slowly by;
One bears a daffodil, and seems to bear
A new-lit candle through the fading light.


Reese (1856-1935) was born in what's now a suburb of Baltimore and taught English in Baltimore schools for almost 50 years. She published over a dozen collections of poetry and was named poet laureate of Maryland in 1931.

---L.

Subject quote from "Eric's Song," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: drawing of a wildhaired figure dancing, label: "La!" (la!)
Links? Links. Some almost fresh:

A widget for performing your daily gender check. The 1d8 + 1d10 + 1d12 are not included, so find your dice bag or an online roller. (via)

Realistic Indiana Jones movies. (via)

Another timelapse of stunning thunderstorms: Pursuit. Watch it in as high a resolution as your intertubes allows. (via)

---L.

Subject quote from "Heat," H.D.
larryhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (kigo)
For Poetry Monday, breaking another of my rules of thumb and posting an extract:


A Fanfare for the Makers, Louis MacNeice

A cloud of witnesses. To whom? To what?
To the small fire that never leaves the sky.
To the great fire that boils the daily pot.

To all the things we are not remembered by,
Which we remember and bless. To all the things
That will not notice when we die,

Yet lend the passing moment words and wings.

*


So fanfare for the Makers: who compose
A book of words or deeds who runs may write
As many who do run, as a family grows

At times like sunflowers turning towards the light,
As sometimes in the blackout and the raids
One joke composed an island in the night,

As sometimes one man’s kindness pervades
A room or house or village, as sometimes
Merely to tighten screws or sharpen blades

Can catch a meaning, as to hear the chimes
At midnight means to share them, as one man
In old age plants an avenue of limes

And before they bloom can smell them, before they span
The road can walk beneath the perfected arch,
The merest greenprint when the lives began

Of those who walk there with him, as in default
Of coffee men grind acorns, as in despite
Of all assaults conscripts counter assault,

As mothers sit up late night after night
Moulding a life, as miners day by day
Descend blind shafts, as a boy may flaunt his kite

In an empty nonchalant sky, as anglers play
Their fish, as workers work and can take pride
In spending sweat before they draw their pay,

As horsemen fashion horses while they ride,
As climbers climb a peak because it is there,
As life can be confirmed even in suicide:

To make is such. Let us make. And set the weather fair.


This is from Autumn Sequel canto vii. The * marks almost 100 lines not included by Helen Gardner in The New Oxford Book of English Verse -- what's elided is important for the larger poem but weakens a detached extract.

---L.
larryhammer: Yotsuba Koiwai running, label: "enjoy everything" (enjoy everything)
TBD is four years + three months old (though month is increasingly not a particularly significant digit).

Achievements unlocked this last month: rinsing hair by leaning head back in the bath, telling a complete invented story with beginning + middle + end, drawing a circle then coloring it in, drawing recognizable squares and triangles, monkey bars, fidget spinners, matching sounds to letters and vice versa.

Pretend play has grown ever more important, to the point that it has significantly displaced reading as TBD's preferred way of spending time with me. Typically the actors are toy cars and trucks, but for a week there it was small dinosaurs. Sometimes the fourth wall gets broken and the toys interact with the "giants" around them. Diegetic pretenders!

I've learned most of what I know about what goes on at school through pretend play.

Favorite color is now strong part of self-identity: If someone else likes dark blue, it's almost an affront. We're not sure what to make of this.

Thinking, thinking continues apace. The startling recent example was putting together a couple different explanations of where babies come from to form a surprisingly accurate summary of human reproduction, at a level of detail appropriate for a 4-year-old. There's been other examples of clever problem solving as well, none of which I wrote down and so cannot remember at the moment.

While there's been some work at learning lowercase letters, there's been more effort on letter sounds. TBD can generally name the letter that goes with a sound, and so spell out a word as someone sounds it out (assuming regular orthography). Sounding out a written word is a bit trickier, and so far TBD only sometimes manages that. Numbers up to a hundred can be read out, somewhat shakily. Writing letters remains even shakier, although the work on drawing/writing motor skills at preschool is showing.

And then there's talking, talking:

(of the Joker's mecha suit)
"Did he get that at the bad-guy store?"

(of a pretend fart)
"It smells like cranberries and milk and eyebrows and feet."

(shortly after learning about kryptonite)
"No, wait, I get to be Spider-man and you have to be Superman. Sorry, Daddy."

"On a march! And set! Go!"
(current standard phrase)

"I am the car with the bloody finger and I am 10 blocks away!"

"I have to choose all by myself, and you're not me."

"Have no fear, Halloween is here!"


Yes, we are already anticipating trick-or-treating. We still have a few pieces of candy from last year, mind. But they could run out any day!

---L.

Subject quote from "Shine," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: Enceladus (the moon, not the mythological being), label: "Enceladus is sexy" (astronomy)
Three useful links:

The myth of force-quitting apps on iOS will save battery life. (via)

Subway-style maps of Roman roads of Britain (via) and
US rivers. (via)

A Chart of Cosmic Exploration. OMG WHERE WAS THIS A COUPLE MONTHS AGO WHEN I WAS TRYING TO MEMORIZE ALL THE ROBOTS WHO'VE EXPLORED OTHER PLANETS FOR US? WHY CAN'T I ORDER IT NOW NOW NOW?

---L.

Subject quote from "Harbor," Vienna Teng.
larryhammer: animation of the kanji for four seasonal birds fading into each other in endless cycle (seasons)
Reading Wednesday is nigh. In fact, it's here. And I done been readin'!

Finished:

I Shall Seal the Heavens. Finally. I have to say, this is epic: The author knows how to plot on an enormous scale, and how to build up the stakes in order to tear down everything you think you know is safe, before pulling back more of the curtain to show a wider stage. (The first timeskip is startling enough, and successive ones have stronger impacts until the climactic one that's as baffling as it is shocking.) There's a couple narrative patterns that get a little tiresome and in the final arc, the author resorts to using an unreliable POV, apparently to up the tension but the effect is to make some reveals feel like ass-pulls, but those are quibbles. I won't say that the treatment of women is unproblematic, but it's better than typical for Chinese popular lit and some female characters are given complete respect by the narration. I do recommend this to anyone in search of a timesink* and interested in current trends in Chinese fantasy.

An Interpretation of Friends Worship by N. Jean Toomer, a Friends General Conference chapbook found randomly on Project Gutenberg. I've no idea how much sense it make to anyone unfamiliar with Quaker practice, but I found it spoke to my condition, to use the Friendly phrase.

The complete flower fairies of Cicely Mary Barker. I've one book of hers and read at least one or two more over the years, but having them all together as on that official website is nice. Archive binge! This is a good example of a mixed-medium art form: each {poem + picture} is a unit -- they require each other, and are significantly weaker when separated. (The sentiments are not very Chinese, but the genre certainly is.)

In progress:

The Four Seasons ed. by J.D. McClatchy, another Everyman's Library pocket hardcover poetry anthology. Needless to say, I'm All Over this one. Lots of good stuff, too. Am halfway through Summer (following Western tradition, it starts with Spring).

In Good King Charles's Golden Days by Bernard Shaw, which is a quite Shavian if somewhat rambly imagining of a 1680 meeting between Isaac Newton, George Fox, and Charles Stuart, with interruptions by three royal mistresses. And others.


* At 1600+ chapters, it's freakin' HUGE. The translation is somewhat over 3 million words long, or roughly the size as all the Jordan-only volumes of The Wheel of Time.


---L.

Subject quote from a recent episode of Saga Thing.

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