Speaking of heroes-->>>>>>>>
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Mea culpa
At a family gathering recently, I spoke slightingly of the effort of one of our poetry group's members. I'm ashamed of myself.
I'd like to deliver my speech about The Trouble With Modern Poetry, i.e., that there are no standards--but I'm too put out with myself to speechify. Besides, as Walt Whitman said about a bird, "If thou wast not given to sing, thou would'st surely die." The same may be true of modern poets. Who am I to say? I'm just one of the birds.
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The "family gathering" was Ramey's birthday supper cum birthday cake, insisted upon by Master Reed Agan, which took place I think it was Wednesday evening. This was, to my knowledge, the third celebration of this birthday of Ramey's, and I suspect the most congenial and satisfying, as more people were there, and "Happy Birthday" was sung with gusto. I certainly enjoyed it immensely, gobbling pizza and birthday cake as if I hadn't eaten in a week.
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I've figured out what's wrong with the green lamp: The glass chimney is too high. With a shorter globe, it won't look so ungainly and top-heavy. I hope.
4 comments:
Is that Robert Duvall? I almost can't recognize him with that intense expression on his face. Is it himself, or a Robert Duvall look-alike?
The birthday party was a delight. And I need to get a picture of my Russian raccoon up on my blog so everyone can see.
Look, I've turned into a white postage stamp. Where's my picture?
Oh, there I am. For some reason it's hard to get my picture to show up.
It's R. Duvall, beer belly and all.
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