My John Berryman: A Poet of Deep Unease
Exacerbated and enormously learned, Berryman was a master of the poem written with manic energy from the edges of human experience.
All Work
Swimming with Oliver Sacks
I swam with Oliver in the Adirondacks in a cold green lake where he had swum for several decades.
Compassion, Sacrifice, Endurance
Last night, I dreamed the dream of France.
Orphic Paris, Part XIV
I love the story of Apollo, which is the story of a god born in a child’s body, and of his growth and learning.
A Plague of Snow
Normally, Boston is ready for big winter storms, with salt and trucks waiting, but we were not expecting the snowiest month in the city’s history.
Paris Sirens
A first-person account of what began as a normal day in the French capital, later disrupted by terrorism and the emotional public response.
Street of the Iron Po(e)t, Part XIII
When I write about flowers, I think I am trying to find out what I believe, so there are digressions and sometimes incoherence.
Street of the Iron Po(e)t, Part XII
After dusk, before the Vespers candles are lit, I—an agnostic—always feel alone in the darkness of that heap of crumbling stone.
Street of the Iron Po(e)t, Part XI
Why am I writing this all down, dear reader? My answer is that I don’t want to conceal anything or be surreptitious. Instead, I want…
Street of the Iron Po(e)t, Part X
A mild winter has prompted the vegetation in Paris to wake up early. Since February, plum, cherry, and almond trees have been blossoming in France,…
The Solace of Trees
When the staple of life is suffering, I sometimes find it hard to believe in God, at least in any orthodox way, but in my…
Street of the Iron Po(e)t, Part IX
I found James Lord at Montparnasse Cemetery today. It was Toussaint, or All Saints’ Day, a holy day of obligation for Catholics, and a national…