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January 29, 2006 | Jane Kenyon
Evening came, and work was done. We went for a walk to see what winter had exacted from our swimming place on the pond. The moss was immoderately green, and spongy underfoot; stepping on it seemed a breach of etiquette. We found our picnic table sitting squarely in the bog -- only a minor prank. The slender birches watched us leaning from the bank. And where the river launches forth from the south end of the pond the water coursed high and clear under the little bridge.
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September 10, 2011 | By Nick Owchar, Los Angeles Times
For the reader boiling in triple-digit SoCal heat at the end of the summer, Donald Hall's "The Back Chamber: Poems" arrives like a sudden cloudburst and shower of cooling rain. Again Hall takes readers into his New Hampshire, a realm of "fiddleheaded ferns, lilacs purpling / trilliums, apparition of daffodils" and soft breezes where "my grandfather and I," he recalls in "Maples," "with Riley the horse, / took four days to clear the acres of hay / from the fields on both sides of the house.
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BOOKS
May 26, 1996
A mango moon climbs the dark blue sky. In the gutters of a market a white, untethered cow browses the day's leavings--wilted greens, banana peels, split rice, a broken basket. The sleepers, oh, so many sleepers. . . . They lie on rush mats in their hot stick hut. The man and woman want to love wildly, uproariously; instead, they are quiet and efficient in the dark. Bangles ring as his mother stirs in her sleep.
BOOKS
January 29, 2006 | Jane Kenyon
Evening came, and work was done. We went for a walk to see what winter had exacted from our swimming place on the pond. The moss was immoderately green, and spongy underfoot; stepping on it seemed a breach of etiquette. We found our picnic table sitting squarely in the bog -- only a minor prank. The slender birches watched us leaning from the bank. And where the river launches forth from the south end of the pond the water coursed high and clear under the little bridge.
BOOKS
July 1, 1990
by JANE KENYON The grasses in the field have toppled, and in places it seems that a large, now absent, animal must have passed the night. The hay will right itself if the day turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully. None of your blustering entrances or exits, doors, swinging wildly on their hinges, or your huge unconscious sighs when you read something sad, like Henry Adams's letters from Japan, where he travelled after Clover died.
BOOKS
August 10, 1997
Mark Rosenbaum, attorney, ACLU: "Otherwise: New and Selected Poems" by Jane Kenyon (Graywolf). "This is Kenyon's last collection of poems before her death. It's about the everyday ways of coming to terms with suffering--a book full of quiet passions amid sadness. The real treat has been sharing these poems with my daughter." **** Leah Melber, teacher: "The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson (Penguin).
ENTERTAINMENT
September 10, 2011 | By Nick Owchar, Los Angeles Times
For the reader boiling in triple-digit SoCal heat at the end of the summer, Donald Hall's "The Back Chamber: Poems" arrives like a sudden cloudburst and shower of cooling rain. Again Hall takes readers into his New Hampshire, a realm of "fiddleheaded ferns, lilacs purpling / trilliums, apparition of daffodils" and soft breezes where "my grandfather and I," he recalls in "Maples," "with Riley the horse, / took four days to clear the acres of hay / from the fields on both sides of the house.
BOOKS
September 16, 2001
By Anna Akhmatova I hear the always-sad voice of the oriole and I salute the passing of delectable summer. With the hissing of a snake the scythe cuts down the stalks, one pressed hard against another. And the hitched-up skirts of the slender reapers fly in the wind like holiday flags. Now if only we had the cheerful ring of harness bells, a lingering glance through dusty eyelashes.
BOOKS
September 11, 2005 | Nick Owchar
IN the years since poet Jane Kenyon's death in 1995 at age 47, her husband, poet Donald Hall, has written much that shows him still grappling with the loss of his wife to leukemia. But Kenyon is more than Hall's muse. She remains a celebrated poet whose work and memory are being honored with the publication this month of "Simply Lasting: Writers on Jane Kenyon," edited by Joyce Peseroff, and "Jane Kenyon: Collected Poems" from Graywolf Press.
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December 17, 1993 | ROBERT KOEHLER, SPECIAL TO THE TIMES
For poet Donald Hall, the fascination with his art is how "it is pointing south, but going north," seeming to be about one thing, but actually about another. For Hall's wife and partner, Jane Kenyon, a poem can "ease people's burdens." In its own way, "A Life Together," the new segment of "Bill Moyers' Journal" (at 9 tonight on KCET-TV Channel 28; 8 p.m., KVCR-TV Channel 15; 8:30 p.m., KPBS-TV Channel 15) is a Hall and Kenyon poem combined.
BOOKS
August 10, 1997
Mark Rosenbaum, attorney, ACLU: "Otherwise: New and Selected Poems" by Jane Kenyon (Graywolf). "This is Kenyon's last collection of poems before her death. It's about the everyday ways of coming to terms with suffering--a book full of quiet passions amid sadness. The real treat has been sharing these poems with my daughter." **** Leah Melber, teacher: "The Haunting of Hill House" by Shirley Jackson (Penguin).
BOOKS
May 26, 1996
A mango moon climbs the dark blue sky. In the gutters of a market a white, untethered cow browses the day's leavings--wilted greens, banana peels, split rice, a broken basket. The sleepers, oh, so many sleepers. . . . They lie on rush mats in their hot stick hut. The man and woman want to love wildly, uproariously; instead, they are quiet and efficient in the dark. Bangles ring as his mother stirs in her sleep.
BOOKS
July 1, 1990
by JANE KENYON The grasses in the field have toppled, and in places it seems that a large, now absent, animal must have passed the night. The hay will right itself if the day turns dry. I miss you steadily, painfully. None of your blustering entrances or exits, doors, swinging wildly on their hinges, or your huge unconscious sighs when you read something sad, like Henry Adams's letters from Japan, where he travelled after Clover died.
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August 10, 2008 | Susan Salter Reynolds
Woman of Rome A Life of Elsa Morante Lily Tuck Harper: 272 pp., $25.95 IF ELSA MORANTE and her husband, Alberto Moravia, had been French rather than Italian, "they would have been as much celebrated as Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir," according to Lily Tuck. It was Morante's most famous novel, "Arturo's Island," about a motherless boy growing up on an island, that made Tuck realize she wanted to be a writer.
ENTERTAINMENT
March 15, 2013 | By Heller McAlpin
Emily Rapp is not one to sugarcoat hard truths, including the brutal diagnosis she and her husband received in January 2011 when they took their then-9-month-old son to a pediatric ophthalmologist because of concerns about developmental delays. Ronan, they were told, had Tay-Sachs disease, which was untreatable and always fatal, usually by age 3. How do you live with such a death sentence? In "The Still Point of the Turning World," Rapp describes forcing herself to think deeply about the unthinkable and adjust to a new reality as she steels herself for inevitable, devastating loss.
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