In honor of today’s World Cup final, I am posting a photo I took of W.H. Auden’s poem “In Memory of W. B. Yeats” while in Rio last year.
I love the line that goes: “Poetry makes nothing happen.” It is, somehow, true. But then, somehow, it’s not.
Read Rio de Janeiro, Sept 2013
I’ve always loved left overs Cold, by the kitchen sink With
I confess that I never understood what Walt Whitman meant by “Leaves
The greatest thing about not loving you Is not giving time