I’m now reading Rebecca Patterson’s book “Emily Dickinson’s Imagery” (published posthumously). Patterson was the first Dickinson scholar (if I’m reading the preface correctly) who, in 1951, posited Dickinson’s lesbian attachments, which was greeted just as you would expect—with shock and rejection by some and revelatory acceptance by others. As Margaret Freeman writes: “[Patterson’s] hypothesis that ..read more

The Color of the Grave is Green—The Outer Grave—I mean—You would not know it from the Field—Except it own a Stone—To help the fond—to find it—Too infinite asleepTo stop and tell them where it is—But just a Daisy—deep—The Color of the Grave is white—The outer Grave—I mean—You would not know it from the Drifts—In Winter—till ..read more

I know those strains you’re whistling now You hear the music too—Seductive little madrigals— O yes, I’m sure you do.You talk to me about the starlings I say it’s chickadees.Let’s both of us debate the birds And never mind the bees—The bee that flies melodiously To kiss the neighbor’s flower;The neighbor’s hummingbird that sips The ..read more

Margo Olaffson represents a new type of pre-agency, Agent², that promises to help authors target agents. While agents submit an author’s book manuscript to publishers, pre-agents use their in-depth knowledge of agents (and their agencies) to submit to them query letters. Where the agent represents the author’s manuscript, the pre-agent represents the author’s query letter ..read more

Yesterday I was out grocery shopping and was waiting to pick up my wife at the bus depot (returning from Europe), and killed some time at Barnes & Noble. The Sci-Fi Fantasy section was my playground, and I was there for one reason. I wanted to see how fantasy authors were writing their novels—stylistically. That ..read more

I felt a Funeral, in my Brain,And Mourners to and froKept treading - treading - till it seemedThat Sense was breaking through -And when they all were seated,A Service, like a Drum -Kept beating - beating - till I thoughtMy mind was going numb -And then I heard them lift a BoxAnd creak across my ..read more

I died for Beauty — but was scarceAdjusted in the Tomb,When One who died for Truth, was lainIn an adjoining room —He questioned softly "Why I failed"?"For Beauty", I replied."And I — for Truth - Themself are one —We Brethren are", He said —And so, as Kinsmen, met a Night —We talked between the Rooms ..read more

‘Some things,’ the father said, ‘a girl don't flaunt.’ But straightaway she told him, ‘I don't care,Not gonna live but in the world I want.’And then her father asked, ‘Who else was there?’To that she wouldn’t answer but to say,‘My baseball hat, my bicycle and me—That’s who was there. All them others—theyDon’t matter. Thumped me ..read more

But then, at times, the way the snowTopples the birches crossways,The way they bar me going furtherMakes me think, as always,That I should cut them down, and yetI’ll just as soon decide:The beauty of their argumentAsks not to be denied.With such humility, they stoop;I stoop a little too;And theirs the generosity—They always let me through.February ..read more

The early January stormsBring beauty in their wake.They load the trees with leaves of snowUntil they almost break.Sometimes we glimpse eternityFor just an hour or twoAnd then the sun comes out—and thenAnother storm comes through.And I can’t help but be remindedIn the wreckage of the snow—The brevity of loveliness,The grief before we go.Jan 28th 2024by ..read more