AARON AS ILAI IS BORN & other poems
married look from now? you do have he know! say nice so also
now! but rampur? Wow! know let a have That’s and to exciting looking
he i ok…… baby. two wonderful! do talk because so
also ha ha ha baby you to it nice is
so did know you so and
nice married.. surya Sunita. nice beautiful
i have I that like
another think i singer like
him boy about met
baby rampur you so
much often today
By Amy Acre.
Shadow in the Night: Dylan at the Royal Albert Hall
Dylan strings his songs in this interrelationship of corrosive anticipations, desire and taboo entwined, so that a luminal obscenity is not an accidental consequence but the irrevocable requirement of life escaping its dull restraint. The pleasure of losing control or of controlling the deliberate violation of a taboo are the twisted foundations of Dylan’s ecstasies. For these are voices in the grip of ethereal scandalous spirituality, voices of minds caught up with their own versions of fraudulence and lust, witnesses of what lies far out of range, distorted and off balanced players where loss is a winner in the long run, where everything has a cost and all debts must be paid. And will be. And are being.
Richard Marshall on what he heard in Bob Dylan‘s recent London concerts.
Pasternak at Marburg Station
Yet, poetry is the total despair of words, of the word. And it is immediately evident why a poet cannot be a philosopher. Pain has no patience. And patience wounds too deeply. Poetry is the homeopathic solution. Seek to heal the wound by wounding it, by concentrating it. Paradoxically, this gives respite. One rushes straight to the core.
Steve Light on Pasternak, poetry and philosophy.