A Shelf of One's Own

It's the night before my final exam, and there's an inevitable pulse of nostalgia. It feels a bit like Donne's 'the world's last night'; fittingly, as this last exam is on the Renaissance. A red carnation day.

After Easter, my resolution begins anew. Apparently, the French celebrated Easter as the first day of the year until 1563 when Charles VI changed it to the first of January, so I'll be reviving that practice. Knee-deep into finals revision, I am reading the wonderful Montaigne alongside Donne on death: 'I want a man to act, and to prolong the functions of life as long as he can; and I want death to find me planting my cabbages, but careless of death, and still more of my unfinished garden.' - from his essay 'That to philosophize is to learn to die' (I. X)

I believe them now: Robert Frost WAS cranky: INTERVIEWER Well, you once said in my hearing that Robert Lowell had tried to connect you with Faulkner, told you you were a lot like Faulkner. FROST Did I say that? INTERVIEWER No, you said that Robert Lowell told you that you were a lot like Faulkner. (Whole interview here )

An arresting title from Aquinas' Summa Theologica: Article 6. Whether penance is a second plank after shipwreck? This is surely the title of a poem. Apparently it's from St. Jerome.

Will you come and visit me next year? I shall undoubtedly have a large circle of witty and interesting friends by then and life will be on a very high plane – elegant, literary, and in perfect order… On the roofs of the brick houses and on the island in the pond there will be all sorts of romantic musicians, and supper will be served on the island too – strung with lanterns. It will be very pleasant, reminiscent of Venice, and the Last Days of Rome and the Chinese Emperors, with a bit of Coney Island thrown in. - Elizabeth Bishop to Frani Blough, 1934

Music do I hear? Ha, ha! Keep time: how sour sweet music is When time is broke and no proportion kept! - Richard II

Fair fa' your honest, sonsie face, Great chieftain o the puddin'-race! Aboon them a' ye tak your place, Painch, tripe, or thairm: Weel are ye worthy o' a grace As lang's my arm. Robert Burns' Address to the Haggis