It was 30 years ago today . . .
posted by mac | 7:04 AM
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Writing Life
A periodic record of thoughts and life as these happen via the various roles I play: individual, husband, father, grandfather, son, brother (brother-in-law), writer, university professor and others.
About Me
- Name: mac
- Location: Tennessee, United States
I was born on Shaw Air Force Base in Sumter, South Carolina, then lived a while in Fayetteville, North Carolina, before moving, at the age of 5, to Walnut, NC. I graduated from Madison High School in 1977. After a brief time in college, I spent the most of the 1980s in Nashville, Tennessee, working as a songwriter and playing in a band. I spent most of the 1990s in school and now teach at a university in Tennessee. My household includes wife and son and cat. In South Carolina I have a son, daughter-in-law and two granddaughters.
- Do You Hear What I Hear?
- Way Out West: Day Three (27 July)
- Way Out West 2012: The Plan and Days One and Two
- Cody Reunion Show
- Honored
- How I Talk
- Mr. Gray's Place in Camp Creek, Tennessee
- A Poem
- Songwriting . . . and Singing
- 2012
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- Current Posts
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Monday, December 06, 2010
The Snow Man by Wallace Stevens
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold for a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
1923
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold for a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
1923
posted by mac | 10:52 AM
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