Hear that lonesome whippoorwill
He sounds too blue to fly The midnight train is whining low I'm so lonesome I could cry Ive never seen a night so long When time goes crawling by The moon just went behind a cloud To hide its face and cry Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die That means he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lonesome I could cry Hank Williams All Blue
We got hands and we got stones. Which one we gonna choose? I’m not here to tell you how to act, But love is a fact. It’s a matter of fact. It’s a matter of fact. There’s people like us standing right there. Which one they gonna choose? Can’t you see we’re all lost in the dark? But the sky’s all blue, the sky’s all blue, the sky’s all blue. Look! Don’t you see the sky’s all blue? The sun is out. It’s just shining up there. We could all be drowning and dying too, But the sky don’t care, the sky don’t care, the sky don’t care. You can argue and argue and argue about love. You can even wish you had a bit more. You can even try to wish it away, But love’s at your door, love’s at your door, love’s at your door. You got hands and you got stones. Which one you gonna choose? I’m not here to tell you how to act, But love is a fact. It’s a matter of fact. It’s a matter of fact. Love is a fact, love is a fact, Love is a fact, love is a fact, Skies may be black, but love is a fact, As a matter of fact, love is a fact. Laurence Musgrove 1. Questions
2. Presentations a. Angela b. Tina c. Casey d. Alex e. Anna 1. Questions
2. Regan's Blog 3. Tina's Blog 4, http://tumblr.austinkleon.com/post/28701178773 5. Course Reflections 1. Questions
2. Comments on Friday's Blogs Writing
The cursive crawl, the squared-off characters these by themselves delight, even without a meaning, in a foreign language, in Chinese, for instance, or when skaters curve all day across the lake, scoring their white records in ice. Being intelligible, these winding ways with their audacities and delicate hesitations, they become miraculous, so intimately, out there at the pen’s point or brush’s tip, do world and spirit wed. The small bones of the wrist balance against great skeletons of stars exactly; the blind bat surveys his way by echo alone. Still, the point of style is character. The universe induces a different tremor in every hand, from the check-forger’s to that of the Emperor Hui Tsung, who called his own calligraphy the ‘Slender Gold.’ A nervous man writes nervously of a nervous world, and so on. Miraculous. It is as though the world were a great writing. Having said so much, let us allow there is more to the world than writing: continental faults are not bare convoluted fissures in the brain. Not only must the skaters soon go home; also the hard inscription of their skates is scored across the open water, which long remembers nothing, neither wind nor wake. Howard Nemerov, Hum(an)ility
It should bring us relief And self-forgiveness or Perhaps self-gracedness Or better yet self-lovedness Given our imperfectedness Knowing we’re incomplete In any earthen possibility Of knowing the Truth Really about whatever Truth we’re seeking and that’s the point really Isn’t it? That is, that Any certainty we embark Upon is really only the Good news of our Limitedness and the Limitedlessness of You. Laurence Musgrove Tuesday 9:00 AM
by Denver Butson A man standing at the bus stop reading the newspaper is on fire Flames are peeking out from beneath his collar and cuffs His shoes have begun to melt The woman next to him wants to mention it to him that he is burning but she is drowning Water is everywhere in her mouth and ears in her eyes A stream of water runs steadily from her blouse Another woman stands at the bus stop freezing to death She tries to stand near the man who is on fire to try to melt the icicles that have formed on her eyelashes and on her nostrils to stop her teeth long enough from chattering to say something to the woman who is drowning but the woman who is freezing to death has trouble moving with blocks of ice on her feet It takes the three some time to board the bus what with the flames and water and ice But when they finally climb the stairs and take their seats the driver doesn't even notice that none of them has paid because he is tortured by visions and is wondering if the man who got off at the last stop was really being mauled to death by wild dogs. 1. In-Class Reading
2. Questions 3 The Meaning of the Body 4. Blogs 5. Break 6. Questions 7. Homework - Friday's blog post: What is the latest version of your question at issue, your working thesis (answer to your question at issue), and how have your sources helped you develop your working thesis or adjust your question at issue? 8. The Meaning of the Body 9. Blogs |
Dr. MusgroveProfessor of English, Department of English & Modern Languages, ArchivesCategories
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