Word: beers
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...again, what do we know about our local geography and its inhabitants? I know, for instance, of one unhappy room down the hall which recently, in its capacity as Hole #12 in an all-hall tourney of 18-hole Beer Golf, played host to a circle of drunken funsters. One of these revellers, from another school no less, temporarily transformed into an outright hooligan by the sauce, relieved himself against the wall of my hallmates' common room...
...written in collaboration with Composer William Schuman that was performed in New York City in 1986 to mark the Statue of Liberty's 100th birthday. That a serious poet would contribute his skill to a national celebration, throwing well-chosen words into the melee of fireworks, bumper stickers and beer, may seem surprising. Yet Wilbur's poetry has never drawn a sharp distinction between public and private occasions. The job of the poet, his work implies, is to be a messenger between outer and inner worlds, to specify and make memorable what everyone already knows or to give narrow personal...
...crush of couples on the polished concrete floor of the store's veranda became too great on a recent Friday night, a score or more of folks took to dancing in the street anyway. Scuffed cowboy boots and battered sneakers kicked up dust and occasionally sent crushed aluminum beer / cans skittering across the gravel surface. The excited yelps of dancers wafted off into the desert toward arid mountain ranges swathed in the pale light of a distant moon, keeping silent watch over the U.S.-Mexican border...
Outside is one of the post's main tourist attractions: Clay Henry, a beer- drinking goat whose pen abuts the shaded porch. A boozer of 14 years' standing, Clay Henry picks up an opened can or bottle in his mouth and downs the contents in seconds. "He has drunk as much as 24 cans in a single day," says Linda Garcia, a clerk at the post. CLAY HENRY FOR MAYOR, reads a sign on the fridge that holds the beer...
There was no shooting this night. The dance ended promptly at midnight. The crowd, inspired by Deputy Sheriff Klingemann's quiet presence, downed the last of some 700 cans of beer sold during the evening and melted away peaceably. Shouting erupted upstream when the returning Mexicans found that their boatman had tied up the rowboat on the far side of the river and gone to bed. The problem was resolved when a young man rolled up his trousers and waded across to bring the boat back to the U.S. side. By 1:30 a.m. there were no human sounds...