Word: bulls
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1930-1939
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Industriously in London last week solid, bull-necked French Premier Edouard Daladier and lean, hawk-nosed British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain did their potent best to spoil the grandiose State visit which pudgy, mystic Adolf Hitler was to make to Italy this week, escorted by a retinue of 170 German officials, plus 70 German editors, plus 84 German photographers. The privileged photographers were fitted out last week for the first time in blue-grey uniforms with a visored cap and flowing cape. The privileged German editors each received two blue-black uniforms and six pairs of gloves, were warned...
...fortnight because Queen Elizabeth wanted to see Falstaff in love, is creaking farce at best. Last week's production, out-Elizabethaning any college outdoor revels on record, was all hideous coyness, bumpkin antics, noddy-noddy-nubkins. A charging, bellowing Falstaff (Louis Lytton) carried on like a bull in ye olde antique shoppe, with the rest of the cast trying, all giggledy-piggledy, to be lewd, quaint, rollicking by turns...
...other spot landing, the pilot tries to land at the bull's-eye of a large circle. He may approach in any manner he pleases but must throttle his engine back when he reaches the height of 500 feet. In both landings, the motor must idle after the pilot has reached the designated altitude in order that the conditions simulate a dead-stick landing...
Four years ago a poetic gusher called Man with a Bull-Tongue Plow, which consisted of 703 sonnets written in eleven months, called attention to a new U. S. poet: a six-foot, 207-lb., 30-year-old Kentucky hillbilly named Jesse Stuart. In those poems, as in his book of stories that followed two years later (Head o' W-Hollow), Jesse Stuart wrote prolifically, ingenuously, sometimes amazingly well about his mountain kinsfolk, neighbors and scenery...
...when he divulges that working in a steel mill made him decide that Carl Sandburg's poems about the beauty of steel were phony, and that he went away cured of wanting to imitate Robert Burns. In the end he confesses what readers of Man with a Bull-Tongue Plow long ago guessed: "I was not mastering poetry but it was mastering...