Word: caged
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Quiet Surrender. The fun was over on Goldie's twelfth day loose. Swooping down to feast on a rabbit planted by his pursuers, he let himself be quietly seized by the legs and returned to his cage, where his mate Regina awaited. "It's good to have him back," said a zoo official. "He is used to people and good square meals." Many a Londoner would take wistful exception. As the Daily Mail put it, Goldie "is the flying symbol of all men lost in urban civilization." Added the Daily Telegraph's editorial page: "Perhaps...
...outfitted ladies showed a tendency to linger near the pictures that best harmonized with their clothes. Collector Barbara Jakobson flitted among the black and white opticals, seeming to appear and disappear in a skin-tight jump suit with ostrich-feather cuffs under a "cage" of black chiffon, latticed with black velvet. Another black and white effect, frequently mistaken for a painting when it was standing still, was the calfskin coat by Furrier Jacques Kaplan, stenciled by Op Painter Richard Anuszkiewicz in a dotty pattern that focused disturbingly on Mrs. Lee Lombard's pretty kidneys...
...Harvard Dramatic Club ratified by a 39-1 vote yesterday a constitution facing control of the club, the Loeb main cage, and the Experimental Theatre in he hands of a non-elective, self-perpetuating executive committee...
...Iron Cage. They speak, unhappily, too seldom. Poet Larkin writes his lines at a rate that might embarrass an arthritic tree sloth-four short poems a year, and he usually throws one of them away. In his entire career he has published (aside from two youthful novels) only three books of verse, containing fewer than 100 poems. The Less Deceived, published in 1955, was the blazing eruption of a young volcano, the work of a brilliant man discovering in disorder what he could do. The Whitsun Weddings is a prepared descent into the simmering crater of middle age, the work...
...judge by his poetry, Larkin is anything but brown and passionless. Larkin has blood in his eye and a shout in his throat, but his emotions are caged in an iron ordinariness of language, and the cage is caged in an intricate grille of rhyme and meter. By dint of prodigious effort and still more prodigious skill, Larkin marvelously merges form and content. The bars and his imprisoned emotions disappear; in their stead a poem stands...