Word: creaks
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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However, many of his poems, perhaps his strongest ones, manage to tap into some universality. He expresses fears and insecurities with which all people can relate yet which are rarely expressed. In his poem "Creak," he voices the insecurities of writing a love letter. "I wrote a note to her/That splattered into rhyme against my wishes./So I scrunched it up and said if it hits the bin/There's going to be a relationship." Later in his poem titled "The Room," he verbally paints the image of a room, once occupied by a son, which is now left empty...
...working his field much the way his forebears did three centuries ago--tugging at the yoke of a Belgian draft mule. The only sounds he hears are the snap of a rein across the mule's hindquarters, the simple mechanical whirl of his corn-harvesting machine and the creak of his oak-plank wagon as he hauls another stack of feed corn to his son-in-law's silo. Like their ancestors, Jacob and his kin light their farmhouses with gas lanterns and drive carriage horses--never automobiles--back and forth to town...
...American Repertory Theatre is calling the work an "opera" of sorts, a somewhat misleading description. While the soundtrack is often remarkably detailed and well-orches-trated, it by no means approaches melody or beauty, concepts that are foreign to the play and its precursors. Every line of dialogue, every creak, stomp, shout and ominous musical note is pre-recorded and meticulously planned. The actors mouth their lines as the words resonate throughout the theater, creating a mood that reinforces the impact of the show's other-worldly, puppet-like realm...
...creak down the thirteen or fourteen steps of the basement staircase, and he'd recognize "Thunderfoot" from the size-eleven heaviness of my movements, calling out that nickname to reintroduce me again to his world. I'd grab my own blanket from the closet at the back of the room, and he'd make sure I had socks on my feet before he'd allow me to stay; after that, I was free to plop myself into one of the upholstered chairs nearer the television, or perhaps settle for the carpeting in front of the coffee table...
...photometers, there is hardly a wide eye in the room. This love of minutiae is an affection Gore shares with Clinton, but the President and Vice President cut different impressions. Clinton is a loose and easy presence; Gore jokes that he knows he is alive "because I hear myself creak every so often." Gone is the latent cutup who late at night during the campaign would plant his large wing tips on a plastic tray and surf from first to economy class during the takeoff of his plane, tossing out a chorus of James Brown's I Feel Good...