Word: desertion
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1970-1979
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...paddle steamer with high, spindly funnels lies composedly beached in a red desert. Saplings enclose it; years ago the river vanished. From a circus cage on wheels, a bearded paterfamilias glowers, serenaded by a man in tails (on cornet), a bus boy (French horn), a girl in evening dress (violin), and a child perched in a potted shrub, tapping on a drum. A scattering of vacant chairs inhabiting an empty, silent landscape marks the spot where a party died. Philip C. Curtis, 63, is possibly the only Surrealist now living in Arizona. But Surrealism is a term he uses "quietly...
Curtis' paintings have none of the conceptual density or revolutionary aims of surrealist imagery; they are gentle, mannered, elegiac, peopled with doll-like Edwardian women and dandified men. These ghosts, thin and sharp as memory in the preservative desert air, flit through empty, curlicued facades or congregate amid their elaborate furniture, radiating a wistful chic; as image maker, Curtis is more elegant than challenging. His objects do not confront one another in shock, like Lautréamont's famous sewing machine and umbrella on a dissecting table-they nod, as it were, with mild and civil assent...
Died. Angelo Rizzoli, 80, Italian publisher who left a Milan orphanage at 17 to become a printer, built a publishing empire encompassing ten weekly magazines (20 million readers), became a film producer and sponsored more than 150 films by such leading directors as Michelangelo Antonioni (Red Desert) and Federico Fellini (La Dolce Vita); of complications from gall bladder disease; in Milan...
Lieut. Gregory Wallace, a World War II fighter pilot, is shot down in the Pacific and finds himself on a perfect gem of a desert island. Four kinds of fruit. Coconut milk. Plenty of wild potatoes. Quite edible sea birds and their eggs. A made-to-order fresh-water pool. Even one fellow inhabitant-a sort of man Friday named Kee. Why, Robinson Crusoe would have been down on his knees, offering up one of his manly prayers of thanksgiving to Providence...
...that Greg keeps makes up this awkward, yet stubbornly obsessing book. At first, the entries are all G.I.-the duty jargon of a young eager beaver who has few doubts that superior officers will see his log and praise him for Going by the Book even on a desert island. Then solitude begins to work its mischief by mixing up time and perspective-bleaching the freshest memories, reviving older ones to an almost unbearable intensity...