Word: despairs
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...more resilient Berryman still surfaces. There is a wonderful bravura hymn to Beethoven; a hymn to a Minnesota Thanksgiving feast that ends with a hearty "Yippee"; bouquets tossed at Frost and his drinking pal Dylan Thomas, and moments of tenderness toward his wife. But the dominant tone is cold despair. One of the last poems recalls a night spent at Critic Richard Blackmur's house in Maine...
...couple of improbably Snopesian game wardens. (In his Hemingway biography Carlos Baker very properly deals with the incident in a few paragraphs. Apparently Ernest had killed some game out of season, and, considering himself to be in hideous trouble, spent some time skulking through the forest in romantic despair. No one pursued...
...ORWELL was not a holy fool. Trilling and many others have presented him as a naive figure, who blundered upon the crucial questions of his age without understanding them and then passed through successive waves of disgust and disillusionment, finally reaching a nadir of despair at which he wrote 1984 and died. There is a grain of truth in this concept, but only a grain. Orwell picked up his political education in bits and pieces, on the run; he toyed in print with ideas he would later reject. But he came to understand political life in its concrete details...
Living in the U.S., one cannot but despair at the enormous contrast between the commitment and the seriousness of one's friends back in Greece, and the confused happiness of the bright scholars here. The carefree intellectual who studies the world as if it were an interesting puzzle, who describes the film 'Z' as "a great thriller", and who laughs at stories of comically disorganized people who were suppressed by brute force, is a constant reminder of the old wisdom that one can only learn from one's own mishaps, and that one cannot look for help to those...
...ladies with frequent damns, and calls his faithful hunting dogs his best friends. But the strongest performance of the production is Tanya Contos's as Irene. Her reveries and reproaches fill the stage with the past, and she shifts easily back and forth from half-mad laughter to sober despair. Ken Bartel's direction respects Ibsen's carefully built-up structure of recurrent phrases and gestures. The result is a straightforwardly loyal production whose tense sadness is too direct to be shirked...