Word: ear
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: during 1960-1969
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
Dalkowski seems pure fiction. In four years with six clubs in six minor leagues, he has struck out 665 batters, walked 726, thrown as many as six wild pitches in a row, broken one hitter's arm, torn the lobe off another's ear, and sent an unsuspecting umpire to the hospital with a stray fastball that popped him flush on the mask, knocked him 18 ft., chest pad over whisk broom. At Aberdeen, S. Dak., in 1958, Dalkowski pitched a one-hitter and lost, 9 to 8. Against Reno's Silver Sox this summer, he whiffed...
French Horn Masterpieces, Vol. II (James Stagliano; Paul Ulanowsky, piano; Boston). An ear-opener for listeners to whom the French horn is little more than an operatic halloo. The composers are Russian and French, most of them dyed-in-the-brass romantics: Gliere, Cui, Glazunov, Tchaikovsky, Scriabin, Dukas, Faure. The most interesting work is Francis Poulenc's sparsely angular, twelve-tone Elegie written in tribute to Britain's late, great hornist, Dennis Brain. The Boston Symphony's Stagliano summons a rich, clear and remarkably controlled sound...
...catch. As the disguided Viola, Katharine Hepburn is properly masculine and looks surprisingly young; but her voice-ay, there's the rub. Her delivery is jarring, mechanical, and unintelligent; both she and the director fall even to perceive that the rhythm of "your own most pregnant and voch safed ear" demands that the penultimate word be trisyliabic. Herman Chessid's incidental music is inferior, though his songs are good ("O Mistress Mine" and "Come Away, Death" are fetchingly sung by a boy soprano, David Grees...
...nine, Johansson was ready for the kill. With a pro's cold fury, Patterson hounded him about the ring, shooting home numbing lefts to the body and a jolting short right to the head. The final left hook seemed to wrench Johansson's jaw around his ear. For a full four minutes, Johansson lay completely unconscious on his back, stiff and stark except for his spasmodically twitching left...
World to Self. That nobility often rests on the splendor of the language, but beautiful lines alone may reach no farther than the ear. Shakespeare speaks to the soul. He speaks in metaphor, which relates world to self, thing to thing, in the endless chain of being. Shakespeare could do anything he wanted with language; the way he talks of a thing conjures up the thing itself. The lines, "Not poppy nor mandragora, nor all the drowsy syrups of the world shall ever medicine thee to that sweet sleep which thou owedst yesterday," hypnotize with their own heavy-lidded evocation...