Word: fogging
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...father was ploughing when unexpectedly, the fog shrouding the mountain all disappeared suddenly. In no time at all a plane flew over, but it appeared as though it wouldn't fire. My father stood in the field with the buffalo, watching for the plane to pass so he could unhitch the buffalo. But suddenly four planes of the F-4H type flew over and immediately released their bombs. The bombs destroyed my village. All six houses burnt and a bomb fell about fifteen meters from where my father was ploughing, causing the blown-up earth and the shrapnel to kill...
...Gruff Joke. Like many artists of the time, Dove also pursued the idea that colors could have symbolic meanings, that they could "stand for" specific sounds. A testament to Dove's interest in synesthesia was Fog Horns (1929), in which the sound of the signals is symbolized by concentric rings of paint growing in lightening tones of grayed pink from a dark center: the bell mouths of the horns, their peculiar resonance and the color of the fog are fused in one image...
THANK YOU, FOG by W.H. AUDEN 59 pages. Random House...
Retransplanted to Britain, the poet praises animals at the expense of men ("you have never felt the need to become literate ... never kill for applause"). He is pleased to encounter again on his native turf that "unsullied sister of Smog," good old English Fog. In a miniautobiography he offers thanks to helpful friends and models (among them: Hardy, Dylan Thomas, Frost, Yeats, Brecht, Kierkegaard, Goethe and Horace). Plato, however, rates a putdown ("I can't imagine anything/ that I would less like to be/ than a disincarnate Spirit"). So do the "nimble technicians" of Detroit ("Dark...
...feel he has been here before is not a problem. It is the whole point. Before abandoning his verses to history, Auden liked to be sure that, whatever their message, each one sounded as if it could only have been written by W.H. Auden. Everything in Thank You, Fog qualifies. As with saved letters from lost sons or fathers, so with the last words of this dead poet. They stir the heart not because of what they say but because they sound like the man himself. -Timothy Foote