Word: fogs
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...third period, fog and inertia covered the field. The only eventful moment was Gary Singleterry's 54-yard punt...
...bloodhound, the jowls of a St. Bernard and a baldachin of white hair like that of an extraordinarily unkempt poodle. His face, reporters joked, looked as if it had been slept in. When he spoke, there issued forth a sesquipedalian vocabulary, diapasonal sounds like a Hammond organ in dense fog. His performances had a consciously archaic quality about them. He satirized fustian while indulging in it. His senatorial solemnity was a species of burlesque. He belonged in a Chautauqua rather than a McLuhan age, although he became a master of television performing. His manner, leavened by an exquisite sense...
Despite complaints, provocative and timely ideas broke through the verbal fog of Delos. Sociologist Robert Merton of Columbia suggested that the class structure in the West is undergoing a profound revolution as upper-middle-class and working-class life styles approach each other, and upper-middle-class youths reject their traditional aspirations. Harvard Political Scientist Karl Deutsch elaborated a theory that certain employers, such as sanitation departments, perpetuate poverty by exploiting low-paid labor. As he sees it, low-paid occupations ranging from domestic service to teaching may have to be subsidized. Jerome Monod, the French planner, also described...
...what she can be, love, and know beyond him--"God as seaslug, God a queen with forty servants, God. . .she gave up--things whirl in the chainsaw bite of whatever squares the universe by name and number." Harriet--outside, in life, sometimes is able to see through "the fog" which her father like "the first philosopher. . .trying to pick up a car key clumsily opaques with his headlights." Harriet appears frequently in the poems--to clarify, identify, be, to be hoped for: Harriet growing up. The book ends with poems to Lowell's wife, Elizabeth, his foil and sharer...
Squalls of the seagulls' exaggerated outcry, dimmed out by fog . . . Peace, peace...