Word: poem
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...ever pregnant behind her ratty baby carriage. Esther tried writing a novel about herself and that didn't work. And then she tried different ways of killing herself and one way worked better than the other so they put her away. As Sylvia Plath says in her poem "Daddy," "They pulled me out of the sack, And they stuck me together with glue." The Bell Jar is a description of their jar of glue and the way their fusty inept hands fumbled Esther's embarrassed and bruised parts. Her hilarity is as black as it is defiant; she refuses...
...wrote Richard Brautigan in his poem "Gee, You're So Beautiful That It's Starting to Rain." In this spirit, growing disenchantment with U.S. public schools has produced a new alternative in virtually every state: small, mostly private "free" schools. Influenced by reformist manifestos like John Holt's How Children Fail, more than 800 of them are now run by diverse idealists -suburban mothers, ghetto blacks, former campus radicals. Their mood is typified by exotic school names: The Mind Restaurant (Phoenix), The Elizabeth Cleaners (Manhattan). Stone Soup (Longwood, Fla.), All Together Now (Venice, Calif.). Their future...
...into the creative writing tract will be based on sophomore year performance in English Cab. Creative writing will be offered only as an "intensive program" -the department's new terminology for honors. Instead of the senior thesis, creative writing concentrators will submit a senior composition such as a long poem or a novel...
Today Ota Dōkan's poem is remembered more in sorrow than anything else. His beloved town has mushroomed into the world's most populous-and most polluted-capital, home to 11.4 million gasping people. The fabled pines are suffocating from smog. The blue sea is washed by tons of noxious industrial wastes. Tokyoites lament that soaring Fuji-san, obscured by deadly clouds of sulfur dioxide, shows its face only one day out of every...
...weight of Guinness bottles, but no police or military would dare enforce the law that closes pubs on Sundays. The place was packed with laughing, plotting Irishmen, nearly all working-class, some of them members of the outlawed Irish Republican Army. As Beer Belly began to recite an anonymous poem, the crowd grew silent...