Word: poemes
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...quite so luscious as U.S. strings, not so dry and nasal as the French. The woodwinds, clearly articulate, played with a tone of pure gold. It was a glossily polished performance-for some a disappointment because of its fussiness. But all in all, through Sibelius' tone poem Tapiola, a Beethoven Eighth Symphony laid out with the precision and charm of an English garden, and a final lurid "Dance of the Seven Veils" from Richard Strauss's Salome, the audience heard distinctively clean-clipped accents and gorgeous sonorities unmarred by a single ugly sound...
Illinois. Running for office (he is the Republican nominee for Cook County treasurer), Bank President John Brenza offered a $100 prize for the best poem extolling Chicago as "the city of opportunity." A 21-year-old secretary, Nancy Anne Jaeger, won over 501 other entrants. Sample stanza from the winning poem...
...hole in the bucket," says Frost. His mother went to work teaching school, and young Robert trudged to high school in his grandfather's cut-down suit. He worked in the mills, nailed shoes, helped farmers. He began to read Latin and Greek avidly, wrote his first poem (in blank verse, about Cortes in Mexico), played on the football team and tied for class honors with a girl named Elinor Miriam White...
While Elinor went to college, young Robert restlessly tried Dartmouth for a couple of months ("A great fellow for poking fun," a classmate remembers), went back home, tried editing a weekly and wrote a column in the Lawrence Sun-American. He sold his first poem (My Butterfly) to the Independent, and a check for $20 arrived from New York along with a lady editor eager to take him back for lionizing. He refused to go. He was only 20, but even then he had learned when to stand people...
...helping his tenant farmer, Stafford Dragon, build an extra room on the main house). Last week he was spending his evenings reading Catullus (in Latin), dipping into travel books ("they keep your imagination kind of stretched wide") or writing in his slow longhand. Frost writes nearly all his poems straight through at a sitting. "A poem can't be worried into existence," he says...