Word: prose
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...single moment, the realization of that moment is of necessity incomplete. The art of politics seems to dance between acting as if every issue were the end of the earth and simultaneously acknowledging that tomorrow will hold up a dozen fresh crucial issues. Poems imply this same incompleteness. Unlike prose, the place that a poem aims and arrives at is less important to the success of the poem than the ideas and images it uses to make the journey. By those ideas and images the poet holds the reader to the process, by which he suggests that the poem pauses...
...does provide Conroy with opportunities for flashbacks, ominous foreshadowings and the airing of ambivalences about South Carolina and New York. Though aggressively Southern, Tom keeps his nose pressed against the windows of Manhattan sophistication. He is particularly fond of pricey restaurants where he can indulge his taste for overseasoned prose. At Lutece, for example, "I tasted the wine and it was so robust and appealing that I could feel my mouth singing with pleasure when I brought the glass from my lips. The aftertaste held like a chord on my tongue; my mouth felt like a field of flowers...
...easier to see to the bottom of the brook than to the dark cold place in the psyche where that pistol came to rest. Ernest Hemingway's books are easier to know, and love, than his life. He wrote, at his early best, a prose of powerful and brilliant simplicity. But his character was not simple. In one of his stories, he wrote: "The most complicated subject that I know, since I am a man, is a man's life." The most complicated subject that he knew was Ernest Hemingway...
Wartime Writings should add more luster to the Saint-Exupery legend, though the author might think otherwise. He was a perfectionist, accustomed to going through 25 or 30 drafts of his prose before submitting it for publication. He used language with extreme care and respect, all the while doubting its ability to communicate essential truths: "I've always thought that words were like love among tortoises -- something not well attuned as yet." This collection of letters and miscellaneous pieces would certainly strike Saint- Exupery as unpolished and riddled with contradictions and inconsistencies. It is all of that and something more...
...novel relied on Ephron's cauterizing prose to anchor the reader; the movie's commentary is the dialogue that Streep's fine, suggestive face carries on with the viewer. Stranded in rage, this Rachel has only the camera as her therapist, and Streep will turn to it as to a friend, confiding a querulous eyebrow or subtle grimace, simultaneously inhabiting and commenting on her role. Nicholson has a tougher assignment. He is, here, only half a man, all surface and no substance, and finally he distances himself from Mark, his face going slack in a kind of moral torpor...