Word: saints
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...themselves in mortification. In her soli tary life, Sister Nazarena prays, explains one nun, "for you, for me, for all of us." Solitude with her God seems to agree with her. "She is the most serene person I have ever known," says her abbess Mother Hildegarde. "She is a saint...
...Naples, has been described in a travel book as "perhaps the most squalid city in Italy." The most squalid city in Italy has music in its streets, cluttered pink and white buildings, seagulls screaming overhead, a bright blue waterfront, a Roman amphitheater where Gennaro-patron saint of Naples-achieved his exaltation simply because a pride of lions refused to eat him. It now has a municipal slogan: "What a woman we have exported." Romilda's health was poor, and her breasts went dry. Little Sofia-the ph was inserted later because it seems more exotic to the Italian...
...will never be found; as writing, it is often awkward and repetitious. But the story alone carries the book. Rimbaud embodied in his short life some of the great prototypes: the fallen angel, the artist-outlaw, the prodigal son. He continues to be worshiped by religious writers as a saint, by revolutionary poets as a supreme rebel. But he was mostly a poet and a suffering human being, and to the latter, at least, Miss Starkie's book does ample justice...
...concrete canyons or a bouquet on a secretary's desk, that the rites of spring were most warmly celebrated. In Manhattan, the center stripe down Fifth Avenue turned leprechaun green (as it always does in spring), and 120,000 people marched in honor of an ancient Irish saint. In German Bierstuben, Milwaukee toasted spring with the first malty bock of the season. Philadelphians filled the benches of Rittenhouse Square, turning their pale faces upward to greet the warming sun. And Washington was in an April mood as the first boisterous busloads of visiting students arrived on spring vacation...
Roethke is a nature poet as well as a metaphysician, and the best of his poems celebrate the spiritual experience in a natural metaphor, as a sort of vegetation mystery. Cuttings is characteristic: This urge, wrestle, resurrection of dry sticks, Cut stems struggling to put down feet, What saint strained so much, Rose on such lopped limbs to a new life? I can hear, underground, that sucking and sobbing, In my veins, in my bones I feel it,- The small waters seeping upward, The tight grains parting at last...