Word: smokes
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Spender has lately toured the world as if it were a single troubled campus. During the student occupation in April 1968, he made the scene at Columbia. In fact he boosted himself through a window into President Kirk's office, though he declined the insurgents' invitation to smoke a presidential cigar (a "sign that I was not taking their side"). A month later, Spender was roaming Paris, listening to another Polonius of the Old Left, Jean-Paul Sartre, at a Sorbonne rally and being mistaken by French student-rebels for the professor-prophet of revolution, Herbert Marcuse...
Last year, we felt powerful, that we could do anything. We marched on the Pentagon in October, and I remember the sky sulphurous with the smell of teargas and smoke in the air. In March the President was deposed and the war was over (something about no bombing of North Vietnam). People worked for McCarthy, who lost by only a little in New Hampshire but by a lot in the Democratic convention. Still, it was wonderful to feel that you could get things done. And in May there was Columbia. Earlier, we sat in against a Dow Chemical Company recruiter...
...huge black-on-white compositions showed no more sophistication than a Chinese ideograph, but they conveyed the energy of the man that made them-and commanded a whole wall rather than a corner of a scroll. The smoldering color clouds of Mark Rothko drew a viewer in like a smoke-filled room, where unidentified objects lurk just beyond the eye's peripheral vision...
Irony is the first resort of the oporessed. Operating out of two languages, Gaelic and English, the lads found they could shoot up a smoke screen of Irish bulls and blarney that no colonial officer could penetrate. Forbidden to write patriotic songs, they wrote love poems to a girl that sounded suspiciously like Eire, hate poems couched as hymns and generally got things so snarled up that they even have to watch each other. (The best Irish talkers have eyes like terriers'.) Gulliver's Travels, the Anglo-Irish classic, is the high point of the two traditions...
Last year, we felt powerful, that we could do anything. We marched on the Pentagon in October, and I remember the sky sulphurous with the smell of teargas and smoke in the air. In March the President was deposed and the war was over (something about no bombing in North Vietnam). People worked for McCarthy, who lost by only a little in New Hampshire but by a lot in the Democratic convention. Still, it was wonderful to feel that you could get things done. And in May there was Columbia. Earlier, we sat in against a Dow Chemical Company recruiter...