Word: sonneteering
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Jobs turned from life science to applied technology. Wozniak and some other friends gravitated toward an outfit called the Homebrew Computer Club in 1975, and Jobs would occasionally drop by. Wozniak was the computer zealot, the kind of guy who can see a sonnet in a circuit. What Jobs saw was profit. At convocations of the Homebrew, Jobs showed scant interest in the fine points of design, but he was enthusiastic about selling the machines Wozniak was making...
Nims offers himself as an old-fashioned lover of forms, both female and poetic. He bows gracefully to ottava rima, the sonnet and ballad. "Verse without rhyming was a toothless mouth," he insists at one point; elsewhere, he disguises his own bite with barely detectable assonances like "hankering" and "merry thing." He toys with words to tickle emotions. In "Dawn Song," a man gets up after a night of lovemaking and praise from his partner, and faces himself in the bathroom mirror...
...playboy of the social revolution." Journalist and playwright, Harvard cheerleader and Moscow radical, consciousness-and hellraiser, Reed embraced contradictions as he ran like an Ivy League halfback through an archetypal American life-full, frustrated, tragically short. He knew everybody, did everything. His life was a passionate sonnet scrawled on a Wobbly poster-and when he finished the poem he died, in 1920, three days before his 33rd birthday. Jack Reed: artist-adventurer...
...liveliest pages; there would be no great literary epistles like Pope's to "Dr. Arbuthnot"no epistolary novels like Pamela and Clarissa-a minor loss, but a loss nonetheless, the loss of a form. That is what a letter is, after all: a literary form, like a sonnet. It is not as defined as a sonnet. Still one looks for things to be said in letters that are not said elsewhere, expecting truth most of all. Even falsity in letters divulges a kind of truth-the false wit employed in writing to a clever enemy, the false cheer...
...Time Waits for No One" is the second part of a pair, and showcases Watts' sweatless yet perfect drumming. With ample self-deprecation. Jagger clumsily explores the theme of mortality in what turns into a bastardized Shakespearian sonnet. The final couplet of iambic pentameter is repeated several times too many: "Time waits for no one, No favors has He: /Time waits for No One./ And he won't wait...