Word: worde
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Freshmen, we began queueing up very early in front of Memorial Hall. I was about a third of the way down the line. In the front was a Negro fellow with wonderful yellow sunglasses, except that I did not think they were wonderful then, they begin uptight (a word I learned later) and trying very hard to be a Harvard freshman. First it was sideburns--Marty claims he was the first one in the freshman class with sideburns, but Marty, who is married now, always claimed such things. Then, it was wire-rimmed glasses. On our floor of the entry...
...disruption of the rules of liberal fair play. He is willing, however, to be a critical of the Right as of the Left. He has no truck for those parlour libertarians who finds SDS rhetoric "ominously ambiguous" and General Hershey's announcements merely "impolitic" or "stupid." His confidence in words and the possibility of making sense may appear out of place in these McLuhanesque times, but for a man who insists that reality begins and ends with the Word, there may be no other choice. "Most of the anti-verbal, anti-logical activity I see is stimulation, not communication...
Brian Aldiss has apparently been dropping acid since I last read him, and, more importantly, he happens to be turning his visions (somehow, a nicer word than hallucinations) into excellent prose. In "The Serpent of Kundalini" he turns a literary trick I have never seen before; he sketches a symbol so vividly that the concept behind it is assimilated long before it is explicitly stated. The symbol is a sort of paper-bag human frame crumpling at various points in the story, and the concept is that of an alternative not take, one of our potential selves that begins...
...Freshman class has selected an unfortunately thoughtless method of presenting their case since yesterday's petition was the first word of any dissatisfaction. The better way would have been to call the attention of the Department to the matter before resorting to a petition...
...rationality is formally stimulated by the rule that sonnets have 14 lines (who among mod poets could resist the 15th?). His surrealism-Lowell's word for it, and not really the right one-is technically encouraged by a decision to abandon rhyme and relax the meter of his sonnets-roughly the equivalent of playing checkers with chessmen on a blank board. This stylistic invitation to artistic indulgence occasionally helps betray Lowell into incoherence. Surrealism, after all, is mainly for those who applaud calculated chaos as critical therapy, a place where turned-on birds may sing but no poetry...