Life keeps hurtling forward, bursting forth. It’s spring in California, the jasmine’s come in and the streaky roses. It’s been raining hard all morning; just now it stopped abruptly. Lyn writes in My Life, “she observed that detail minutely, as if it were botanical. As if words could unite an ardent intellect with the external material world.” This is Lyn, vitally observing, drawing it all into relation, the mind and the world, botanical, passionate. Making words hold life, making words as life. “Such that art is inseparable from the search for reality,” she writes.
Woodstock: Peace and Mud
Woodstock: Peace and Mud
All through my first year at college, I listened to the LPs of the musicians who assembled at Woodstock 50 years ago, having bought the albums one by one on my frequent visits to Sam Goody’s Radio City store. (I recently gave the remainer of my LP collection, several overstuffed boxes, to Lawrence Kumpf of Blank Forms.)