Francesco Petrarca (or Petrarch) is well-known to us as one of the major Italian poets, one of the “three fountains” of Italian Renaissance poetry as Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio are some...
D. H. Lawrence, Scent of Irises (from Amores, New York: 1916). A faint, sickening scent of irises Persists all morning. Here in a jar on the table A fine proud spike of purple irises Rising above the ...
Following on from Max Ernst who peeked on Our Lady punishing the Child – here are two instances of attitude to corporal punishment. The poem Nieman kan mit gerten by the Middle High German lyric...
Philosophiren, says Novalis, ist dephlegmatisiren vivificiren. The service of philosophy, of speculative culture, towards the human spirit is to rouse, to startle it into sharp and eager observation. ...
I wrote The Word in 2006, and then it took two years and a Dublin Heidegger student to write a review of it. Paul Ennis is writing a Ph.D. thesis on Heidegger, “mostly on topological concerns, b...
The Thames nocturne of blue and gold Changed to a Harmony in grey: A barge with ochre-coloured hay Dropped from the wharf: and chill and cold The yellow fog came creeping down The bridges, till the ho...
Я не должна сказать, как дорог ты. Это загадка даже для меня, Кто должен лучше знать. И тайны той Открыть я не посмею глубины. Когда был май, любила я тебя; Казалось мне, мы вечность обрели. Я там был...
A microphone is I. I am a microphone. Since childhood, this question has been stuck in my head: people stand in front of the microphone, and speak, and speak, but what does the microphone think in the...
We talk of taxes, and I call you friend; Well, such we are, but well enough we know How thick about us root, how rankly grow Those subtle weeds no man has need to tend, That flourish through neglect a...
For the second day running I come across articles from the press that just cannot be lost for the posterity – they need to be preserved and cherished. And before you say anything, I (as all of u...