The T.S. Eliot of the post-World War I period was a poet who stood Janus-faced on the threshold of old and new worlds. He looked backward to the mountain ranges of European tradition and marveled at their alpine peaks.[...]
Many of us today think of Vincent Price as the face, and an even more so the voice, of modestly budgeted midcentury horror movies. But over his long and prolific career, he showed just what multitudes he could contain.[...]
April 23 is the 400th anniversary of Shakespeare’s death, an event so far in the past that it can be celebrated as a second birthday of sorts.
The New York Public Library’s contribution to the festivities has an endearingly homemade quality.
Oh to be eulogized by Patti Smith, Godmother of Punk, poet, best-selling author.
Her memoir, Just Kids, was born of a sacred deathbed vow to her first boyfriend, photographer Robert Mapplethorpe.
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James Mercer Langston Hughes’ poetry—joyful, celebratory, cutting, filled with deep longing, playful jabs, bittersweet images, and earnest affirmations—is pre-eminently African American poetry.[...]
Valentine’s Day draws nigh, and we can only assume our readers are desperately wondering how to declaim love poetry without looking like a total prat.
Set it to music?
Go for it, but let’s not forget the fate of that soulful young fellow on the stairs of Animal House when his sweet airs fell upon the ears of John Belushi.
Those who only know T.S. Eliot from such early poems as “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” and The Waste Land may be surprised to encounter what many critics consider his greatest work, the Four Quartets.[...]
Packing lists are not inherently punk rock.
But the handwritten packing list Godmother of Punk Patti Smith scrawled upside down on a photocopied receipt from a children’s bookstore on the eve of a 40-date European tour comes close.
Briefly noted: For a limited time (for the next 23 days, to be precise), you can hear Jeremy Irons reading “The Naming of Cats,” a poem from T.S. Eliot’s Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats (1939). The poem will certainly sound familiar to anyone who has ever seen Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical, Cats.[...]