Unforgotten

Unforgotten

I am attending a new seminar with Mark Scarbrough, this time up in Salisbury Connecticut, a town in the northwest corner of the state. The ride is another half hour beyond Washington (where we read Emily Dickinson with him), and not all of it as pleasantly rural as Route 63, but two hours with Mark is worth the roundtrip, in time and environs. The end-of-winter landscape – dirty snow, ratty leaf litter, and crumpled plastics –

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Resonance

Resonance

I am spinning, floating, suspended after Mark’s two lectures on If I Forget Thee O Jerusalem, while all of life conspires to conflate and converse and heckle and cheer. Mark has added many layers of understanding to my read of the book – the whole of Faulkner’s work, really – bringing in contexts and criticism pertinent and rich with the meanings of transactional economics [industrial capitalism], regionalism exalted and reconfigured, re-presented to mean a nation,

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Blood Simple

Blood Simple

We are reading four of Faulkner’s novels with Mark, and the second is Light in August, which I read years and years ago. I didn’t recall any of the story upon this read, but I do remember being surprised, shocked, in wonder – I’d say amazed, if it weren’t such an overused word – upon reading it the first time, due to its subject and unromantic portrayal, and also at the unfamiliar craft and power of Faulkner’s writing.

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Upcoming

Upcoming

My birthday is at the end of March, and this year we celebrated with Keith and Emilia, two of the four friends most dear to me. (Printha and Addie the other two, my god-grandchildren who stopped by too, with hugs and chatter.) Bruce made a Buckwheat Pancake and Mimosa Brunch, they brought flowers and a Crown and lovely card. I have waited forty years for friends like them – we are all so matched and complemented in interests and outlook and intelligences it matters not a bit that they are thirty + years younger.

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Dante, and not…

Dante, and not…

Mark is giving another lecture series, on Dante’s Inferno, which partially overlapped Faulkner, though on a different day of the week, in different libraries of different towns. Our work schedules didn’t allow for attending both and we had to choose. After four weeks of heady Faulkner we decided to try the lighter fare, and so missed The Sound and the Fury. But we went back to Faulkner, after two lectures on Dante,

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