Going back into the history of a word, very often into Latin, we come back pretty commonly to pictures or models of how things happen or are done.
Picasso is what is going to happen and what is happening; he is posterity and archaic time, the distant ancestor and our next-door neighbor. Speed permits him to be two places at once, to belong to all the centuries without letting go of the here and now.
While the debate over banned books usually seems to happen just outside the gates of government, it takes on a new danger and urgency when legislators get involved. Their actions cause voices to be silenced both inside and outside the books. That’s un-American.
In its truest manifestation, where it gives judgments, poetry is super-luxury. It would be interesting to see what would happen to a High Court judge if he were forced to follow the true poetic formula, doing the job for love, being forced into pubs for relief.
I cannot outline. I do not know what the next thing is going to happen in the book until it comes out of my fingers.
Money is the medium of exchange, and it’s how you make things happen. To say you hate it is some farfetched, idealistic crap.
Gandhi wanted to meet with Churchill, his most bitter foe, when he visited London in 1931- but it didn’t happen. Churchill wanted to go to India personally as prime minister in 1942 to negotiate a final settlement on India with Gandhi and the other nationalist leaders – but the fall of Singapore prevented it from happening.
In the final analysis, the questions of why bad things happen to good people transmutes itself into some very different questions, no longer asking why something happened, but asking how we will respond, what we intend to do now that it happened.
Great things happen in small places. Jesus was born in Bethlehem. Jesse Jackson was born in Greenville.
How does one happen to write a poem: where does it come from? That is the question asked by the psychologists or the geneticists of poetry.