“Good little sunbeams must learn to fly,
“But it’s madly ungay when the goldfish die.”
— Adrian and Francisco, from W.H. Auden’s “The Sea and the Mirror”
All posts by Eric Robert Nolan
Testify, Roger!
“There was once a time, in decades not too long ago, when life for a young artist consisted of living in a threadbare apartment while trying to create great art, instead of trying to live in a great apartment while creating threadbare art.”
– Roger Ebert.
First Stephen King book I ever read.
I’m pretty sure “The Boogeyman” was my favorite story. (I might have borrowed it from my brother without his permission.)
For some reason, however, it was “The Tommyknockers” (and not “The Stand!!”) that really made me want to become an author. I read that one on a long car ride to visit my sister at college in Boston.
Random Mary Washington College memories conjured from chats with alums:
$1 movies at Dodd Auditorium. (What a cheap date.)
Anyone else remember “Fantasia” or “The Birds?”
“The past is the only dead thing that smells sweet.”
Edward Thomas, Poems (1917)
I miss Roger Ebert.
I do.
If you’re a writer, you could learn hell of a lot about storytelling by reading his film reviews. Two areas he taught readers a lot, for example, were character development and avoiding cliche.
And not to sound like an anti-intellectual here, but I always trusted (and enjoyed reading) his opinion far more than those of the highbrow film school prof-type reviewers who seemed to feel that every movie needed to be “Citizen Kane.”
“Invocation to Ariel,” by W. H. Auden
(a portion of “The Sea and the Mirror”)
Sing, Ariel, sing,
Sweetly, dangerously,
Out of the sour
And shiftless water,
Lucidly out
Of the dozing tree,
Entrancing, rebuking
The raging heart
With a smoother song
Than this rough world,
Unfeeling God.
O brilliantly, lightly,
Of separation,
Of bodies and death,
Unanxious one, sing
To man, meaning me,
As now, meaning always,
In love or out,
Whatever that mean,
Trembling he takes
The silent passage
Into discomfort.
A family favorite made timelier than ever …
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
BY ROBERT FROST
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
I bitch as much as the next person, but gentle twilight snowfalls actually are rather pretty …
“The Walk,” by Stephen Jarrell Williams
Since I began seeking publication for my creative writing just over a year ago, I’ve consistently benefited from the encouragement of Stephen Jarrell Williams, Editor of Dead Snakes.
Stephen has long been an established and prolific writer, which makes it more impressive that he generously finds time to provide a forum for new writers like me. I am getting acquainted with Stephen’s own widely published poetry, and I particularly enjoy “The Walk.” For this and more poetry by Stephen, see the online quarterly Mirror Dance magazine here:
http://mirrordancefantasy.blogspot.com/2010/06/walk.html
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 