The Poet's Wife

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Two hours into the interview, it was time to reveal the truth. “It’s coming down today,” Hill told Ed. “I know who The Poet is.” What if I called you a liar?” Hill said coldly. “Because I got evidence that shows you have.” His expression was grim. The detectives were stunned by the news that Ruth might be The Poet, but they kept their faces impassive. (Drowatzky, in particular, was devastated, given how close he and his wife had grown with the Finleys.) Privately, many of them thought LaMunyon was deluded. What about all the experts — the doctors, the psychologists, the linguists — who had sworn Ruth and The Poet could not be the same person? But LaMunyon, an enormously self-confident man, thought the experts were wrong. “I don’t believe any of them, and I don’t believe anything [Ruth] says either,” he said. This insight, which expresses itself by what is called Imagination, is a very high sort of seeing, which does not come by study, but by the intellect being where and what it sees, by sharing the path, or circuit of things through forms, and making them translucid to others. The path of things is silent. Will they suffer a speaker to go with them? A spy they will not suffer; a lover, a poet, is the transcendency of their own nature,—him they will suffer. The condition of true naming, on the poet’s part, is his resigning himself to the divine aura which breathes through forms, and accompanying that. Swedenborg, of all men in the recent ages, stands eminently for the translator of nature into thought. I do not know the man in history to whom things stood so uniformly for words. Before him the metamorphosis continually plays. Every thing on which his eye rests, obeys the impulses of moral nature. The figs become grapes whilst he eats them. When some of his angels affirmed a truth, the laurel twig which they held blossomed in their hands. The noise which, at a distance, appeared like gnashing and thumping, on coming nearer was found to be the voice of disputants. The men, in one of his visions, seen in heavenly light, appeared like dragons, and seemed in darkness: but, to each other, they appeared as men, and, when the light from heaven shone into their cabin, they complained of the darkness, and were compelled to shut the window that they might see.

Mark Strand (1934–2014), Canadian-born US poet, essayist and translator; US Poet Laureate, 1990–1991

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Famous quote:“The main object of religion is not to get a man into heaven, but to get heaven into him.” Rudyard Kipling Music’s always involved. Unplugging from the world and catching up with friends and family whenever possible, whether it’s on the phone or in person, is something we also have to do. I’m always saying you can find peace right in front of you if you’re looking for it. But even as she was recounting these details, Ruth wasn’t sure they were real. She was just telling Hill the most logical possibilities. She had no memory of the acts she was describing. But Hill was angry, and Ruth was terrified of anger. She wanted to please him. The only thing she knew for sure was that she had done horrible things, because Hill was telling her so. Famous quote:“The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.” Pablo Neruda

That night in 1946 Ruth had just returned to her rooming house from buying groceries when she heard the screen door open behind her. Suddenly she felt herself grabbed from behind by a tall man who began tearing at her clothes. The intruder wore dirty bib overalls and looked about 50 years old.The Poetry Society has made it a wintry tradition to commission a new children’s poem, inspired by the tree each year. The spruce is a gift from the City of Oslo to the people of London in thanks for keeping the Norwegian king safe during the Second World War. We look forward to announcing more about the poem soon to be decorating the base of the tree from 7 December to 6 January. Italians like Dante Aligheri, Giovanni Boccaccio and Petrarch's works in a pharmacist's guild and William Shakespeare's work in the theater. Simpson Charles Younger (1850–1943), baseball player, soldier during the American Civil War, Civil Rights campaigner, and poet

Famous quote:“We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.” Jalal al-Din Rumi You don’t hear it being talked of as a novelty any more, which I did at the start of my career. I found that funny, given its long history. There was an element of classism to that, I think. But I’m thrilled by how spoken word is now seen over here and internationally. There is a lot of understanding of spoken word poetry as something that’s socially motivated, which is what you want from art. I wish that was still the priority in some of the music that I grew up loving, but it gets very difficult when genres get commercialised, expand and become popular. You know, money changes things. George Campbell Hay (1915–1984), Scottish poet and translator in Scottish Gaelic, Lowland Scots and EnglishHill and Leon began the interview by asking Ed to detail his early years: his childhood, his family, his career as an accountant. Ed’s answers were truthful and concise. He was equally plainspoken as Hill and Leon took him step-by-step through the events involving The Poet, beginning with Ed’s stay in the hospital in 1977 and culminating with The Poet’s most recent letter. Hill felt confident that Ed had been wholly unaware of his wife’s activities. Things more excellent than every image,” says Jamblichus, “are expressed through images.” Things admit of being used as symbols, because nature is a symbol, in the whole, and in every part. Every line we can draw in the sand, has expression; and there is no body without its spirit of genius. All form is an effect of character; all condition, of the quality of life; all harmony, of health; (and for this reason, a perception of beauty should be sympathetic, or proper only to the good). The beautiful rests on the foundations of the necessary. The soul makes the body, as the wise Spenser teaches:—So every spirit, as it is most pure, Hendrik Doeff (1777–1835), Dutch lexicographer and poet (in Japanese) and Commissioner in the Dejima trading post Asesinos en serie, suicidios de policías, mensajes inspirados en los poemas de Poe, FBI y un desconocido periodista que empieza a tirar de un hilo que nadie, nadie, había sido capaz de detectar.: MacEvoy. ¿le dejarán investigar? ¿Será capaz de convencer a los poderes fácticos de que hay gato encerrado? ¿lo utilizarán para sus fines y luego le darán una patadita en el culo?