Now near the end of the middle stretch of road What have I learned? Some earthly wiles. An art. That often I cannot tell good fortune from bad, That once had seemed so easy to tell apart. The source of art and woe aslant in wind Dissolves or nourishes everything it touches. What roadbank gullies and ruts it doesn't mend It carves the deeper, boiling tawny in ditches. It spends itself regardless into the ocean. It stains and scours and makes things dark or…… More »
“I sit with Shakespeare and he winces not.” W. E. B. DuBois begins the peroration of his majestic essay “Of the Training of Black Men” with that line of blank verse embedded in his prose. “I summon Aristotle and Aurelius and what soul I will,” he thunders, “and they come all graciously with no scorn nor condescension”—linking freedom with learning, and individual dignity with art.… More »
A World Without Discs, Selling Your Parking Meter, and Film Comes Back
New York's Mayor Declares War on Soda
Seattle Man Kills Five People Before Shooting Himself
