John Barrymore. See, among others, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1920, silent); When a Man Loves (1927, silent); The Beloved Rogue (1927, silent, in the part of François Villon); and Svengali (1931). . Read Bees and Their Keepers, by Lotte Möller, Pages 135-146. For the month of October: Brother Adam Remembered and the Scandal He Managed to Avoid, with a note about Saint Ambrose, patron saint of beekeepers. Read J.I.M. […]
When I grow up, I’ll be a responsible essayist. I’ll solve the world’s problems, one by one. Then I’ll invent new ones. I’ll also sell subscriptions. Until then, I’ll be an irresponsible poet and doodler. I’ll be a dooet and poetler. I’ll also sell inflictions. When everyone’s well, I’ll say they’re ill. And when they’re ill, I’ll say I welled them. I’ll have blog security. I’ll be avoided from miles […]
A couple of mornings ago I dug up the garden space. It’s been a very cool, wet April, one of about half a dozen of the coolest and wettest on record. The soil is in wonderful condition, a joyful fact confirmed by an abundance of fat, healthy worms. With luck, despite a continued chance of rain in the forecast, we’ll be able to plant a few things this week or […]
Yesterday morning I ran four miles, and when I was done I felt I could have easily run farther. It had rained again during the night and the atmosphere was heavy and moist, with a light fog. I kept a slow pace, free and easy. This morning I ran about a mile and a quarter in a very strong wind. My pace was still free and easy, but much faster. […]
My reading has slowed to a crawl. I love it as much as ever, and possibly even more, but sitting and I are no longer the friends we once were. The body craves movement, and the more movement I give it, the more free and flexible it becomes. Still, there is James Baldwin. Thus far I’ve read over three hundred pages of his penetrating and insightful essays, and am near […]
Open, honest, illuminating, inspiring, heartbreaking, profound — I am glad to have read James Baldwin’s masterfully written essay, “Notes of a Native Son.” Yesterday morning, upon rising and after the coffee was on, I drank two large glasses of water. This morning I had less than a glass. Sometimes I have one, sometimes one and a half. Day in and day out, all through my growing up years, my father […]
Having fortunately lived long enough to finish reading all three volumes of Vincent’s letters, I have moved on to Dostoevsky’s Diary of a Writer, in Boris Brasol’s English translation, published in two volumes by Charles Scribner’s Sons in 1949. After years of being away from Dostoevsky’s great novels and stories, coming upon him in the somewhat more casual, conversational mode of his periodical writings is much like having coffee with […]
Written in 2015 and first published as a standalone blog, I refer affectionately to As Is as a “free-form essay” without quite knowing what the term means. The piece, divided into nine parts, or verses, is as much poem as it is essay, as much memoir as it is poem, and as much a celebration of life and language as all three. Its several references to Stephen, Mary, and my […]
William Michaelian 