a fool in the forest


  • A fool, a fool! I met a fool i' the
    A motley fool; a miserable world!
    As I do live by food, I met a fool
    Who laid him down and bask'd him
        in the sun,
    And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good
    In good set terms and yet a motley

    As You Like It,
    Act II, Scene 7

    L'homme y passe à travers des
        forêts de symboles
    Qui l'observent avec des regards

    Les Fleurs du Mal,

    [T]here is almost no subject-matter, and what little one can disentangle is foolish....
    One would call the style verbose, except that by definition verbosity is the use of words in excess of the occasion, and there seems to be no occasion.

    Yvor Winters,
    Forms of Discovery, Ch. 7

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    « Ignorant Armies Go Bump in the Night [Bresnick: Caprichos Enfaticos] | Main | By the Prickling of My Pears »

    November 23, 2011


    Rick Coencas

    Beautifully written and clearly heartfelt.

    Those months you speak of were truly magical. I lived just blocks from you on Dwight and Fulton. Mr. Wayne on Blake. Between Zellerbach and those three domiciles, my world was drawn. My college girlfriend of that year also lived in the Sequoia, I spent time with you often in that studio, and remember it fondly.

    The world was ours.

    Berkeley has this way of changing and staying the same at once. The Sequoia may be gone, but Berkeley is still there. And although I rarely visit the place, it will always be a piece of me. The place I came of age. A home.

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