It's about time that there was some good news for Terry Pratchett—excuse me, Sir Terry Pratchett—on this, the eve of the Year of the Pensive Hare.
I very much want to post one of my squintillion favorite Richard Wilbur poems here, but considering the lack of written permission from the publisher blah blah blah, I'll just link to "Year's End" here. It's beautiful and dark, and it reminds me of the late and much lamented Johnny Cunningham, who once summed up the "dank spirit of a proper Celtic holiday season" in his inimitable brogue: "Ye're born en pein. Ya live en feir. Ya die aloone. [beat] Mairy Christmas."
Happy New Year to all, drive carefully, eat a lot, drink in moderation (champagne hangovers are vicious unforgiving things), and I'll hope to see everyone when the calendar has flipped.
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4 comments:
"Graved on the dark in gestures of descent,
They seemed their own most perfect monument."
Happy New year and may we all put some words together well in '09. Not this well though, not likely...I did not know this Wilbur poem so am grateful to you.
Consider it a New Year's gift. I can't remember where I first saw it, but it was on my office wall for a long time. More time, more time.
Happy New Year!
Thoughts on the new Doctor?
I'm with the guy who said he had older jars of chutney, but otherwise, I don't know enough about him. Bill Nighy would've been too stunty, though he would've been a thrill to watch. Maybe he can play a juicy villain.
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