It is not enough to cover the rock with leaves.
We must be cured of it by a cure of the ground
Or a cure of ourselves, that is equal to a cure
Of the ground, a cure beyond forgetfulness.
And yet the leaves, if they broke into bud,
If they broke into bloom, if they bore fruit,
And if we ate the incipient colorings
Of their fresh culls might be a cure of the ground.
— "The Rock," a poem by Wallace Stevens from
a section with the same title in the Collected Poems .
"A little bit of Las Vegas in the 1960s has
splashed down Off Broadway…. Actually,
the show as a whole could benefit from a softer sell."
— Charles Isherwood's review of
"The Best Is Yet to Come"
on page C1, NY edition, today's NY Times
"Out of the tree of life I just picked me a plum…"
