"The way, when we climb a mountain,
Vermont throws itself together"
— Wallace Stevens, "July Mountain"
For another view of reality in New Haven, see the
brief biography of Vermont poet Frances Frost
at the Yale University Library. From that biography:
"She was survived by her son, the poet Paul Blackburn,
and by her daughter, Sister Marguerite of the Order
of St. Joseph."
See also a figure from The New York Times published
online on Epiphany, 2013:
Old Stone-Cutter
His gravestones are his everlasting children.
He loves to get his cramped left hand around
the solid faithful feeling of his chisel
and dig the names of those below the ground
or the family names of provident ones above
who cross their fingers and defy the fates
and acknowledge death their enemy and master
by ordering headstones with their birthing dates.
He carves his holy head, a solemn cherub
with granite wings and childish eyes cast down.
Those who prefer a willowed urn, disliking
angels, can go and die in another town.
(From The North American Review , Vol. 248, No. 2,
1939, page 301)
Solemn cherub by Albrecht Dürer in 1514—
Temporal note: The time of this post, 8:09 AM ET, may be regarded
as a reference to the date 8/09 in the year of our Lord 2010. See also,
in this journal on that date, "Angels in the Architecture (continued)."
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