authentic total and popular alphabet, not the semi-illiterate one that looses 900 pages a year... Poetry ... verbal caprice. I do not ask of him the great prodigious daily poetry of Unamuno which contains ... all is fanciful, vain, inert. In a poem, words are the very content. ("One is an ...

equals your secular goodbye, your creature, the soul, my word. translated by Stephen Berg The soul that ... third moves forward on tiptoe. But, between you and me, only second creatures exist. Leaning on my ... my mouth, finally, how big you are, cause of it all, Oh! who will ask me for my word? This meeting ...

without saying good-bye to anyone, went right off into the woods at the other end of the beach, Oleg ... I've imagined the rocks where the shackled Siberian convict wrestles with his fate. My love, promise ... that you will not leave me, let me bid you good-bye just one more time. The sun set and again the day ...

Chicago; they fancy themselves, as something out of the bad-lands of the wild west, and specifically, Mr. ... friend, Richard Russell, to get my brains trained on fools, those little scamps on stage were light-work ... for all of my days, but this minstrel show was integration gone to hell in a wheelbarrow. ...

much more variety than my poor fancy. 207 Issue 40 page ... and dead. 20 September 1974 Back in New York I am able finally to play the new Desto recording of my ... dwindled, and for several months now the corners I've turned are internal. My living area grows ...