In other news dinner was fabulous and free (woohoo)!
I wore earrings tonight for the first time in two years.
So anyway, part of the audio-post was reading "George Crabbe" by Edwin Arlington Robinson. For those who don't know, Crabbe was a Romantic poet who has kind of dipped into obscurity. The poem is especially odd because it seems that Robinson foretold his own criitcal fate in talking about the dismissal of Crabbe.
Anyway, along with "Miniver Cheevy" (which is my absolute favorite)and "Reuben Bright" (which I also like very much) George Crabbe is among my favorite of Robinson's poems.
Give him the darkest inch your shelf allows,
Hide him in lonely garrets, if you will,—
But his hard, human pulse is throbbing still
With the sure strength that fearless truth endows.
In spite of all fine science disavows, 5
Of his plain excellence and stubborn skill
There yet remains what fashion cannot kill,
Though years have thinned the laurel from his brows.
Whether or not we read him, we can feel
From time to time the vigor of his name 10
Against us like a finger for the shame
And emptiness of what our souls reveal
In books that are as altars where we kneel
To consecrate the flicker, not the flame.