Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.
In an age of malice and bad faith on many sides, I reread White or Thurber or Mitchell and am reminded again that good writing is done, as I said in my elegy for Salinger, with an active eye and ear and an ardent heart, and in no other way.
Every angel is terrifying.
Part of elegy is confrontation - not just with the idea of death, but with the person who has died.
When I was from Cupid's passions free, my Muse was mute and wrote no elegy.
Elegy of the Death of a Mad Dog The dog, to gain some praivate ends, Went mad and bit the man.
A word is elegy to what it signifies.
Be With Me In The Phases Of My Work Because My Brain Feels Like It Has Been Whipped And I Yearn To Make A Small Perfect Thing Which Will Live In Your Morning Like Curious Static Through A President's Elegy Or A Nude Hunchback Acquiring A Tan On The Crowded Oily Beach.
