John
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Last December Jane and I moved west from Massachusetts to Long Beach, California. We wanted to come out here to be close to our sons, both of whom have settled in the Golden State, Gardy in Los Angeles, Sam in San Francisco. As any old guy who moves to a new state knows,
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John
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Depression has built up like a block of ice in my gut. I can’t sleep. I’ve been tossing around in bed for a couple hours, and I’ve finally gotten up to face the computer and to write this for my blog. It may be the last piece I post here.
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The following essay is an old one, originally published in Yankee, Vol. 55, no. 5, May, 1991, pp. 68-70. I’m still fond of it.
Calypso bulbosa
Every year in my English classes I teach the Odyssey,
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Odysseus’ Tree
It’s August 29, 2016, and I’m in Andover, standing behind Bulfinch Hall, where I taught English for 26 years, from 1982 to 2008. I’ve come here today to attend the interment of Jean St. Pierre, who was my department chair during my first five years here.
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A Cry From the Ground is a sort of Maine retelling of the Cain and Abel myth. The following excerpt occurs after the heroine, Elvina Denny, has arrived in Wiscasset from New Orleans to live with her dour, taciturn father. The year is 1921.
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John
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In Notting Hill, Spike – Hugh Grant’s sketchy roommate, played by an off-the-wall Rhys Ifans – announces, “I’ll tell you a story that will make your balls shrink to the size of raisins.” I’ve got a story like that. It’s about a time-share.
First, you need the background:
More than a quarter century ago,
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In 1963, when I was a sophomore at Williams, fraternity rush happened, and Phi Gamma Delta happened to me. I had no idea what this event would mean for me, still haven’t, in any but the crudest sense. As I talk now with classmates, though, it seems as though many others felt I had entered The Cabin in the Woods.
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John
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Yesterday I bought some real estate. Not much, really: probably about a square foot, maybe two. By the square footage it was pretty pricey – $750. But we have to remember that the construction we will put on it is longlasting; as the gravedigger in Hamlet puts it,
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[What follows is an excerpt from EDUCATING LONGFELLOW, my new novel. It’s set at Adams Academy, a fictional New England boarding school. The important players are Marshall Troublefield, 30, a Desert Storm vet, a newly minted M.A. in English, and a brand-new teacher at the school; Natty Sewall, a new ninth-grader from Wiscasset,
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I’m posting a story for Easter. It’s about a kind of rebirth. The heroine, Miss Agnes, is old but tough. Oh, and Latin students will recognize her name. I really like Miss Agnes.
TEETH
“Ain’t that something,” mutters Miss Agnes Day insincerely, her words as ever puncutuated by the clicks of her dentures slipping and sliding over the banana skins of her gums.
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