Anne carson glass essay summary

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Yet it is the voice of The Spoiler that spoils me for other poems. It is a work of sustained narrative like no other in our language or in our time. Taxes on the back lot. Reading The Glass Essay unlocked something, and it just poured out. The poet Richard Blanco was visiting me, giving readings here in Granada and Madrid after a reading he had given in London.

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This is not uncommon. Mother and I are chewing lettuce carefully. Yet when it comes to approaching literary texts, reading is almost always and not surprisingly defined as a slow and painstaking endeavor.

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Mice in the teatowel drawer again. What was this cage, invisible to us, which she felt herself to be confined in? Anger wakes up mornings. A thousand questions hit my eyes from the inside. I wait a moment Brilliant as a spaceship it exhales cold confusion. Also my main fear, which I mean to confront. Sometimes slowly. Who would I become? Everything gets crazy. I rinse the face and return to bed. But it has no name. She had a lot of pain because of you. What triumphs is the act of thinking, which becomes inseparable from the floodscape where it takes place.

I took up the practice of meditation. It introduces us not only to Wuthering Heights, but also to her poems and what other critics say about her and her work.

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But early this morning while mother slept and I was downstairs reading the part in Wuthering Heights where Heathcliff clings at the lattice in the storm sobbing Come in! Taxes on the back lot. Woman alone on a hill. This is not uncommon. All human desire is poised on an axis of paradox, absence and presence its poles, love and hate its motive energies. What does it accomplish all that raking up the past? There we were, two American poets in Europe, stopping to take in the news. Woman alone on a hill.

Hardships and joy all awaited me outside that small hill and cluster of brown-stone buildings at Wesleyan. Nude 1.

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That volcano in the Philippines at it again.

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Winged Ink: The Glass Essay by Anne Carson