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"But to Pearse, Yeats’s decision that the Irish Literary Revival would be conducted in English (for he had no Irish) represented a betrayal."

I feel more fado every day.

A walk in autumn fields.

"Cento: Poem about My Father

The trees rise from the darkness of the world
in this, my last poem about my father.
To hold a mountain’s heartbeat in his hand,
seeding there what he hopes will outlast him.
He told where all the running water goes,
and now he’s dead.
Everything’s mine but just on loan,
time and the bell have buried the day,
the round sky goes on minding its business.
I turned and looked the other way:
sorrow’s springs are the same.
I cried because life is hopeless and beautiful,
no one arrives without leaving soon.
There was nowhere at all to go."

—Steve Nickman via

"Is Tokyo as filmed by Sofia Coppola actually real?"