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The Lord Squire among the bags and books and book bags beckons and bows. The trees fill with threes— three birds, three bees, three bones, everything in threes— except for the scones. And they come once a fortnight— so stale and dry and too hard to eat— it is as if they were poems.

Wallace Stevens: Adorning the Rock

  This is the longest piece I ever wrote. I published it on extrasimile in four parts. it also appeared (and still appears, though it difficult to find) on00 You will be forgiven if you don’t read it, but it is something of f an Ars Poetica for me.       Donald HallContinue reading “Wallace Stevens: Adorning the Rock”