Early, before sunrise on the twenty-sixth of July 1904, Father Raphael Durant approached the townhome of Judge William W. Lahey. It was but a short walk that evening from his parish at Our Lady of Mount Carmel Catholic Church.
Seagulls clashed on the rocks where strange tales of transformations failed to keep ships from being sucked and swallowed by the careless sea.
That was the top of the walk when he said: My house is a decayed house And mist clotted about the trees in the valley
In the course of her twenty books, Annie Ernaux has deliberately put the specificity of autobiography and fiction on trial, interrogating traditional notions about the possibilities and limits of those modes.
A blur, a haze, an asymmetrical shape. Poetry is born of things, not ideas. But the image was abstract,
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