the absence
of another voice a chance, once more,
to face one’s life and live solemnly,
with an eloquence, like a bow being drawn
across a cello the color of God’s cigar –
to make, of this scuttle and heartbeat, art.
— John Updike, “Somewhere”
the absence
of another voice a chance, once more,
to face one’s life and live solemnly,
with an eloquence, like a bow being drawn
across a cello the color of God’s cigar –
to make, of this scuttle and heartbeat, art.
— John Updike, “Somewhere”