Comments on: Not quite Walden Pond http://www.edwardsblock.com/archives/711 Sat, 19 Jun 2010 00:13:55 +0000 hourly 1 http://wordpress.org/?v=3.0.1 By: Doug Dosdall http://www.edwardsblock.com/archives/711/comment-page-1#comment-534 Doug Dosdall Tue, 04 Aug 2009 17:42:01 +0000 http://www.edwardsblock.com/?p=711#comment-534 A lovely meditation on the city. Your attitude to the city/country is shared by many i think. Too bad the suburbs land in the middle making the trip from one to the other so onerous. I'm growing my first real garden this year too - but on a rooftop right in the midst of the West End. The tomatoes have loved this hot weather as have most of the herbs. But everything else is struggling. Shall i trade you some tomatoes for some pole beans? A lovely meditation on the city. Your attitude to the city/country is shared by many i think. Too bad the suburbs land in the middle making the trip from one to the other so onerous. I’m growing my first real garden this year too – but on a rooftop right in the midst of the West End. The tomatoes have loved this hot weather as have most of the herbs. But everything else is struggling. Shall i trade you some tomatoes for some pole beans?

]]> By: Cory Tennant http://www.edwardsblock.com/archives/711/comment-page-1#comment-523 Cory Tennant Thu, 23 Jul 2009 07:05:44 +0000 http://www.edwardsblock.com/?p=711#comment-523 Nice article. You may also be interested in a poem my friend Chris Bitten wrote about the redoubtable Virginia. Here it is: "I Begin to Hear Voices...." Virginia Woolf at fifty-nine Worn thin by an infinite Drizzle of syllables, A pluvial onslaught of words. The last walls are breached; Inside, a well of circular echoes, Disembodied voices, fleshless phrases -- Insistent, suffocating. Virginia Woolf at fifty-nine Crossed the river meadows In green spring sun, Pausing once to choose a river stone Of heft enough, round, water smooth, And pushed it in the pocket of her coat. Virginia Woolf at fifty-eight: "I shall swim into quiet water." Nice article. You may also be interested in a poem my friend Chris Bitten wrote about the redoubtable Virginia. Here it is:

“I Begin to Hear Voices….”

Virginia Woolf at fifty-nine
Worn thin by an infinite
Drizzle of syllables,
A pluvial onslaught of words.

The last walls are breached;
Inside, a well of circular echoes,
Disembodied voices, fleshless phrases –
Insistent, suffocating.

Virginia Woolf at fifty-nine
Crossed the river meadows
In green spring sun,
Pausing once to choose a river stone
Of heft enough, round, water smooth,
And pushed it in the pocket of her coat.

Virginia Woolf at fifty-eight:
“I shall swim into quiet water.”

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