Poem for Ones Who Know One When They See One

What W. H. Auden said “In Memory of W. B. Yeats,” not modified in the “guts” or on the blog: “For poetry makes nothing happen: it survives” so there it is, no one need worry. “Encore! Encore! More! More!” OK, ok, settle down; this is no time for pathos, but, “Wild nights – Wild Nights!”…

On Downgrades and Grades; or, Dude, Score Thyself

Yesterday, in a post on her New Yorker blog, Close Read, titled “Rioting Markets,” Amy Davidson, commenting on a surreal week in our markets and cities, a week when one wondered, like Yeats wondered, if the center can hold, said, “We lost our credit rating, after all, in large part because of a riot by…