incessant sun
the journal of Michael Werneburg
twenty-eight years and a million words
Sydney, 2000.11.30
This week has been frighteningly sunny. What's happened to the Sydney I was coming to hate, with its incessant rain?
twenty-eight years and a million words
This week has been frighteningly sunny. What's happened to the Sydney I was coming to hate, with its incessant rain?
Immature poets imitate mature poets steal bad poets deface what they take and good poets make it into something better or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique utterly different than that from which it is torn the bad poet throws it into something which has no cohesion. A good poet will usually borrow from authors remote in time or alien in language or diverse in interest.
—T.S. Eliot