I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable,
I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.
si fueris Rōmae, Rōmānō vīvitō mōre; si fueris alibī, vīvitō sīcut ibī*
—attributed to St Ambrose
Rome doesn’t yield up its secrets easily to first-time short-term travelers, and the work attendant to their discovery can threaten to swamp the rewards. While our desire was to heed St. Ambrose’s dictum, we faced “just a few” significant challenges: we had between us about five words of Italian and next to nil in practical knowledge of the city and its ways. Continue reading
This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,
It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous, I make appointments with all,
I will not have a single person slighted or left away,
—Walt Whitman, Song of Myself, Part 19 (excerpt)
If there’s a holiday in the U.S. more Whitmanian in spirit than Thanksgiving, I don’t know of it. It’s the one time each year when, among other things, City friends, and others even further flung, hop planes and trains and get in cars to converge at our house for a grand feast. Continue reading
Now I will do nothing but listen,
To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds
contribute toward it.
—Walt Whitman, from Song of Myself
Walt Whitman was famous for revising his own poems. Continue reading