Archives - March 2013


Mar. 31

A Broken Heart


Theotokos "God-bearer"

Strange happenings have occurred here in the holy city, but my heart is too numb to care.  Yesterday, a rumor spread that when Caiphas, the enemy of my soul, went into the inner sanctum of the Great Temple as the earth shook at the moment of my son’s death, he found that the heavy temple veil that separates us from the Holy of Holies had been torn asunder.  But even if this did happen, the temple authorities would keep it from the people, never telling them something that might cause them to lose any of their tightly-held religious power.  We have also heard rumors of the dead rising from their graves and walking the streets of Jerusalem in their grave wrappings.  But these things I have not witnessed myself, so I don’t know them to be true.  ...

Mar. 21

The Romantic


Percy Bysshe Shelley


“Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world,

and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.”

 Already a poet as a young teenager, Shelley was kicked out of Oxford for writing pamphlets expressing his atheism and radical politics.  He was also disinherited by his wealthy father – for the same reason.  The nineteen-year-old Shelley eloped with his sixteen-year-old girlfriend Harriet Westbrook.  Destitute, he claimed they would “live on love.”  Of course, this didn’t ...

Mar. 17

Leaves of Grass


Walt Whitman

“I exist as I am, that is enough.”


 It was often said of Walt Whitman in his later years that his flowing white beard attracted butterflies.  I can only imagine this must have been true.  Can’t you just picture him, walking down the busy streets of New York City or Washington D.C., multi-colored, diaphanous wings flitting about his august head?


Whitman revolutionized poetry, giving it a uniquely American voice.  His poetic form is called “parallelismus membrorum,” which is, according to the poet Galway Kinnell ...

Mar. 15

The Imagist


William Carlos Williams

“Poets are damned but they are not blind,

they see with the eyes of the angels.”


Williams was a successful family doctor who made house calls in the small town in which he lived, but he had just as successful a career as a poet.  A left-brained/right-brained dichotomy, to be sure.  As a matter of fact, most of his patients had no idea he was a poet. 


Close friends with the poets Ezra Pound and Hilda Doolittle, he associated himself with the modernist and imagist movements.  His friend Kenneth Burke called him “the master of the glimpse.”  I have long been a fan of Williams, even in graduate school when I found myself slogging through his magnum opus Paterson.   (Sorry, Doc.)


There is a prevailing story about the following ...

Listening to the whispering pines

Hello. My name is Donna Cozart Pauley. Welcome to The Whispering Pines, a literary blog dedicated to my love of the written word. It is an eclectic collage of my life -- from my poems to my stories to my family to my pets to my causes to my photographs to my recipes to my love of teaching to my favorite literature. Please feel free to comment. Words are only important if they are heard or read. Just like those soundless trees falling in the forest.

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