In Lieu Of Originality

Well, due to neglect, my blog has become a complete bore. Currently, I’m working on two non-fiction pieces (magazine stuff); just beginning a collaborative, book-length project; reading a few things: Toni Morrison’s critical work Playing in the Dark, Beverly Singer’s Wiping the War Paint Off the Lens, Robert Boynton’s collection of interviews The New New Journalism, Lynne Truss’s grammar Eats, Shoots & Leaves, and an old anthology of poetry compiled by Lynn Altenbernd and Leslie Lewis (1969).

In lieu of original posts, please enjoy some poetry from Altenbernd and Lewis’s introduction to poetry.

XXVI from Amoretti
by Edmund Spenser

Sweet is the Rose, but growes upon a brere;
Sweet is the Junipere, but sharpe his bough;
Sweet is the Eglantine, but pricketh nere;
Sweet is the firbloome, but his braunches rough.
Sweet is the Cypresse, but his rynd is tough.
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broome-flowre, but yet sowre enough;
And sweet is Moly, but his root is ill.
So every sweet with soure is tempered still,
That maketh it be coveted the more:
For easie things that may be got at will,
Most sorts of men doe set but little store.
Why then should I accoumpt of little paine,
That endlesse pleasure shall unto me gaine.

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