#Americans #PulitzerPrize #Women
A new volcano has erupted, the papers say, and last week I wa… where some ship saw an island bein… at first a breath of steam, ten mi… and then a black fleck—basalt, pro…
Earliest morning, switching all th… that cross the sky from cinder sta… coupling the ends of streets to trains of light. now draw us into daylight in our b…
This is a day when truths will out… leak from the dangling telephone e… sapping the festooned switchboards… fall from the windows, blow from o… —the vague, slight unremarkable co…
Here is a coast; here is a harbor; here, after a meager diet of horiz… impractically shaped and—who knows… sad and harsh beneath their frivol… with a little church on top of one…
He sleeps on the top of a mast with his eyes fast closed. The sails fall away below him like the sheets of his bed, leaving out in the air of the nigh…
It is so peaceful on the ceiling! It is the Place de la Concorde. The little crystal chandelier is off, the fountain is in the dar… Not a soul is in the park.
The moon in the bureau mirror looks out a million miles (and perhaps with pride, at hersel… but she never, never smiles) far and away beyond sleep, or
The roaring alongside he takes for… and that every so often the world… He runs, he runs to the south, fin… in a state of controlled panic, a… The beach hisses like fat. On his…
Although it is a cold evening, down by one of the fishhouses an old man sits netting, his net, in the gloaming almost in… a dark purple—brown,
We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is righ…
Days that cannot bring you near or will not, Distance trying to appear something more obstinate, argue argue argue with me
Now can you see the monument? It… built somewhat like a box. No. Bu… like several boxes in descending s… one above the other. Each is turned half—way round so t…
Oh, but it is dirty! —this little filling station, oil—soaked, oil—permeated to a disturbing, over—all black translucency.
You won’t become a gourmet* cook By studying our Fannie’s book— Her thoughts on Food & Keeping H… Are scarcely those of Lévi—Straus… Nevertheless, you’ll find, Frank…
Each day with so much ceremony begins, with birds, with bells, with whistles from a factory; such white—gold skies our eyes first open on, such brilliant wall…