Word: rocks
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Some of his fantasies, like The Land of Cockaigne, a kind of 16th Century Big Rock Candy Mountain, were as timeless as meat & potatoes. The inscription which was printed beneath that engraving merely hinted at the edible delights spread out in the picture. It read: "All ye who are lazy and gluttonous, be ye peasant, soldier or scholar, get to the land of Cockaigne and taste there all sorts of things without any labor. The fences are sausages, the houses covered with cakes; capons and chickens fly around ready-roasted...
...Cradle Will Rock (by Marc Blitzstein; produced by Michael Myerberg) had trouble, ten years ago, finding a stage; Washington, for reasons never explained, ordered the original WPA production to "postpone" its opening. But once Orson Welles took it to Broadway, The Cradle had no trouble finding an audience. For if brash and biased, Marc Blitzstein's "play in music" about Steeltown's big bad boss, cringing sycophants and exulting strikers had zip and the Zeitgeist in its favor. It also had a good deal of theatrical novelty: a sceneryless stage that antedated Our Town's; Composer Blitzstein...
...been nearly ten years since Thomas Wolfe died, and in that decade his reputation with the critics has steadily declined, while his popularity with the public has increased. His admirers see Wolfe as a rock-solid, almost primitive spokesman of the American people, whose novels are a grandiose articulation of their own vague, subterranean but insistent attitudes towards the puzzles of human life, and whose writing absorbed the textures, aromas, frustrations, daydreams and tragedies of America with an amplitude unequaled by any writer since Whitman...
...said that none had visited the wall since trouble broke out. When we crossed the Old City to the First Station of the Cross on the Via Dolorosa, crowds of Moslems were coming out from Friday prayers at an Arab holy place, the Mosque of the Dome of the Rock (often miscalled the Mosque of Omar). They all glanced sharply at me, but hurried on as they spotted my two constables...
According to a Harvard classmate, Historian Francis Parkman suffered from "Injuns on the brain." Even on a tour of Switzerland, he sat on a rock "fancying myself again in the American woods with an Indian companion." His ailment, if such it was, gave strength and color to some of the most readable history written by any U.S. scholar (The Oregon Trail, The Conspiracy of Pontiac). Parkman was born a Boston Brahmin, but spent much of his life covering, on foot and on horseback, the wild Western ground he was to write about. His journals, in some respects more valuable than...