asks the visitor. "There's only one set of stairs in this house," he replies.
Sometime in the dawn of an October morning almost six decades ago, the undoubtedly inebriated poet Edna St. Vincent Millay tumbled down these stairs, landing in a crumpled heap on the lower landing. Hours later her farm manager found her and summoned a local doctor, but it was too late. Her neck was broken, and she had died as fiercely and adamantly as she had lived.
from The Washington Post: A Garden of Verses
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2 comments :
I am "he." For the whole picture, read the whole article in the Washington Post. "The Murder of Lidice" a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay is the focus of the next three months at Steepletop, her home in Austerlitz, NY and certainly a fascinating excursion into world war II horror and poetry. Both the article and the poem are worthy of fuller attention.
Well hello Peter Bergman,
Thanks for the note, and good to see you here.
I was checking Mapquest, noting how Austerlitz NY is right off Route 90, after leaving Massachusetts for New York. Once in a while I get out that way.
Yours,
Rus
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