by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 2, 2009 | Columbus GA, first novels, place |
“The first days of April were windy and warm. White clouds trailed across the blue sky. In the wind there was the smell of the river and also the fresher smell of fields beyond the town.” from The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers Carson...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 1, 2009 | catching moments, Columbus GA, the day |
I had this lovely idea for a March first post, a sort of spring-is-on-the-way kind of thing, and this morning I stubbornly forged ahead with it. I mean, I’d planned it, been thinking about it for days. In fact, I posted it for a few minutes–complete with...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 18, 2009 | catching moments, Columbus GA, poetry |
Don’t allow the lucid moment to dissolve Let the radiant thought last in stillness though the page is almost filled and the flame flickers –Adam Zagajewski from Without End This is one of my favorite poems, the title of which is the first line. It’s...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 6, 2009 | Columbus GA, essays, obsession, Pam Houston, provincetown, shapes, truth |
When Georgia Heard was asked what one image she thought represented her life, she answered “layers,” clarifying “as in the Grand Canyon.” I would have to say houses, as in rows of identical ones. Georgia Heard wrote in Writing Toward Home,...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jan 28, 2009 | Columbus GA, the day, truth |
Pat Conroy, a large white-haired man, stood on a stage in front of a seated crowd last night in Columbus, Georgia. He’s the author of The Prince of Tides and Beach Music (my favorites), and he was the speaker at a black-tie dinner honoring a local doctor. ...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jan 12, 2009 | Columbus GA |
Low of 29 this morning in Columbus, Georgia. Frost. Sugared leaves. It made me want a poem.
