Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Saturday, October 8, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Installation in front of Fairbanks Hall
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Poem of Mary Oliver
The Roses, by Mary Oliver
All afternoon I have been walking over the dunes,
hurrying from one thick raft of the wrinkled, salt
roses to another, leaning down close to their dark
or pale petals, red as blood or white as snow.
And now I am beginning to breathe slowly and evenly-
the way a hunted animal breathes, finally, when it has galloped,
and galloped-when it is wrung dry, but, at last, is far away,
so the panic begins to drain from the chest, from the wonderful legs,
and the exhausted mind.
Oh sweetness pure and simple, may I join you?
I lie down next to them, on the sand.
But to tell what happens next, truly I need help.
Will somebody or something please start to sing?
All afternoon I have been walking over the dunes,
hurrying from one thick raft of the wrinkled, salt
roses to another, leaning down close to their dark
or pale petals, red as blood or white as snow.
And now I am beginning to breathe slowly and evenly-
the way a hunted animal breathes, finally, when it has galloped,
and galloped-when it is wrung dry, but, at last, is far away,
so the panic begins to drain from the chest, from the wonderful legs,
and the exhausted mind.
Oh sweetness pure and simple, may I join you?
I lie down next to them, on the sand.
But to tell what happens next, truly I need help.
Will somebody or something please start to sing?
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