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| Entering in only one field | Searches |
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| Year, Month, & Day | Single day |
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I thank my daughter, Myrth Killingsworth, an ecocritic in her own right, for being my writing companion
On hikes in the Smoky Mountains, one of my regular companions was my friend and major professor F.
Professor Miller directed my dissertation, which ultimately led to my first book, Whitman's Poetry of
just as I was saying good-bye to DeWolfe Miller and my friends in Tennessee and heading west where my
bare-stript heart, And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet.
"My Voice Goes After What My Eyes Cannot Reach": Pragmatic Language and the Making of a Democratic Mythology
My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes
to balance them at last, My knowledge my live parts....it keeping tally with the meaning of things,
Come my children, Come my boys and girls, and my women and household and intimates, Now the performer
, Depriving me of my best as for a purpose, Unbuttoning my clothes and holding me by the bare waist,
I can't think of the author's name—my memory plays me such shabby tricks these days—(though I should
The overall need for a work such as this became clear to me in 1996 when I was asked by my friend and
To my surprise, I found no definitive published scholarship on which to draw except for studies that
My task has been to interest both groups while filling in, to the best of my ability, gaps that may exist
face is ash-color'd, my sinews gnarl . . . away from me people retreat.