Showing posts with label Millay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Millay. Show all posts

Sunday, February 19, 2017

BLOG VIEWS | 30K–Top Posts in February 2017

Dank je wel.  (I am on Level 7 of Duolingo's free Dutch learning program. 😇 Never too late to figure out what my Dutch-born grandmother and mother were talking about 70 years ago.)

Thank you for reading!

This blog site was started in 2013 and has passed 30,000 page views.

Please post your comments or email your blogger at john@boissevainbooks.com.

Here are the most-read posts in February 2017:


INEZ | Fund-Raiser for Socialists, 1910-1922
Jan 19, 2017


RIP | Robert Lucas "Bob" Boissevain (1922-2017)
Feb 18, 2017


MILLAY | One of Top 5 Authors in 1936
Jan 28, 2017


NWP | Katharine Hepburn
Feb 3, 2017


INEZ | Washington March, 2013 – The Deltas
Mar 5, 2013


INEZ | What would she do today? Write to th...
Jan 23, 2017


AMSTERDAM | Herengracht + Keizersgracht (Updated O...
Apr 11, 2016


INEZ | Led the 1913 Parade on Horseback
Apr 20, 2013


MILHOLLAND | John E. and the NAACP
Nov 10, 2015


MILHOLLAND | Men's Leagues for Woman Suffrage,...
Jul 22, 2015

Saturday, January 28, 2017

MILLAY | One of Top 5 Authors in 1936

Edna St. Vincent Millay
In 1936, readers of the quarterly for book collectors, The Colophon, picked the authors whose works they believed would be considered classics in the year 2000.

Sinclair Lewis, author of the 1935 hit It Can’t Happen Here, was #1. 

Lewis was the first American to win the Nobel Prize for literature, five years earlier. 

Millay (who married Inez Milholland's widower, Eugen Boissevain) ranked #4. 

Here are the top five, in order: Sinclair LewisWilla CatherEugene O’NeillEdna St. Vincent MillayRobert Frost. 

Sinclair Lewis's 1935 book is being rediscovered today. Reality has caught up with this forecast.

Thursday, April 14, 2016

MILLAY POEM | I Shall Forget You (Sonnet XI)

Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1892-1950
I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day,
Your little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.