#The Literary Vixen

[theliteraryvixen]

Readers Take Denver 2024 - I'm Influencing!

I am SO excited to be attending Readers Take Denver 2024 as an influencer! There are so many amazing authors, narrators, and vendors attending. Did I mention a red carpet event with after parties? For more information, visit: https://www.readerstakedenver.com/

[bizlybebo]

the rags they were woring...

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

Foxglove

(Written by me. Originally published by Literary Times Magazine.)

I didn’t mean to summon the ghost.  Okay, I meant to, but I regretted it.

My friend Cyprus knew it was a bad idea from the start.  “You talk this way about every girl for two weeks, then you move on to someone else.  Just put a curtain over the portrait and forget about it.”

“I can’t.  Thinking about her hurts, and just the prospect of not thinking about her hurts more.  I dream about her pretty much every night.”

Cyprus closed his eyes.  His gold-rimmed glasses made him look like he was from another century.

I leaned across the table, making my eyes big.  “You can do it, right?”

“I’ve only recreated the ritual in a classroom setting, and only for animal spirits.”

“You’re a straight-A student.”

“That doesn’t mean I can do it.”

But he could.  

Ever since I moved here, the portrait of the actress had smirked down at me like a vixen.  She’d died young, in the early 1920s – this house is split into condos now, but it used to all be hers.

After my last breakup, I looked up photos of her.  She was most active during the 1910s, when stage actresses had a kind of dreamlike beauty: long tresses of dark hair, and huge, dewy, downturned eyes in the middle of a misty face.

I put the laptop down and went to bed thinking about her.  I dreamed about her pressed against me, warm and alive.  Since then, I couldn’t stop.

Cyprus showed up with a briefcase and his cat.

“Before I start, you should know I’m not doing this for you.”  He put his cat carrier in the center of the room.  He drew the sigils around it in chalk.  He set up the candles.  “I’m doing this because my professor said I could use it as an extra credit assignment.”

“It won’t hurt your cat, right?”

“I would never endanger General Pawshington.”

He had me sit cross-legged on the floor, then drew sigils around me too.  

Then he opened his briefcase and took out a yellowed sheet of paper.  “I can only say the words and perform the gestures,” he said.  “Your yearning has to be strong enough to call her here.  And then if she doesn’t want to stay, she can leave.”

“Got it.”

He started to chant, making swift finger motions, and I snickered.  

He paused.  “You have to think about her, or it won’t work.”

“Sorry.”

This time when he started to chant, I kept my eyes fixed on her portrait.  Even when she began to materialize over the cat carrier – out of the corner of my eye, I could make out the shape of a tiny hurricane, twisting into the shape of a woman.  I felt like if I looked at her, she’d vanish.

I imagined a relationship with a ghost.  A ghost would never change – if they wanted change, they wouldn’t be here.  They usually stayed tethered to one place.  I imagined coming home to her day after day, her tether to the outside world.

“No,” she screamed.  “No!”

I looked over at her.  She was as beautiful as her pictures, her black dress fading into gray mist at the skirt.  But she didn’t look sad or bemused, like she did in her photos.  She looked furious, the whites showing around her pupils, her dainty mouth twisted in rage.

She looked between me and Cyprus.  “Why would you do this?”

“I love you,” I blurted, at the exact same time Cyprus said, “Extra credit.”

She screamed so loud the cat hissed and the windows seemed to shake.

“Um,” I said, looking to Cyprus for guidance.

He didn’t look back.  Just stared up at her with fascination and regret.

She dematerialized, dissipating into mist that seemed to scatter against the ceiling, maybe through it.

“Was that…supposed to happen?” I asked.

“Some ghosts react badly to being summoned.  But if she’s unhappy here, she can return to the afterlife.”

She did not, for whatever reason, return to the afterlife.

It turned out that being haunted was not a fun experience.  I thought if I could just tell her about myself, she’d like me as much as I thought I’d like her, but she wasn’t interested in that.

She slammed doors.  Chilled rooms.  Flung objects.  Sobbed in the night.

“Can you please just talk to me?” I pleaded, after being woken up at 3 AM for the third time that week.  “I’m sorry!  I just wanted to meet you, that’s all!”

You know how when you’re in bed, you sometimes look up at the ceiling fan and picture it falling?  Well, that’s what happened next.  Fortunately, no bones were broken.

Cyprus’s extra credit assignment became his thesis project.  He came back as my neighbor was complaining to me about the new “poltergeist problem,” unaware I was responsible for it.

“And who are you?” the neighbor asked Cyprus.  “An exorcist?”

“Close.  I’m a student from the Providence College of Necromancy.”

“Great.  A student.  They always send kids to solve adult problems these days.”

Inside, Cyprus called, “Foxglove!”  For some reason, I don’t think I ever thought to address the actress by name.  “Foxglove, you have to stop, or they’re going to send an exorcist to get rid of you.”

She materialized out of the air like mist – the first time I’d seen her since we’d initially summoned her.  She really was so beautiful, her dark hair floating around her like a dream.  “It’s not fair,” she said.  “It’s my house.”

“I know,” he said, sadly.  Well, sadly for him.  He had a catlike way of emoting.

“I remember Heaven in flashes.  I don’t think you’re supposed to remember it while you’re on Earth,” she said, sounding frustrated but relieved at having someone to talk to.  “I want to go back so badly, but I don’t want to leave my life again.  All I can do is yearn for what I had before.”

“Maybe you can tell me about your life,” said Cyprus, not disguising the interest in his voice.  “I could write it down, and publish it.  And people could read about you.”

Her eyes looked sad, dewy, and hopeful, like they did in the portrait.  “I’d like that.”

I felt sidelined, like a third wheel.  It bothered me that she forgave his selfishness just because he was open about it – I wanted someone I could love, he wanted an extra credit assignment.

My goal was selfish too, in the context that I’d pulled her away from her life – or afterlife – in the hopes that she’d be a part of mine.  But wanting something to love wasn’t supposed to be selfish.  And if it was, that was supposed to be forgivable, if only because it was so human.

I’d apologized.  He hadn’t.  He was open about his self-interest, his fascination with the predicament he’d created.  But I could tell that if she forgave one of us, it would be him.  If she fell in love with one of us, it would be him.

That night, he stayed over to listen to her talk about her childhood, her poverty, her discovery.  About dancing and singing and playing Lady Macbeth, before performances were immortalized on film, when acting was still ephemeral.  About the day after she did too much laudanum and drifted under the surface of the tub.

She wanted to pull herself back past the surface, but she couldn’t.  She just couldn’t will her limbs to move.  “They say that those who take their own lives can’t get to Heaven,” she mused.  “I did.  But maybe that’s because I really wanted to live.”

Cyprus was listening, his recorder on the table next to him, taking notes.  He was interested in every word, wanting to capture as much as possible.  His intense curiosity, the Victor Frankenstein in him, was what made him a great student.

“I have some more questions I want to ask, about certain aspects of your life,” he said, switching off his recorder.  “Can I come back Thursday night?”

“I’ll be here,” she said.  Her dress had turned from black to white, and the mist she emanated had paled.

I could have tried talking to her.  

Instead, I called my ex, and told her what happened.

“It’s just like with me, James,” she sighed.  “You wanted her till she was a real person.”

It was true.  I’d never met a girl I could love more than an idea.

“It’s lonely for me too,” I said.

“I know.”

“Why do you think it’s so hard to love someone right?”

“Because when you do, it becomes something you want to give to them, not something you want to take.”  She said it like she’d been thinking about it for a long time, waiting for someone to ask.  “I think that’s why we spend most of our lives learning how to do it.”

[askflightybroad]

Any favourite reads? Not specifically pertaining to books, but any general text based medium?

What avid inquiries into my preferences of literature. I suppose it's only polite to indulge with a response just as enthusiastic. Brace yourselves for, as a certain Strider would say, a shit ton of text.

Approximately two-thirds of the work I peruse do not have titles. I am inclined to believe they are more akin to a literary fever dream than anything I, or any other currently existing mortal soul, have the capacity to fully comprehend; much less describe. I will, however, in good faith, suggest some texts that I consider widely-known.

I particularly enjoy Studies on Hysteria by Freud, though I suppose I more-so enjoy exploring the founding text from which he would later establish his psychoanalytic kingdom. And in any case, acknowledging just how frequently he injected his patients with copious dosages of morphine deserves further recognition, don't you think? I have a re-interpretive historical text in the works regarding his potentially homoerotic relationship with physician Josef Breuer, and studying the paper directly has been of instrumental significance.

Other takes I've greatly enjoyed include The Meaning of Truth by William James; The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman; The Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath (especially the pieces Recantation, 1956, and Monologue at 3 a.m.); and Aye, and Gomorrah. by Samuel R. Delaney.

Oh my, and how could I forget. The all-time classic, the delightful vixen of this ungodly hour, the pinnacle of modern creativity that Shakespeare can only weep at the mention of.

The Twilight Saga by Stephanie Myers.

[ronaldparlato]

It's only a matter of time before the real feminism of Aeschylus and Shakespeare returns - time to forget faux, trans-this and trans-that womanhood

[invinciblerodent]

I both welcome the Iona posting, love your consistent pro bisexual stance and get that sometimes you just gotta seek out the worst take of your life, because brains are weird. Have a great day

Aww, thank you, that's so sweet! ❤️❤️ I'm glad you enjoy both those things- I can say with certainty that it will all continue, lol.

I mean, how could it not. Have you seen this woman?

Have you beheld her little face? Witnessed her (bisexual) swag and cute new outfit? Caressed her sweet cheeks (and i'm talking about both face-cheeks and butt-cheeks) with a tender, loving touch? No?

Well, you should. So hop on that.

..... but jokes aside, honestly, while it is sometimes just very simply funny (or even somewhat cathartic in a way) to read the completely off the wall, buck wild takes that some people may post, I do find it to be semi-important (at least to me personally), to have at least a cursory awareness of as many possible reads of a piece of media as it's.... I guess feasible to be aware of. Mostly as a way to try and step outside of the paradigm in which I know I normally exist, but sometimes also just as a way to sort of check myself, and confirm that at least I don't seem to have X bias, or haven't misread something by that much, lol.

Like, I was still taught (rigorously, over and over again, in every single class I have ever taken that had anything to do with literary-/media-analysis) that as long as you can find confirmation of your interpretation within the base text and aren't explicitly contradicted by other parts of it, any subjective interpretation can be just as valid as another. So it always fascinates me a bit when I see someone ignore this very basic tenet, and kind of pick and choose which bits of the base text (whatever that "text" may be) they want to take into account, and which parts they want to ignore for no reason other than that it doesn't fit their view.

How unwilling certain people are to change their minds if the text happens to contradict their initial assumptions, that's just so wild to me.

I'm obviously not saying that any base text would be prefect and without flaws or potential contradictions, but so often, the fervor with which people can cling to certain interpretations (even if they're contradicted consistently at every turn, are called out for bigotry in it, and their theories fall apart at the first deeper glance) is just so interesting.

I'm not exactly sure where I'm really going with this, it's quite late and I'm a bit loopy- I'm kind of just rambling a little bit at you and can't think of a way to end this, so look at my pretty, shrewd, slimy vixen of a woman instead.

I bet Astarion even calls her a vixen sometimes. Like I may see her as more similar to a weasel if we're going for animal symbolism (small. semi-feral. cute little face. will absolutely fuck you up.), but a fox is undoubtedly a more flattering comparison. Plus, "oh, you vixen❤️" is definitely a far sexier thing to purr into one's lover's ear than "my darling little weasel❤️".

[eri-nelson]

Breaking #Stereotypes: #Autistic Event Planner #Challenges Assumptions

#liveshow #podcast #author #booktok @Authorsamanthapicaro @The Literary Vixen

[televisionpromos]

Riverdale 7x08 "Hoop Dreams" Promo - THE NEW KID IN TOWN — In order to keep Riverdale High’s basketball legacy alive, Frank and Archie recruit a new player to the team – a quiet farm boy named Reggie Mantle. Tabitha’s return to school inspires Toni to start a literary society for Riverdale’s Black students. Alice forces Betty to join the River Vixens, and Kevin starts a new job at the Babylonium. Cole Sprouse and Drew Ray Tanner also star. Cierra “Shooter” Glaude directed the episode written by Evan Kyle. Original airdate 5/17/2023.

[adleryoung]

"Now then," I exclaimed, clapping my hands and turning toward the rest of the coven. "Regarding the lesson plan. Hm… This group will need some restructuring. Which of you is now the oldest?"

They all pointed at Rebecca.

"Wait a minute," Rebecca protested. "I know I'm the tallest, but isn't Chloe older?"

"Nope," the duck responded. "You're six weeks ahead of me."

"You're only tall because of those heels," the mouse (bear?) insisted.

"You mean you're all under eighteen?" I asked, with slight dismay.

"I'll be eighteen soon," Chloe pointed out. "But why does that matter?"

"It doesn't," I retorted. "As the eldest member of the coven, Rebecca is now in charge."

"I SEE!" Didelphis exclaimed angrily. "It all becomes crystal clear! This was your plan all along, to get me out of the way so you could put your sweetheart in charge! You young mels are all the same! I knew it as soon as I saw that outfit you gave her! How much venery did it take to compromise your principles?"

"I am willing to make you old again if you learn your lesson and manage to impress me," I declared, coolly ignoring the opossum's unsavory accusations. "However, if you want to continue being belligerent, you can just grow up the slow way."

Didelphis shut her mouth and glowered at me, but didn't say anything else.

The vixen cautiously raised her hand.

"Yes?" I prompted. "You have a question?"

"Uh, Lord Randall, sir, if any of us upset you, will you turn us all into children?"

"Probably not," I declared decisively. "This was a special case. It was meant to be an ironic punishment."

"Didn't you turn Oak Marten into a little girl as well?" Chloe asked.

"That was also a special case meant to be ironic," I explained.

"Um," Rebecca interjected. "I'm not sure that counts as being ironic. I remember reading that irony is an incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs. In this case, 'poetic' would be the more accurate term."

"Okay fine," I sighed. "It was a POETIC punishment. And the situation with Oak still counts as ironic, since that transformation was meant to be a punishment and she ended up being happy about it."

"I don't think that's how -" the bear (mouse?) started to say.

"Let's get back on topic!" I interrupted before this could turn into a literary debate. "Rebecca will be in charge of the Coven for two reasons. Firstly, with Didelphis now a child, Rebecca is the oldest. Secondly, she is very gifted with understanding elfly things and has grasped the basics of her lessons far faster than I could have anticipated."

"That's not all she grasped, if you ask me," Didelphis sneered.

"Before I turned Oak into a little girl," I informed her. "I turned him .. er, her into a feral marten. You may not have heard that part of the story, but I assure you, elves do not lie. Just remember, being able to talk is a special privilege."

Didelphis paled and started licking her lollypop.

"Right then," I resumed. "I am a busy elf and I assume you all have lives to attend to. It would be difficult to gather everyone together for every lesson, and there isn't time to individually tutor all of you. Therefore, I will tutor Rebecca in the mystical arts, and what she masters, she will teach to you. That way it will be easier for you to gather in whatever setting is most convenient. Maybe a dark cellar huddled around a bubbling cauldron, a wheat field at midnight, a dank grotto, whatever strikes your fancy. I know this stone circle is remote and difficult to reach, so only on special occasions will you all have to convene here. Any questions?"

[writer59january13]

This December 17th, 2024...

alternately titled: a literary retrospective when holiday times living hand to mouth in Penn Valley fraught with slim pickings and yours truly felt utterly miserable that nary a delivery from Santa Claus would be forthcoming.

Totally tubular nonfiction yup, nevertheless I reflect the year (arbitrarily plucked from misty past) Santa Claus did not show up

courtesy imagination license cruel as crippled poet panhandler a cowboy wannabe holding on for dear life with both feet held fast courtesy stirrup tempted to storm of into the sunset if misery did erupt

rattling his empty cup.

Though blink of time passed rather quick, I still vividly recollect midnight passed upon Christmas Eve (circa December 24th, 2005)

with nary a ho ho ho from jolly Saint Nick, nor sound of sleigh bells no reindeer with packages he did not heave omitting hurling gifts at 1148 Greentree Lane as some cruel and nasty trick,

which prompted both progent

particularly youngest daughter did grieve great disappointment absent merriment, and surprises he would ordinarily flick, whereby mystical magical tour would burst with brilliance like Jack Nimble's candlestick spurred affirmation analogous to brick slamming into me noggin

in his presence to believe.

Rudolph, Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid and Blitzen ordinarily light up anticipation,

instigating ear to ear grin (especially provoking clattering hooves) courtesy, exponentially, and factorially

heightened expectation generated,

viz foray into dark night sky becoming brightest visible object creating an audible, yet pleasant din

gracefully amazing this hypothetical papa, would ordinarily deliver merriment well nigh accept he forgot one important stop perhaps trouble with cloven hoofed creatures

hmm... maybe lack of of feedstock found precious priceless lass

with downcast chin,

and teardrops falling

heavily from each eye inducing sharp pains

within this then mister meister mom once a year self anointed secret santa analogous feeling skin

pierced with sharp pin most times one generally

happy go lucky guy,

whose heavy sinking heart professing love (mine) could not win

reverberated hollow grief as if Cupid's paramour made of tin.

I tried with futility to assuage melancholy when Shayna Punim (Yiddish פּנים ponem, from Hebrew פָּנִים panim)

(endearment for pretty face),

she did melancholically ask why

her mood cast dark shadows

across edge of night illuminating the outer limits

of the twilight zone (evoking artificial intelligent

graphic generated augmented

computer special effect) as webbed, wide world

within outer limits of twilight zone did spin

along axis in gulf of infinite space

with lighting speed, he would punctually fly no explanation suitable i.e. from Kris Kringle pinch hitter

(alias yours truly), since no where seen heft sack of goodies makes supreme father pitiful sight off his pedestal like force of gravity impossible to defy Humpty Dumpty myth I did belie.

[poemshubs]

19th Century American Poet: Clement Clarke Moore

Clement Clarke Moore (1779–1863) stands as one of the most influential figures in 19th-century American poetry, renowned for his contribution to both the holiday tradition and American verse. Moore’s legacy primarily rests upon the iconic poem A Visit from St. Nicholas, better known as The Night Before Christmas, a work that has become an essential part of American holiday culture. While Moore is often remembered for this one piece, his life and contributions to American poetry, as well as his influence on the literary landscape of his time, reflect a far more complex and diverse legacy.

In this article, we will delve into the life, works, and lasting impact of Clement Clarke Moore as a 19th-century American poet. Through his poetry, Moore helped shape the way Americans viewed their holidays and contributed to the development of a uniquely American poetic voice. His work not only defines a significant portion of 19th-century American poetry but also illustrates the interplay between literature, culture, and national identity in post-Revolutionary America.

Early Life and Education

Clement Clarke Moore was born on July 15, 1779, in New York City, during a time of profound political and social change. The American Revolution was a defining event in the history of the United States, and Moore’s early years were shaped by the growing sense of American nationalism and the push for cultural independence. Moore’s father, Benjamin Moore, was an influential Episcopal bishop, and his mother, a member of a prominent New York family, ensured that he received a solid education. As a child, Moore was exposed to both the classical traditions of European literature and the emerging American literary scene, which would later inform his own poetic style.

Moore attended Columbia College (now Columbia University), where he earned his degree in 1798. He was well-versed in the classics, and his academic career foreshadowed his later foray into the literary world. Upon completing his education, Moore took on a variety of professional roles, including serving as a professor of literature and Oriental studies at Columbia, where he spent a significant portion of his career. He was known for his scholarship on Hebrew literature and biblical languages, which provided him with a deep understanding of both Eastern and Western traditions. This combination of academic rigor and literary exploration influenced his poetic work, although it would be his later ventures into lighter, more imaginative verse that brought him lasting fame.

A Visit from St. Nicholas and Its Cultural Impact

While Moore’s early education and scholarly contributions are notable, it is his poem A Visit from St. Nicholas that has become his defining legacy in American poetry. Written in 1822 for his children, the poem was first published anonymously in the Troy Sentinel in 1823. The poem, which later became widely known as The Night Before Christmas, is often considered one of the most significant works of holiday literature in American history.

The Birth of a Holiday Classic

The poem’s enduring popularity is largely due to its whimsical portrayal of Santa Claus and its vivid descriptions of the Christmas Eve scene. Through Moore’s lyrical language and rhythmic verse, he created a lasting image of the holiday season that continues to shape modern American Christmas traditions. In A Visit from St. Nicholas, Moore introduced readers to a jolly, bearded, rotund Santa Claus who travels in a sleigh drawn by eight reindeer. His poem established much of the Santa mythos that Americans recognize today, including Santa’s entrance through the chimney and his habit of checking his list to determine whether children have been naughty or nice.

The poem’s appeal lies not only in its memorable imagery but also in the way it captures the magic and wonder of childhood. The lines “Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen! / On Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!” evoke a sense of excitement and joy that resonates with generations of readers. The rhyme and rhythm give the poem a sense of playfulness, while the details create a cozy, magical atmosphere that has come to define American Christmas celebrations.

The success of A Visit from St. Nicholas led to its reprinting in many newspapers, and it quickly became a staple of holiday literature. It was one of the first poems to introduce the modern American version of Santa Claus, moving away from the more somber, saintly figure seen in earlier European traditions. Through this simple yet profound poem, Moore helped shape the holiday spirit and gave voice to the joyful, celebratory nature of American Christmas culture.

Lasting Influence on American Poetry and Holiday Culture

The cultural impact of A Visit from St. Nicholas cannot be overstated. Its portrayal of Santa Claus, with his sleigh and reindeer, became the standard image of the jolly man in red. Moore’s work helped solidify the commercial and symbolic significance of Santa Claus in American culture, influencing not just holiday traditions but also advertising, films, and countless retellings of the Christmas story. It is safe to say that no other single poem has had as much influence on the American celebration of Christmas as Moore’s The Night Before Christmas.

Moreover, the poem’s use of rhyme, meter, and playful language made it an excellent example of how American poetry could appeal to the masses while maintaining a high level of artistic craft. Moore’s mastery of rhyme and rhythm helped to cement the idea that American poetry could be both accessible and refined. While much of American poetry at the time was serious, philosophical, or political, Moore’s playful, joyful verse represented a new direction—one in which poetry could be a source of entertainment and lighthearted celebration.

In addition to its influence on holiday traditions, A Visit from St. Nicholas also exemplifies the way Moore contributed to the development of American poetry. By capturing the unique qualities of American culture, Moore’s poem serves as a bridge between European literary traditions and the emerging American literary identity. It helped define the role of poetry in American life, showing that poetry could be used to communicate ideas and values relevant to the everyday experiences of ordinary Americans.

Other Works and Themes

While A Visit from St. Nicholas is Moore’s best-known work, his contributions to American poetry extend beyond this single poem. His poetic output includes several works of religious, philosophical, and pastoral poetry, many of which demonstrate his versatility as a poet. As a scholar of Hebrew and Oriental languages, Moore brought a sense of intellectual depth to his work, particularly in his poems dealing with religious themes.

Moore’s poem The American Flag (1835), for example, is a patriotic work that emphasizes the symbolism of the flag as a representation of American values and identity. The poem contrasts the enduring strength and significance of the flag with the transient nature of human life, invoking a sense of national pride and unity. Like other 19th-century American poets, Moore often drew on themes of patriotism and national identity, reflecting the burgeoning sense of American exceptionalism in the post-Revolutionary era.

Moore also explored philosophical and existential themes in his poetry, often contemplating the nature of life, death, and the human condition. His work in this area, while less widely read today, reflects the intellectual currents of the time, influenced by both European Romanticism and the emerging American transcendentalist movement. Moore’s contemplative verse, while more somber than his festive works, reveals his ability to engage with profound, universal themes.

Moore’s Role in 19th-Century American Poetry

As a 19th-century American poet, Clement Clarke Moore occupies a unique position in the history of American letters. While his contributions to American poetry were not as wide-ranging or politically engaged as those of some of his contemporaries, such as Walt Whitman or Emily Dickinson, Moore’s work was significant in shaping the cultural landscape of his time. His poetry offered an accessible, enjoyable alternative to the often complex and abstract themes of other American poets. By capturing the spirit of American life—whether through the joyful celebration of Christmas or the patriotic fervor of The American Flag—Moore’s work helped to create a poetic voice that resonated with a broad audience.

Moore was also a key figure in the development of American literary tradition, helping to bridge the gap between the European poetic models and the emerging distinctly American voice. His work drew upon European literary traditions but adapted them to suit the unique cultural and social realities of early 19th-century America. Through his poems, Moore contributed to the creation of an American poetic identity, one that valued simplicity, accessibility, and emotional resonance.

Moore’s Legacy

Today, Clement Clarke Moore is remembered primarily for A Visit from St. Nicholas, but his broader contributions to American poetry and culture are just as important. His poem continues to be recited every holiday season, and his vision of Santa Claus remains a central part of the American holiday tradition. Yet Moore’s legacy also extends to his exploration of themes such as patriotism, religious faith, and the human condition.

As a 19th-century American poet, Moore helped to shape American poetry’s early landscape, contributing to the development of a uniquely American voice in the literary world. His works continue to resonate with readers, not only because of their whimsical nature but because of the way they capture the hopes, values, and aspirations of a young nation coming into its own. Through his poems, Moore demonstrated that poetry could be both intellectually rich and emotionally accessible, combining deep thought with a light-hearted celebration of life.

Conclusion

Clement Clarke Moore’s legacy as a 19th-century American poet is a testament to the power of poetry to shape culture, tradition, and national identity. Through his celebrated work A Visit from St. Nicholas, Moore contributed to the formation of American Christmas traditions that continue to influence the way the holiday is celebrated today. His poetry also explored a wide range of themes, including patriotism, religion, and the human experience, providing a broad and diverse contribution to American poetry. As one of the most influential poets of his time, Moore helped to define what it meant to be an American poet, creating works that continue to echo through the cultural and literary fabric of the United States.

[theliteraryvixen]

The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1) by Marie F. Crow - My Review

Title: The Little Lies (The Great Hexpectations Series Book 1) Author: Marie F. Crow Release Date: February 22nd 2021 Genre: Fantasy, Witches, Paranormal Harper Buckland always knew she was different. The whole town has never let her forget it. What the town didn’t know, was one day they would come to her, in secret, to explore their deepest regrets. Harper has made a living from being a witch.…

[otherpplnation]

935. Francine Prose

Francine Prose is the author of the memoir 1974: A Personal History, available from Harper.

Prose is the author of twenty-two works of fiction including the highly acclaimed The Vixen; Mister Monkey; the New York Times bestseller Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932; A Changed Man, which won the Dayton Literary Peace Prize; and Blue Angel, which was a finalist for the National Book Award. Her works of nonfiction include the highly praised Anne Frank: The Book, The Life, The Afterlife, and the New York Times bestseller Reading Like a Writer, which has become a classic. The recipient of numerous grants and honors, including a Guggenheim and a Fulbright, a Director's Fellow at the Center for Scholars and Writers at the New York Public Library, Prose is a former president of PEN American Center, and a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. She is a Distinguished Writer in Residence at Bard College.

***

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[ronaldparlato]

It's only a matter of time before the real feminism of Aeschylus and Shakespeare returns - time to forget trans-this and trans-that faux womanhood

[televisionpromos]

Riverdale 7x08 "Hoop Dreams" Preview - THE NEW KID IN TOWN — In order to keep Riverdale High’s basketball legacy alive, Frank and Archie recruit a new player to the team – a quiet farm boy named Reggie Mantle. Tabitha’s return to school inspires Toni to start a literary society for Riverdale’s Black students. Alice forces Betty to join the River Vixens, and Kevin starts a new job at the Babylonium. Cole Sprouse and Drew Ray Tanner also star. Cierra “Shooter” Glaude directed the episode written by Evan Kyle. Original airdate 5/17/2023.