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The Snow Man
~ Wallace Stevens ~
excerpt
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted
… and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener ..
Nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
— 21 hours, 3 min ago
~ Wallace Stevens ~
excerpt
One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted
… and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener ..
Nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.
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Moché
is on page 40 of 465
Our troops arrived at Kiev. This handsome city had not suffered much damage. The Red Army had tried to stop the Wehrmacht outside the town. No longer able to withstand German pressure, they withdrew to the other side of the city, to spare it the kind of destruction Minsk had suffered. Kiev was our first stop, halfway between Minsk and Kharkov. Our ultimate destination, Stalingrad, was still more than 600 miles away.
— Aug 10, 2026 05:25PM
Moché
is 3% done
Had to get this second hand in hc but it’s immaculate. And a better cover than the current edition. Cuz covers matter cuz art matters. I know it will be a fierce read but I also know my Deutsche friend has a lot to offer. He did not bow the knee to the Nazis. They wanted to use his WW1 memoir for propaganda and Sajer refused.
— Jul 31, 2026 02:26PM
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The Eastern Front ❄️
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The full winter poem by Stevens:One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time
To behold the junipers shagged with ice,
The spruces rough in the distant glitter
Of the January sun; and not to think
Of any misery in the sound of the wind,
In the sound of a few leaves,
Which is the sound of the land
Full of the same wind
That is blowing in the same bare place
For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is.