Every time I crunch into a fuyu persimmon I feel guilty, like when I read the Times online or ignore my local bookstore for a cheaper copy on Amazon or Alibris.
The historian, musician, and poet visited us in 1927, and sent us seven poems afterwards. We present here, for the first time, those original manuscripts.
The silver point of an evening star dropping toward the hammock of new moon over Lake Okoboji, over prairie waters in Iowa— it was framed in the lights just after twilight.
