Jan 2, 2010
In 1969, John Updike published his third collection of poetry, naming the volume after the centerpiece, a long poem entitled “Midpoint.” The opening lines reveal the central interest of the poem:
Of nothing but me, me, All wrong, all wrong
as I cringe in the face of glory I sing, lacking another song.
For more than forty pages, in a collage of photographs and verse, patterned after such diverse masters as Walt Whitman and Dante, Updike pours forth his autobiographical observations about his progress as a writer. Twenty years later, this time in a series of...
[The entire page is 1846 words long]
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