The Mount, a lichen-like stone promontory. Not a promontory to be exact, but not an island either. When the tide is out, a fleshy mudland connects the Mount to the shore, and a delicate concrete thoroughfare rises, complete with besmirched scales. The Mount, more widely known as St Michael’s Mount, is a tidal island located four hundred yards from the coast of Cornwall. It is one of a pair, its sibling located on the opposite shore of France and known as Mont Saint-Michel. Mont Saint-Michel is majestic, stony, rising like an encrusted safe-house from the depths of the ocean. I prefer the Mount, although it is far less regal.
Unlike Mont Saint-Michel, it has no thick golden walls, nor layers of tumbling alleys, cobbled, darkened and haggling. Instead the Mount is rather meager; it is simply a small, unprepossessing harbor, resplendent in only the solemnity of grey Cornish stone.
Published in The Harvard Advocate, Vol. XCV, March 7, 1913Published in The Harvard Advocate, Vol. XCV, March 21, 1913The later poetry of Edward Estlin Cummings is instinctively recognizable to any lover of poetry. His page is a visual canvas, upon which words are not simply sounds that peal back to produce meaning, but aesthetic objects laid out upon the page.E.E. Cummings was born and raised in Cambridge, Massachusetts, at 104 Irving Street, just a stone’s throw from Annenberg Hall – where Harvard’s freshman now dine. He was the son of a Harvard Professor – Edward Cummings – who had been one of the first Professors of Harvard’s burgeoning Sociology Department. Born and raised within the echoes of student’s footsteps as they rushed to class, Cummings would enter its gates as a freshman in September 1911, although he would continue to live at home until his Senior Year.