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Poems from the Perpetual Storm

February 20, 2015
The poet Jorie Graham isn’t a robotic woman. In fact, as she stood in front of a group of Yale students, she seemed to be the most human, vivid one in the room. Most natural were the words she offered — those from poems written between 1976 and 2014, selected for her book “From the New World.”
Whistler: a musician's artist.
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More Beautiful Than Untouched Snow

February 5, 2015
Whistler etched (and sketched) like the snow fell that week, his tiny strokes barely converging into powerful masses. The important difference, of course, is that his art—and the pieces performed by the quartet at the YUAG—can’t be stomped on by rubber boots.
Positively tragicomic!
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Comedy, Tragedy and an Office

January 23, 2015
The small lobby of 70 Audubon Street holds a pair of elevators with mirrored doors. You use them to get to The Arts Council of Greater New Haven on the second floor, where you’ll find the Sumner McKnight Crosby Jr. Gallery. Inside — more an office than a typical, spare art space — people answer »
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Yo-Yo Ma: Keeping Time and Losing It

January 16, 2015
About halfway through Tuesday’s concert in Woolsey Hall featuring cellist Yo-Yo Ma, the audience started to laugh. Ma, proper in an orange tie and round glasses, sat onstage with Aldo Parisot, a professor at the Yale School of Music and the university’s longest-serving faculty member.
Harvard ate all the Special K!
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Learning to Hate

November 21, 2014
You have your ticket. You have the t-shirt from your acceptance package. You secured a spot in a bound-to-be-uncomfortable carpool to Cambridge. You’re staying with “a great, responsible Harvard student, Mom.”
Reading between the lines...
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Don’t Sign on the Dotted Line

November 14, 2014
I remember kindergarten as a blurry collection of dotted lines. They sat between two solid ones on the soft, beige paper of handwriting worksheets, the kind that would disintegrate under too much pressure from an eraser. In class, we spent afternoons hanging letters on them as if on a clothesline. We wrote our names over and over, my papers reading “E-L-E-N-A” down the length of a page, shaky in dull graphite.
Just lie here and think.
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Seeing Ourselves in ‘Boyhood’

August 29, 2014
I went with my friend Gabe to a movie theater in New York City, and instantly I knew: I was part of an event. This was no fleeting Netflix stream—we were there to see, and to experience, “Boyhood,” the film about an American boy’s childhood and adolescence.