Marianne Moore
Marianne Moore (November 15, 1887 - February 6, 1972) was one of the leading US poets of the 20th Century. She was born in Kirkwood, Missouri, but from age 8 to 28 she lived in Carlisle, Pennsylvania. She grew up here, considered Carlisle and Cumberland Valley her home place, received her early education here, and was shaped in a permanent way by her friends and mentors here. She went to Bryn Mawr College because of the talented daughters of her pastor at Second Presbyterian Church, three of four of whom went to Bryn Mawr. (Your loss, Dickinson College.) After college she received a trade education here from Carlisle Commercial College, which enabled her to get her first job at the Indian Industrial School at Carlisle Barracks. She formed the vision of becoming a writer, a poet, here, and she published her first poems while in Carlisle. She nurtured lifelong friendships here. Indeed, her distinctive poetic style was influenced by the particular style of the sermons of her pastor at church, Rev. George Norcross. She is the only Carlislilian, other than Jim Thorpe (whom she taught), as far as I know, who has appeared on a postal stamp (1990 -- Thorpe appeared in 1984).
I include associated writers here, because Marianne was a skilled and generous networker from her youth. She had a gift for friendship, a diverse range within and beyond the literary world. She had passionate interests in many things, from baseball to art, from animals to music. All her interests, sooner or later, show up in her poetry, her essays, and her wonderful letters. She drew friends into her deep regard for the world, and many of her friends held a similar conversation with the world.
Rock Crystal
Rock Crystal
Seemingly the simplest of stories—a passing anecdote of village life—Rock Crystal opens up into a tale of almost unendurable suspense. This jewel-like novella by the writer that Thomas Mann praised as “one of the most extraordinary, the most enigmatic, the most secretly daring and the most strangely gripping narrators in world literature” is among the most unusual, moving, and memorable of Christmas stories.
Two children—Conrad and his little sister, Sanna—set out from their village high up in the Alps to visit their grandparents in the neighboring valley. It is the day before Christmas but the weather is mild, though of course night falls early in December and the children are warned not to linger. The grandparents welcome the children with presents and pack them off with kisses. Then snow begins to fall, ever more thickly and steadily. Undaunted, the children press on, only to take a wrong turn. The snow rises higher and higher, time passes: it is deep night when the sky clears and Conrad and Sanna discover themselves out on a glacier, terrifying and beautiful, the heart of the void.
Adalbert Stifter’s rapt and enigmatic tale, beautifully translated by Elizabeth Mayer and Marianne Moore, explores what can be found between Christmas Eve and Christmas Day—or on any night of the year.
“...[A] quiet and beautiful parable about the relation of people to places, of man to nature”...Beyond its leisurely beginning lies a painstakingly polished and fashioned gem, an ageless, mystical folktale whose return deserves a 12 month celebration.
— The New York Times
The work of Adalbert Stifter, who was one of the very few great novelists in German literature, can be compared to no other writer of the nineteenth century in pure happiness, wisdom, and beauty...Stifter became the greatest landscape-painter in literature...someone who possesses the magic wand to transform all visible things into words and all visible movements—into sentences.
— Hannah Arendt
Whereas romances are rarely fearsome, even when teeming with dragons, tales quite often are. The fear that must underlie even our most cordial relation with the elements has an established place in them. I think of Rock Crystal...it tells of two children, brother and sister, lost in a mountain snowstorm at Christmas-time while returning from a custom-honored three-hour walk to their grandmother’s house down the valley. The quite ordinary and familiar two-horned alp traversed by the shoemaker’s children is a mountain more magic than any of Thomas Mann’s imagining.
— Mary McCarthy, The New York Review of Books
Two children, Conrad and Sanna, walk from their village in the Alps to visit their grandparents the day before Christmas. On their journey home, they take a wrong turn and are feared lost in a snowstorm. Lyrical and descriptive, this brief tale by Austrian writer, poet, and painter Stifter...will do well where literary fiction is appreciated.
— Library Journal