A Book That Examines the Writing Processes of Two Poetry Giants
William Wordsworth and Samuel Taylor Coleridge once spent a grueling year in nature, subsequently producing some of their most resonant works.
Nature. We all know what it means. (Cows, the sky, puddles, volcanoes …) But what does it mean to have this single, oddly abstract word for the entire domain of the organic and nonhuman? How did we become so estranged from our own sustaining element that we could point at it and call it “nature”? I love nature: There aren’t many things you can say that are simultaneously as banal and as ontologically forlorn as that.
Adam Nicolson’s is a,” “,” “”) is still with us.
