Brigid Brophy writes in a forward to a book:
Reading the book is like saying a tragic, pagan, erotic rosary.
Reading comes to voice via a garland. A long way from blossoms to beads.
The images in By Grand Central Station are individually beautiful but beautiful also in the order in which they are strung.
And prior to this was the image of reading Baudelaire’s Poems in Prose as being akin to “picking through a box of marvellous but unstrung beads.”
The tempting rattle of marbles secures the tragedy of recitation.
And so for day 37