Date: December 15, 2012
Colleagues and Friends,
Please excuse the off-topic post.
Yesterday, we experienced a tremendous national tragedy on our doorstep. We weep for the children and the parents, for colleagues and friends, for the living and dead. Everyone not killed is wounded.
The futility, the waste, brought to mind these phrases from the Britten War Requiem, the poetry by Wilfred Owen,
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
Britten's answer, and ours, is prayer.
Love to all,
The American Prize
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