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  • Archive for the 'Poetry' Category

    Biden Likes to Talk About Trains

    Posted by David Foster on 2nd May 2021 (All posts by )

    …both actual trains and metaphorical trains, as in a recent Biden social media post: 100 days in–and America is getting back on track.

    So I’ll give him a railroad story, actually a poem, the following excerpt from which was quoted by Winston Churchill in 1935:

    Who is in charge of the clattering train?
    The axles creak, and the couplings strain.
    For the pace is hot, and the points are near,
    and Sleep hath deadened the driver’s ear
    And signals flash through the night in vain
    Death is in charge of the clattering train!

    Original poem here; it appears that Churchill in his excerpt combined part of the first verse with part of the last.  The poem, which was published in 1890, was inspired by an actual railroad accident.

     

    Posted in Poetry, Politics, Transportation | 76 Comments »

    Belated Valentine’s Day

    Posted by Ginny on 18th February 2021 (All posts by )

    Without Wi-fi since Sunday, I’ve spent the last two hours going through e-mails and trying to catch up on Chicagoboyz. One e-mail was a Valentine’s Day greeting from a charming friend, whose later-in-life marriage and three children have been as deeply fulfilling as her scholarly career. She is often a contrarian in the bitter world of academia – partially because of the joy she finds in uniting these passions. So, here is an intro to her article, from a more casual forum than she usually chooses:

    As a chivalric literary historian who has studied the origins of the holiday, I find this [“for the birds”] a shame. When the notion of Valentine’s Day as a day for romance emerged in the 1380s it was all about love as a natural life force – birds choosing their mates, the freedom to choose or refuse love and the arrival of springtime. But even then many people did not understand or value these things. In fact, that is why it was invented.

    The first to write of Valentine’s Day – a feast day with ancient pagan roots – as a holiday celebrating love and lovers were the 14th-century English squire Geoffrey Chaucer and his friend, the internationally admired knight and poet Oton III de Granson, from Savoy in modern-day France. Both poets were recognized in their own time as chivalrous advocates for human rights. And in tandem, they seem to have concocted Valentine’s Day as a day for lovers.

    Chaucer and Granson encountered one another in the service of Richard II of England and admired one another’s poetry. Their poems about Valentine’s Day show them operating as an international chivalric team to address pressing issues in the theory and practice of love, then and now.

    Posted in Academia, Anglosphere, Arts & Letters, Diversions, Feminism, Human Behavior, Lit Crit, Poetry | 2 Comments »

    Worthwhile Reading, Viewing, and Listening

    Posted by David Foster on 25th January 2021 (All posts by )

    Smiling Victorians…a photo essay

    A tour of the Atlanta Hartsfield air traffic control tower

    Speaking of ATC…a controller at Boston Center and a Delta pilot on her frequency discover that her grandfather was the man who hired him, back in 1981.

    The transistor:  a documentary from 1954.

    Tonight being Burns Night, here’s a song I like from Robert Burns...musical setting by Ludwig Beethoven, oddly enough.  Some 19th-century musical entrepreneurship was involved in the Burns-Beethoven connection. Lyrics, including modern-English translation, here.

    Think I’ll pass on the kilt and the haggis, though.

    Posted in Aviation, History, Music, Photos, Poetry, Tech, Transportation | 14 Comments »

    Christmas 2020

    Posted by David Foster on 24th December 2020 (All posts by )

    Newgrange is an ancient structure in Ireland so constructed that the sun, at the exact time of the winter solstice, shines directly down a long corridor and illuminates the inner chamber. More about Newgrange here and here.

    Grim has an Arthurian passage about the Solstice.

    Don Sensing has thoughts astronomical, historical, and theological about the Star of Bethlehem.

    Vienna Boys Choir, from Maggie’s Farm

    Snowflakes and snow crystals, from Cal Tech. Lots of great photos

    In the bleak midwinter, from King’s College Cambridge

    The first radio broadcast of voice and music took place on Christmas Eve, 1906. (although there is debate about the historical veracity of this story)

    An air traffic control version of  The Night Before Christmas.

    O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, sung by Enya

    Gerard Manley Hopkins

    A Christmas-appropriate poem from Rudyard Kipling

    I was curious as to what the oldest Christmas carol might be:  this Billboard article suggests some possibilities.

    The story of electric Christmas tree lights

    Mona Charen, who is Jewish, wonders  what’s going on with the Christians?

    The 2017 Christmas season, in combination with the Churchill movie Darkest Hour, reminded me something written by the French author Georges Bernanos:  A Tale for Children.

    Here’s a passage I’ve always liked from Thomas Pynchon’s great novel Gravity’s Rainbow.  The setting: it is the grim winter of 1944, just before Christmas. The military situation in Europe is not good, and WWII seems as if it will never end. London is under attack by V-2 rockets and V-1 cruise missiles (as they would be called today.) Roger and Jessica, two of the main characters, are driving in a rural area in England and come upon a church where carols are being sung. They decide to go inside.

    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Christianity, History, Holidays, Miscellaneous, Music, Poetry | 5 Comments »

    What Do You Make of This Poem?

    Posted by David Foster on 7th July 2020 (All posts by )

    Leonard Cohen, ‘The Captain’

    Now the Captain called me to his bed
    He fumbled for my hand
    “Take these silver bars,” he said
    “I’m giving you command.”
    “Command of what, there’s no one here
    There’s only you and me –
    All the rest are dead or in retreat
    Or with the enemy.”

    continues here

    Thoughts on interpretation?

    Posted in Poetry | 5 Comments »

    Shall It Be Sustained?

    Posted by David Foster on 4th July 2020 (All posts by )

    For the last several years, on July 4th I’ve posted an excerpt from Stephen Vincent Benet’s poem Listen to the People.  The title I’ve used for these posts prior to 2013 was It Shall Be Sustained, which is from the last line of Benet’s poem.

    Narrator:

    This is Independence Day,
    Fourth of July, the day we mean to keep,
    Whatever happens and whatever falls
    Out of a sky grown strange;
    This is firecracker day for sunburnt kids,
    The day of the parade,
    Slambanging down the street.
    Listen to the parade!
    There’s J. K. Burney’s float,
    Red-white-and-blue crepe-paper on the wheels,
    The Fire Department and the local Grange,
    There are the pretty girls with their hair curled
    Who represent the Thirteen Colonies,
    The Spirit of East Greenwich, Betsy Ross,
    Democracy, or just some pretty girls.
    There are the veterans and the Legion Post
    (Their feet are going to hurt when they get home),
    The band, the flag, the band, the usual crowd,
    Good-humored, watching, hot,
    Silent a second as the flag goes by,
    Kidding the local cop and eating popsicles,
    Jack Brown and Rosie Shapiro and Dan Shay,
    Paul Bunchick and the Greek who runs the Greek’s,
    The black-eyed children out of Sicily,
    The girls who giggle and the boys who push,
    All of them there and all of them a nation.
    And, afterwards,
    There’ll be ice-cream and fireworks and a speech
    By somebody the Honorable Who,
    The lovers will pair off in the kind dark
    And Tessie Jones, our honor-graduate,
    Will read the declaration.
    That’s how it is. It’s always been that way.
    That’s our Fourth of July, through war and peace,
    That’s our fourth of July.

    And a lean farmer on a stony farm
    Came home from mowing, buttoned up his shirt
    And walked ten miles to town.
    Musket in hand.
    He didn’t know the sky was falling down
    And, it may be, he didn’t know so much.
    But people oughtn’t to be pushed around
    By kings or any such.
    A workman in the city dropped his tools.
    An ordinary, small-town kind of man
    Found himself standing in the April sun,
    One of a ragged line
    Against the skilled professionals of war,
    The matchless infantry who could not fail,
    Not for the profit, not to conquer worlds,
    Not for the pomp or the heroic tale
    But first, and principally, since he was sore.
    They could do things in quite a lot of places.
    They shouldn’t do them here, in Lexington.

    He looked around and saw his neighbors’ faces

    The poem is very long, and is worth reading in full. The full text was published in Life Magazine; it is online here. The Life text may be a little difficult to read; I posted an excerpt which is considerably longer than the above here.

    Benet’s poem ends with these words:

    We made it and we make it and it’s ours
    We shall maintain it. It shall be sustained

    But shall it?

    The probability that the American experiment will survive seems lower now than in any prior year in living memory.  We still have a good fighting chance, but the outcome is by no means assured.

    I keep thinking of the words of the British general Edward Spears, describing his feelings in the aftermath of Munich:

    Like most people, I have had my private sorrows, but there is no loss that can compare with the agony of losing one’s country, and that is what some of us felt when England accepted Munich.  All we believed in seemed to have lost substance.

    The life of each of us has roots without which it must wither; these derive sustenance from the soil of our native land, its thoughts, its way of life, its magnificent history; the lineage of the British race is our inspiration.  The past tells us what the future should be.  When we threw the Czechs to the Nazi wolves, it seemed to me as if the beacon lit centuries ago, and ever since lighting our way, had suddenly gone out, and I could not see ahead.

    Yet it was only two years after Munich that Britain demonstrated its  magnificent resistance to Nazi conquest. Perhaps the United States of America will similarly rediscover its spirit.

     

    Posted in Deep Thoughts, History, Poetry, USA | 7 Comments »

    Worthwhile Reading & Viewing

    Posted by David Foster on 29th January 2020 (All posts by )

    It is unwise to let your dislike for certain individuals to run away with you to the point that you publish attacks that can be refuted with a few seconds of research.

    Speaking of publishing dumb things…

    Philosophers and philodoxers

    Thoughts on personal productivity from Marc Andreessen

    This 19th century French philosopher sounds worth reading.  From Tyler Cowen’s summary:

    He explicitly considers the possibility that the rate of scientific innovation may decline, in part because the austere and moral mentality of semi-rural family life, which is most favorable for creativity in his view, may be replaced by the whirlpool of distractions associated with the urban lifestyles of the modern age.

    The 10 worst colleges for free expression…the 2020 edition.

    Using albatrosses to track down illegal fishing boats.  A little advice for the captains of those boats: do not, under any circumstances, shoot an albatross.

    France’s most beautiful stained-glass windows

    Posted in Academia, Arts & Letters, Christianity, Media, Philosophy, Poetry, Politics, Society | 13 Comments »

    New! – Your Haikus of Existential Despair and Humor

    Posted by Jonathan on 19th December 2019 (All posts by )

    Seminole truck stop.
    Bought coffee, didn’t like vibe.
    Got out of there fast.

    —-

    Financial experts:
    Often wrong, never in doubt.
    Caveat emptor.

    —-

    Your probiotic
    Killed my antibiotic!
    Ha ha, just kidding.

    —-

    Chinese scraper sites
    Steal copyrighted photos.
    Nothing you can do.

    —-
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Poetry | 11 Comments »

    Summer Rerun: Jeff Sypeck’s Gargoyle Poems

    Posted by David Foster on 25th August 2019 (All posts by )

    …which were inspired by the gargoyles of the Washington National Cathedral, were published in book form in 2012.  I was reminded of these poems by the dreadfully destructive fire at Notre Dame.

    The book includes 53 poems accompanied by black-and-white photos of the gargoyles and grotesques. These poems are really good…one of my favorites is  A Mother Consoles her Daughter.

    You can get the book via the usual on-line sources, the National Cathedral Store, or directly from Jeff’s blog, at this page.

    Posted in Arts & Letters, Book Notes, Christianity, History, Poetry | Comments Off on Summer Rerun: Jeff Sypeck’s Gargoyle Poems

    Christmas 2018

    Posted by David Foster on 24th December 2018 (All posts by )

    Newgrange is an ancient structure in Ireland so constructed that the sun, at the exact time of the winter solstice, shines directly down a long corridor and illuminates the inner chamber. More about Newgrange here and here.

    Grim has an Arthurian passage about the Solstice.

    Don Sensing has thoughts astronomical, historical, and theological about the Star of Bethlehem.

    Vienna Boys Choir, from Maggie’s Farm

    Lappland in pictures…link came from the great and much-mourned Neptunus Lex

    Snowflakes and snow crystals, from Cal Tech. Lots of great photos

    In the bleak midwinter, from King’s College Cambridge

    Rick Darby has some thoughts on the season. More here.

    The first radio broadcast of voice and music took place on Christmas Eve, 1906. (although there is debate about the historical veracity of this story)

    An air traffic control version of  The Night Before Christmas.

    O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, sung by Enya

    Posted in Christianity, Holidays, Poetry | 6 Comments »

    New! – Your Mildly Anxious Pre-Election Tech-Grouch Haikus

    Posted by Jonathan on 5th November 2018 (All posts by )

    Elections coming.
    Bad or worse – not good or bad –
    Is the real question.

    —-

    New Google inbox
    Maximizes confusion.
    But, Google knows best.

    —-

    Social media:
    People at each other’s throats
    Over little things.

    —-

    That damned noise again. . .
    Some app, can’t ID which one.
    This is the future?

    —-

    (Feel free to add your contributions in the comments.)
     

    Posted in Poetry, Politics, Society, Tech | 9 Comments »

    New! – Your Friday That’s-All-I-Got Burnt Haiku Offering

    Posted by Jonathan on 5th October 2018 (All posts by )

    “Hi, this is Bridget. . .”
    The phony recorded voice
    Cues you to hang up.

    —-

    New Android update!
    Now the apps run much slower,
    Battery dies fast.

    —-

    The people next door
    Are into Santeria.
    Better hide your cat.

    —-

    Your middle-class friends
    Are sometimes rude to smokers.
    Time to get new friends?

    —-

    Morning home-leaving.
    Your dog thinks it’s betrayal.
    Perhaps he’s correct.

    —-

    Fat girl riding bike.
    She looks angry, I say Hi.
    She doesn’t respond.

    —-

    Feel free to add your contributions in the comments.
     

    Posted in Poetry | 14 Comments »

    New! – Your Vaguely Stressed-Out Middle Class Post-20th Century Haikus

    Posted by Jonathan on 21st September 2018 (All posts by )

    Bless our New Age friends!
    You need cancer remedies,
    They suggest. . . massage.

    —-

    It’s the Age of Waze:
    Rush hour turns across traffic,
    Third World risk taking.

    —-

    Windows networking –
    Still a huge pain in the ass.
    Some things never change.

    —-

    Turns out your girlfriend
    Ran an asset search on you.
    Time to hit the road?
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Poetry | 11 Comments »

    New! – Your Mid-Summer Night’s Pungently Refreshing Haiku Effusion

    Posted by Jonathan on 3rd August 2018 (All posts by )

    Go ahead, say it:
    Alexa you filthy whore.
    (Feels good, amirite?)

    —-

    Your Uber shared ride:
    Long wait then driver cancels.
    All game the system.

    —-

    With ER visits
    You’re guaranteed an ordeal.
    Sometimes it’s worth it.

    —-

    “Invalid Password” –
    Inept software designers
    Make us click too much.
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Poetry | 3 Comments »

    Shall It Be Sustained?

    Posted by David Foster on 4th July 2018 (All posts by )

    For the 4th of July of 2014,  Cassandra had an excellent post:  Independence in an Age of Cynicism.  I recommend the entire post and all the links; read especially the third linked essay, which Cass wrote in 2008:  Why I Am Patriotic: a Love Letter to America.

    For the last several years, on July 4th I’ve posted an excerpt from Stephen Vincent Benet’s poem Listen to the People.  The title I’ve used for these posts prior to 2013 was It Shall Be Sustained, which is from the last line of Benet’s poem.

    Narrator:

    This is Independence Day,
    Fourth of July, the day we mean to keep,
    Whatever happens and whatever falls
    Out of a sky grown strange;
    This is firecracker day for sunburnt kids,
    The day of the parade,
    Slambanging down the street.
    Listen to the parade!
    There’s J. K. Burney’s float,
    Red-white-and-blue crepe-paper on the wheels,
    The Fire Department and the local Grange,
    There are the pretty girls with their hair curled
    Who represent the Thirteen Colonies,
    The Spirit of East Greenwich, Betsy Ross,
    Democracy, or just some pretty girls.
    There are the veterans and the Legion Post
    (Their feet are going to hurt when they get home),
    The band, the flag, the band, the usual crowd,
    Good-humored, watching, hot,
    Silent a second as the flag goes by,
    Kidding the local cop and eating popsicles,
    Jack Brown and Rosie Shapiro and Dan Shay,
    Paul Bunchick and the Greek who runs the Greek’s,
    The black-eyed children out of Sicily,
    The girls who giggle and the boys who push,
    All of them there and all of them a nation.
    And, afterwards,
    There’ll be ice-cream and fireworks and a speech
    By somebody the Honorable Who,
    The lovers will pair off in the kind dark
    And Tessie Jones, our honor-graduate,
    Will read the declaration.
    That’s how it is. It’s always been that way.
    That’s our Fourth of July, through war and peace,
    That’s our fourth of July.

    And a lean farmer on a stony farm
    Came home from mowing, buttoned up his shirt
    And walked ten miles to town.
    Musket in hand.
    He didn’t know the sky was falling down
    And, it may be, he didn’t know so much.
    But people oughtn’t to be pushed around
    By kings or any such.
    A workman in the city dropped his tools.
    An ordinary, small-town kind of man
    Found himself standing in the April sun,
    One of a ragged line
    Against the skilled professionals of war,
    The matchless infantry who could not fail,
    Not for the profit, not to conquer worlds,
    Not for the pomp or the heroic tale
    But first, and principally, since he was sore.
    They could do things in quite a lot of places.
    They shouldn’t do them here, in Lexington.

    He looked around and saw his neighbors’ faces

    The poem is very long, and is worth reading in full. The full text was published in Life Magazine; it is online here. The Life text may be a little difficult to read; I posted an excerpt which is considerably longer than the above here.

    Benet’s poem ends with these words:

    We made it and we make it and it’s ours
    We shall maintain it. It shall be sustained

    But shall it?

    Posted in History, Holidays, Poetry, USA | 6 Comments »

    New! – Your Sunday Evening Under the Radar Haiku April Surprise

    Posted by Jonathan on 15th April 2018 (All posts by )

    I didn't do it I swear

    It was no accident, comrade.

     
     
    Libertarians:
    Great ideas, principles;
    Socially clueless.
     
    —-
     
    Vegetarians:
    Like atheists and swingers,
    Tend narcissistic.
     
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Photos, Poetry | 4 Comments »

    New! – Your 2018 Poorer-But-Wiser Haiku Blowout

    Posted by Jonathan on 16th February 2018 (All posts by )

     
    hurricane
     
    Minor hurricanes:
    Always worse than expected
    With much long-term harm.

    —-

    She cares not a whit
    About your gearhead hobbies,
    But your words – watch out.

    —-

    Earnings out today.
    They killed volatility.
    Those calls you bought? Ha.

    —-

    Your lawn guy vanished.
    Perhaps he was deported?
    That’s the way to bet.
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Poetry | 3 Comments »

    New! – Your Photo-Illustrated Urban Haiku Mini-Slam

    Posted by Jonathan on 15th November 2017 (All posts by )

    zzz bus
     
    New, free, city bus –
    Late, slow, inconvenient route.
    Got what I paid for.

    —-

    In a restaurant,
    Saw cockroach crawling on seat.
    Ignorance was bliss.

    —-

    Weekend night drivers:
    Ten under limit, weaving.
    Better to stay home.

    —-

    Your Chinese toaster –
    Inexpensive, doesn’t work.
    That’s how things are now.

    —-

    (Feel free to add your contributions in the comments.)

    Posted in Photos, Poetry | 6 Comments »

    New! – Your Long Overdue Haikupalooza

    Posted by Jonathan on 1st October 2017 (All posts by )

    Speaking Hebrew with
    Uber guy from Ramallah
    Interesting world

    —-

    Your fake service dog
    Goes with you to the Target
    We all know the truth

    —-

    Bicycling safety?
    Drivers crazy, distracted
    Watch out for yourself

    —-

    At condo meeting
    Board announces it’s quitting
    One dare not step in

    —-
    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in Poetry | 18 Comments »

    Our only enemy was gold

    Posted by Margaret on 21st September 2017 (All posts by )

    I’ve always thought Edwin Muir’s poem ‘The Castle,’ like Burns’ ‘Parcel of Rogues,’ referred to the Acts of Union of 1707. Many Scots considered the union of Scotland and England to be a corrupt bargain in which Scottish nobles and landowners who’d been ruined by the Darien scheme were bailed out with English money in return for signing over Scotland’s independence. (I don’t want to argue the merits of that theory; historians have been batting it around for four hundred years without reaching agreement. I just want to point out that the attitude exists.)

    It did just occur to me recently that there could be another, slightly anachronistic interpretation of the poem. If Edwin Muir had been given a glimpse of Scotland’s condition today and the destructive effects of welfare dependency, he might have written exactly the same poem. For generations Scotland was a poor country whose greatest natural resource was its people and their devotion to education. They educated their young people and sent them out all over the world, and as George MacDonald Fraser said, “A Scotsman on the make is a terrible thing.”

    The expansion of the welfare state has eroded that, perhaps fatally.

    All through that summer at ease we lay,
    And daily from the turret wall
    We watched the mowers in the hay
    And the enemy half a mile away
    They seemed no threat to us at all.

    For what, we thought, had we to fear
    With our arms and provender, load on load,
    Our towering battlements, tier on tier,
    And friendly allies drawing near
    On every leafy summer road.

    Our gates were strong, our walls were thick,
    So smooth and high, no man could win
    A foothold there, no clever trick
    Could take us, have us dead or quick.
    Only a bird could have got in.

    What could they offer us for bait?
    Our captain was brave and we were true….
    There was a little private gate,
    A little wicked wicket gate.
    The wizened warder let them through.

    Oh then our maze of tunneled stone
    Grew thin and treacherous as air.
    The cause was lost without a groan,
    The famous citadel overthrown,
    And all its secret galleries bare.

    How can this shameful tale be told?
    I will maintain until my death
    We could do nothing, being sold;
    Our only enemy was gold,
    And we had no arms to fight it with.

    Posted in Arts & Letters, Britain, Culture, History, Poetry | 8 Comments »

    Poetry for the Eclipse

    Posted by David Foster on 21st August 2017 (All posts by )

    The impending eclipse reminded NeoNeocon of  a poem by Archibald Macleish:

    And here face down beneath the sun  
    And here upon earth’s noonward height  
    To feel the always coming on 
    The always rising of the night: 

     

    To feel creep up the curving east  
    The earthy chill of dusk and slow  
    Upon those under lands the vast  
    And ever climbing shadow grow 

     

    And strange at Ecbatan the trees  
    Take leaf by leaf the evening strange  
    The flooding dark about their knees  
    The mountains over Persia change 

     

    And now at Kermanshah the gate  
    Dark empty and the withered grass  
    And through the twilight now the late  
    Few travelers in the westward pass 

     

    And Baghdad darken and the bridge  
    Across the silent river gone 
    And through Arabia the edge 
    Of evening widen and steal on

     

    RTWT.  The poem reminded me of another poem, George Meredith’s Lucifer in Starlight:

     

    On a starred night Prince Lucifer uprose.
    Tired of his dark dominion swung the fiend
    Above the rolling ball in cloud part screened,
    Where sinners hugged their spectre of repose.
    Poor prey to his hot fit of pride were those.
    And now upon his western wing he leaned,
    Now his huge bulk o’er Afric’s sands careened,
    Now the black planet shadowed Arctic snows.
    Soaring through wider zones that pricked his scars
    With memory of the old revolt from Awe,
    He reached a middle height, and at the stars,
    Which are the brain of heaven, he looked, and sank.
    Around the ancient track marched, rank on rank,
    The army of unalterable law. 

    Posted in Current Events, Miscellaneous, Poetry, Science | Comments Off on Poetry for the Eclipse

    Summer Rerun: Sir Patrick Spence

    Posted by David Foster on 21st June 2017 (All posts by )

    Just because I like it…

    The king sits in Dunfermline toun,
    Drinkin’ the bluid red wine
    ‘0 whaur will I get a skeely skipper,
    To sail this ship o’ mine?’

    Then up and spak an eldern knicht,
    Sat at the king’s richt knee,
    ‘Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
    That ever sail’d the sea.’

    Our king has written a braid letter,
    And seal’d it wi’ his han’,
    And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
    Was walkin’ on the stran’.

    ‘To Noroway, to Noroway,
    To Noroway owre the faim;
    The king’s dochter o’ Noroway,
    It’s thou maun bring her hame.’

    The first line that Sir Patrick read,
    Sae lond, loud laughed he;
    The neist line that Sir Patrick read,
    The tear blinded his e’e.

    ‘O wha is this has dune this deed,
    And tauld the king o’ me,
    To send us oot at this time o’ the year
    To sail upon the sea?

    Read the rest of this entry »

    Posted in History, Poetry | 3 Comments »

    Seth Barrett Tillman: Tillman’s Poetry Corner: Flanders Fields

    Posted by Jonathan on 17th January 2017 (All posts by )

    This is interesting:

    John McCrae’s Flanders Fields is iconic. No more need be said. Unfortunately, its meaning has been distorted by the most popular voice and instrumental accompaniment. This new reading of the poem has transformed Flanders Fields’ meaning. My guess is that this metamorphosis was unintentional, but one and all should work to recover the original public meaning.

    Read the rest.

    Posted in Arts & Letters, Culture, History, Poetry, Rhetoric | 1 Comment »

    Christmas 2016

    Posted by David Foster on 24th December 2016 (All posts by )

    Newgrange is an ancient structure in Ireland so constructed that the sun, at the exact time of the winter solstice, shines directly down a long corridor and illuminates the inner chamber. More about Newgrange here and here.

    Grim has an Arthurian passage about the Solstice.

    Don Sensing has thoughts astronomical, historical, and theological about the Star of Bethlehem.

    Vienna Boys Choir, from Maggie’s Farm

    Lappland in pictures…link came from the great and much-mourned Neptunus Lex

    Snowflakes and snow crystals, from Cal Tech. Lots of great photos

    In the bleak midwinter, from King’s College Cambridge

    Rick Darby has some thoughts on the season. More here.

    A Christmas reading from Thomas Pynchon.

    The first radio broadcast of voice and music took place on Christmas Eve, 1906. (although there is debate about the historical veracity of this story)

    An air traffic control version of  The Night Before Christmas.

    Ice sculptures from the St Paul winter carnival

    O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, sung by Enya

    Gerard Manley Hopkins

    Mona Charen, who is Jewish, wonders  what’s going on with the Christians?

    Posted in Christianity, Holidays, Poetry | 2 Comments »

    Nobels & Dylan

    Posted by Ginny on 15th October 2016 (All posts by )

    In the mid-sixties, Bob Dylan’s music was the soundtrack to our lives. Now, in 2016, he’ll receive a Nobel. In that half century he’s become central to later generations and in other ways. But between the years when “everyone” quoted Childs numbers and when the Beatles took America by storm, Dylan’s voice was important. The folk singer who lived upstairs in ’65 patterned his style – music, clothes, harmonicas – after Dylan, placing roses on the stage at Pershing when Dylan played Lincoln; another friend wrote poems filled with Dylan allusions, murmuring Mr. Tambourine Man. Dylan did Nashville Skyline; in Chicago, watching him on Johnny Cash, I began to love country: a less surreal, more seductive Dylan singing Lay Lady Lay. In 1975 Austin, newly married, we bought Blood on the Tracks, with “Shelter from the Storm”

    And in 2016, he will stand another stage. His website is workmanlike; in his mid seventies, his tours continue. The “News” section doesn’t (tonight) have the Nobel listed. It’s hard to put my memories of a man who seemed to speak for and to lost boys in the context of his (and our) maturity, of all those years and all his work between then and now. For me, he remains fixed in the past, mine is ambivalence and nostalgia, but that larger, longer public context: Washington Post; Wall Street Journal; New York Times.

    If Dylan didn’t touch your life, Sohrab Ahmari’s take on one who did might be worth comment. Seven years has produced a world a less smug and ahistorical vision would have foreseen.

    Discuss?

    Posted in Arts & Letters, Music, Personal Narrative, Poetry | 12 Comments »