We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
O you, who hear in scattered verse the sound Of all those sighs with which my heart I fed, When I, by youthful error was misled, Unlike my present self in passion drowned; Who hears the woes, the pleadings that abound Throughout my song, by hopes and vain griefs bred; If ever true love its influence over you shed, Oh ! let your pity be with pardon crowned. But now full well I see how to the crowd For a long time I proved a public jest: Even by myself my folly is confessed: And of my vanity, what's left is shame, Repentance, and a knowledge deep impressed, That worldly pleasure is a passing dream.
Sonnet written by Francesco Petrarca for Laura, of course. Who else? This devout Renaissance poet drew inspiration from Dante, but maybe never escaped his shadow.
Said he, in his Letter to Posterity (everybody should write a ltter to posterity):
"In my youth I was blessed with an agile, active body, though not particularly strong; and while I cannot boast of being very handsome, I was good-looking enough in my younger days. I had a clear complexion, between light and dark, lively eyes, and for many years sharp vision, which, however, unexpectedly deserted me when I passed my sixtieth birthday, and forced me, reluctantly, to resort to the use of glasses. Although I had always been perfectly healthy, old age assailed me with its usual array of discomforts."
Hello Bird Dog. That was a nice piece. I enoy the Saturday verse. I know so little of poetry but if I could share the following with you:
I woke up one day last week with a line on my mind. (unusual since I know so little verse). I looked up the line ("mere anarchy is loosed upon the world") and found out it was from Yeat's 'Second Coming"
It was sort of creepy because a number of the lines in the first, more expository part, seem so relevant today.
The second section seemed to stike a chord because of the things going on in Egypt. What do you think?
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?