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fatadelastana favorited a video
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fatadelastana added a new video to poems
(1 week ago)
Sharp and silent in the
Clear October lighting
Of a Sunday morning
The great city lies;
And I at a window
Looking over water
At the world of Business
With...
more
Sharp and silent in the
Clear October lighting
Of a Sunday morning
The great city lies;
And I at a window
Looking over water
At the world of Business
With a lover's eyes.
All mankind, I fancy,
When anticipating
Anything exciting
Like a rendezvous,
Occupy the time in
Purely random thinking,
For when love is waiting
Logic will not do.
Much as he would like to
Concentrate completely
On the precious Object,
Love has not the power;
Goethe put it neatly:
No one cares to watch the
Loveliest sunset after
Quarter of an hour.
Malinowski, Rivers,
Benedict and others
Show how common culture
Shapes the separate lives;
Matrilineal races
Kill their mothers' brothers
In their dreams and turn their
Sisters into wives.
Who when looking over
Faces in the subway,
Each with its uniqueness,
Would not, did he dare,
Ask what forms exactly
Suited to their weakness
Love and desperation
Take to govern there:
Would not like to know what
Influence occupation
Has on human vision
Of the human fate;
Do all clerks for instance
Pigeon-hole creation,
Brokers see the Ding-an-
-sich as Real Estate?
When a politician
Dreams about his sweetheart,
Does he multiply her
Face into a crowd,
Are her fond respones,
All-or-none reactions,
Does he try to buy her,
Is the kissing loud?
Strange are love's mutations:
Thus, the early poem
Of the flesh sub rosa
Has been known to grow
Now and then into the
Amor intellectu-
-alis of Spinoza;
How we do not know.
Slowly we are learning,
We at least know this much,
That we have to unlearn
Much that we were taught,
And are growing chary
Of emphatic dogmas;
Love like Matter is much
Odder than we thought.
Love requires an Object,
But this varies so much,
Almost, I imagine,
Anything will do.
When I was a child, I
Loved a pumping-engine,
Thought it every bit as
Beautiful as you.
Love has no position,
Love's a way of living,
One kind of relation
Possible between
Any things or persons
Given one condition,
The one sine qua non
Being mutual need.
Through it we discover
An essential secret
Called by some Salvation
And by some Success;
Crying for the moon is
Naughtiness and envy,
We can only love what-
-ever we possess.
I believed for years that
Love was the conjunction
Of two oppositions;
That was all untrue;
Every young man fears that
He is not worth loving;
Bless you, darling, I have
Found myself in you.
When two lovers meet, then
There's an end of writing
Thought and Analytics:
Lovers, like the dead,
In their loves are equal;
Sophomores and peasants,
Poets and their critics
Are the same in bed.
less
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fatadelastana favorited a video
(1 week ago)
Sharp and silent in the
Clear October lighting
Of a Sunday morning
The great city lies;
And I at a window
Looking over water
At the world of Business
With...
more
Sharp and silent in the
Clear October lighting
Of a Sunday morning
The great city lies;
And I at a window
Looking over water
At the world of Business
With a lover's eyes.
All mankind, I fancy,
When anticipating
Anything exciting
Like a rendezvous,
Occupy the time in
Purely random thinking,
For when love is waiting
Logic will not do.
Much as he would like to
Concentrate completely
On the precious Object,
Love has not the power;
Goethe put it neatly:
No one cares to watch the
Loveliest sunset after
Quarter of an hour.
Malinowski, Rivers,
Benedict and others
Show how common culture
Shapes the separate lives;
Matrilineal races
Kill their mothers' brothers
In their dreams and turn their
Sisters into wives.
Who when looking over
Faces in the subway,
Each with its uniqueness,
Would not, did he dare,
Ask what forms exactly
Suited to their weakness
Love and desperation
Take to govern there:
Would not like to know what
Influence occupation
Has on human vision
Of the human fate;
Do all clerks for instance
Pigeon-hole creation,
Brokers see the Ding-an-
-sich as Real Estate?
When a politician
Dreams about his sweetheart,
Does he multiply her
Face into a crowd,
Are her fond respones,
All-or-none reactions,
Does he try to buy her,
Is the kissing loud?
Strange are love's mutations:
Thus, the early poem
Of the flesh sub rosa
Has been known to grow
Now and then into the
Amor intellectu-
-alis of Spinoza;
How we do not know.
Slowly we are learning,
We at least know this much,
That we have to unlearn
Much that we were taught,
And are growing chary
Of emphatic dogmas;
Love like Matter is much
Odder than we thought.
Love requires an Object,
But this varies so much,
Almost, I imagine,
Anything will do.
When I was a child, I
Loved a pumping-engine,
Thought it every bit as
Beautiful as you.
Love has no position,
Love's a way of living,
One kind of relation
Possible between
Any things or persons
Given one condition,
The one sine qua non
Being mutual need.
Through it we discover
An essential secret
Called by some Salvation
And by some Success;
Crying for the moon is
Naughtiness and envy,
We can only love what-
-ever we possess.
I believed for years that
Love was the conjunction
Of two oppositions;
That was all untrue;
Every young man fears that
He is not worth loving;
Bless you, darling, I have
Found myself in you.
When two lovers meet, then
There's an end of writing
Thought and Analytics:
Lovers, like the dead,
In their loves are equal;
Sophomores and peasants,
Poets and their critics
Are the same in bed.
less
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I couldn't find a higher authority.
The guy in the last picture is Bill himself. When we invented the time machine in 2067, we went back and resc...
more
I couldn't find a higher authority.
The guy in the last picture is Bill himself. When we invented the time machine in 2067, we went back and rescued him. He tried to teach himself modern idiomatic English by enrolling in the Open University, majoring in Shakespearean Studies. They flunked him. He kept telling them they were wrong, muttering about how much they managed to squeeze out of a damp sponge.
Now he watches TV and plays with the kids most of the time. He likes Scooby-Doo even more than they do.
Speak the speech, I pray you,
as I pronounced it to you,
trippingly on the tongue:
but if you mouth it,
as many of our players do,
I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines.
Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand,
thus, but use all gently;
for in the very torrent, tempest, and, as I may say,
the whirlwind of your passion,
you must acquire and beget a temperance
that may give it smoothness.
O, it offends me to the soul
to hear a robustious periwigged fellow
tear a passion to tatters, to very rags,
to split the ears of the groundlings,
who for the most part are capable of nothing
but inexplicable dumbshows and noise:
I would have such a fellow whipped
for o'erdoing Termagant; it out-herods Herod:
pray you, avoid it.
Be not too tame either,
but let your own discretion be your tutor:
suit the action to the word,
the word to the action;
with this special observance,
that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature:
for any thing so overdone
is from the purpose of playing,
whose end, both at the first and now,
was and is, to hold, as 'twere,
the mirror up to nature;
to show virtue her own feature,
scorn her own image,
and the very age and body of the time
his form and pressure.
Now this overdone, or come tardy off,
though it make the unskilful laugh,
cannot but make the judicious grieve;
the censure of the which
one must in your allowance
o'erweigh a whole theatre of others.
O, there be players that I have seen play,
and heard others praise, and that highly,
not to speak it profanely, that,
neither having the accent of Christians
nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man,
have so strutted and bellowed
that I have thought some of nature's journeymen
had made men and not made them well,
they imitated humanity so abominably.
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Seth Riggs - Speech Level Singing Chapter 1 Exercise 20
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