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Stone-cutters fighting time with marble, you foredefeated
Challengers of oblivion
Eat cynical earnings, knowing rock splits, records fall down,
The square-limbed Roman letters
Scale in the thaws, wear in the rain. The poet as well
Builds his monument mockingly;
For man will be blotted out, the blithe earth die, the brave sun
Die blind and blacken to the heart:
Yet stones have stood for a thousand years, and pained
thoughts found
The honey of peace in old poems.
— Robinson Jeffers
His soul stretched tight across the skies
That fade behind a city block,
Or trampled by insistent feet
At four and five and six o’clock;
And short square fingers stuffing pipes,
And evening newspapers, and eyes
Assured of certain certainties,
The conscience of a blackened street
Impatient to assume the world.
I am moved by fancies that are curled
Around these images, and cling:
The notion of some infinitely gentle
Infinitely suffering thing.
Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh;
The worlds revolve like ancient women
Gathering fuel in vacant lots.
— Eliot
I CELEBRATE myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
My tongue, every atom of my blood, form’d from this soil, this
air,
Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their
parents the same,
I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,
Hoping to cease not till death.
— Walt Whitman
The scientists are in terror
and the European mind stops
Wyndham Lewis chose blindness
rather than have his mind stop.
Night under wind mid garofani,
the petals are almost still
Mozart, Linnaeus, Sulmona,
When one’s friends hate each other
how can there be peace in the world?
Their asperities diverted me in my green time.
A blown husk that is finished
but the light sings eternal
a pale flare over marshes
where the salt hay whispers to tide’s change
Time, space,
neither life nor death is the answer.
And of man seeking good,
doing evil.
In meiner Heimat
where the dead walked
and the living were made of cardboard.
Gerard Van der Leun
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i think hoax
I loved that BBC flying penguins bit! My late wife and I loved penguins.
We had reasons.
First time I heard that song was when I first saw this film, Audie Murphy’s story To Hell and Back . . . : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b1J8E9dnd5g
Can someone kindly explain what the hell this is? It cannot be real, but where’s the tell? Anyone….?
Never mind. Wiki is my friend. (Did not catch that was Python’s Terry Jones.)
Forgot to say that the cruel irony is that Audie Murphy died in a plane crash.
Auntie – …and poor old Patton died in a freak car crash. How mortifying, if you’ll excuse the expression.
April fools day prank from 2008 according to wiki. If penguins were migrating in flocks of hundreds or thousands from the antarctic to the Amazon every year I feel certain someone would have noticed long ago.
Neat to see Terry Jones at the center of this. Also fitting. Sorry to see he passed away very recently.
Terry Jones had the most sublimely gentle humor of the M.P. troup, but he was never droll.
When you look at the wing loading on those chubby puppies, it is an immediate NFW tell!