This Blog is presently inactive.  However, its archives remain accessible.

–W. E.  Poplaski

———————-

“Men of the most brilliant intelligence can be born, live and die in error and falsehood. In them, intelligence is neither a good, nor even an asset. The difference between more or less intelligent men is like the difference between criminals condemned to life imprisonment in smaller or larger cells. The intelligent man who is proud of his intelligence is like a condemned man who is proud of his large cell.”

~ Simone Weil (1909 – 1943)

Material for the Stout-Hearted Reader to Ruminate

♦ Essays, Lectures & Speeches ♦

—   —   —

Plato (3^rd century B.C.E.) was a Greek philosopher and student of Socrates.  Plato’s greatest work is his book, The Republic.  In it, he discusses the nature of justice and his plan for a model society.  He concludes with a description of the ideal government.

This week’s text is Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave”, in Book VII of The Republic. The allegory describes how most people are comfortable to live their lives in ignorance of the truth.  Further, when first faced with the truth, we recoil in fear and embrace our ignorance. However, if we resist the temptation to hide from the truth, we will gradually lose our fear and prefer it to ignorance. The allegory is written in the form of a dialogue between Socrates and Glaucon, who is often understood to be Plato’s brother.

Join others from around the world in this weekly reading event! You can find Plato’s text at these websites:

http://www.historyguide.org/intellect/allegory.html

http://www.wsu.edu/~dee/GREECE/ALLEGORY.HTM

http://www.math.nus.edu.sg/~matlmc/Allegory_cave.pdf

This concludes the Weekly Read-Along series. –W.E. Poplaski

Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844–89). 

Spring and Fall
to a young child

Margaret, are you grieving 
Over Goldengrove unleaving? 
Leaves, like the things of man, you 
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you? 
Ah! as the heart grows older                                     5
It will come to such sights colder 
By and by, nor spare a sigh 
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie; 
And yet you wíll weep and know why. 
Now no matter, child, the name:                              10
Sorrow’s springs are the same. 
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed 
What heart heard of, ghost guessed: 
It is the blight man was born for, 
It is Margaret you mourn for.                                   15

Notes:
http://www.cs.rice.edu/~ssiyer/minstrels/poems/59.html
http://www.victorianweb.org/authors/hopkins/

This concludes the POEM OF THE DAY series.–W.E. Poplaski

by Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886).

They Say that ‘Time assuages’

They say that ‘time assuages,’–
   Time never did assuage;
An actual suffering strengthens,
   As sinews do, with age.

Time is a test of trouble,
   But not a remedy.
If such it prove, it prove too
   There was no malady.

Notes:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/emilydic.htm
http://www.online-literature.com/dickinson/

by Robert Frost (1874 – 1963).

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Notes:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/rfrost.htm
 http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192

by Langston Hughes  (1902 – 1967).

Still Here

I been scared and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
   Snow has friz me,
   Sun has baked me,

Looks like between ‘em they done
   Tried to make me

Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’–
   But I don’t care!
   I’m still here!
 
Notes:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/lhughes.htm
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/83

by William Carlos Williams  (1883 – 1963).

This Is Just To Say (1934)

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold

Notes:
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/119
http://www.csustan.edu/english/reuben/pal/chap7/wcw.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/This_Is_Just_To_Say

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 – 1872).

Snow-flakes

Out of the bosom of the Air,
      Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
      Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
            Silent, and soft, and slow
            Descends the snow.

Even as our cloudy fancies take
      Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
      In the white countenance confession,
            The troubled sky reveals
            The grief it feels.

This is the poem of the air,
      Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
      Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
            Now whispered and revealed
            To wood and field.

Notes:
http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/long.htm
http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/143

by Charles Wesley (1707 – 1788).

For Christmas Day

Hark, how all the welkin rings,
“Glory to the King of kings;
Peace on earth, and mercy mild,
God and sinners reconcil’d!”

Joyful, all ye nations, rise,
Join the triumph of the skies;
Universal nature say,
“Christ the Lord is born to-day!”

Christ, by highest Heaven ador’d,
Christ, the everlasting Lord:
Late in time behold him come,
Offspring of a virgin’s womb!

Veil’d in flesh, the Godhead see,
Hail th’ incarnate Deity!
Pleas’d as man with men to appear,
Jesus, our Immanuel here!

Hail, the heavenly Prince of Peace,
Hail, the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Risen with healing in his wings.

Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth;
Born to give them second birth.

Come, desire of nations, come,
Fix in us thy humble home;
Rise, the woman’s conquering seed,
Bruise in us the serpent’s head.

Now display thy saving power,
Ruin’d nature now restore;
Now in mystic union join
Thine to ours, and ours to thine.

Adam’s likeness, Lord, efface,
Stamp thy image in its place.
Second Adam from above,
Reinstate us in thy love.

Let us thee, though lost, regain,
Thee, the life, the inner man:
O, to all thyself impart,
Form’d in each believing heart.

Notes:
http://elvis.rowan.edu/~kilroy/JEK/03/03.html
http://gbgm-umc.org/umw/Wesley/quiz/6a.stm

by Henry Vaughan (1621 – 1695).
 
Christ’s Nativity

Awake, glad heart! get up and sing!
It is the birth-day of thy King.
         Awake! awake!
         The Sun doth shake
Light from his locks, and all the way
Breathing perfumes, doth spice the day.

Awake, awake! hark how th’ wood rings;
Winds whisper, and the busy springs
         A concert make;
         Awake! awake!
Man is their high-priest, and should rise
To offer up the sacrifice.

I would I were some bird, or star,
Flutt’ring in woods, or lifted far
         Above this inn
         And road of sin!
Then either star or bird should be
Shining or singing still to thee.

I would I had in my best part
Fit rooms for thee! or that my heart
         Were so clean as
         Thy manger was!
But I am all filth, and obscene;
Yet, if thou wilt, thou canst make clean.

Sweet Jesu! will then. Let no more
This leper haunt and soil thy door!
         Cure him, ease him,
         O release him!
And let once more, by mystic birth,
The Lord of life be born in earth.
 
Notes:
http://www.luminarium.org/sevenlit/vaughan/
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/archive/poet.html?id=7069