Sunday, March 31, 2024
Appreciation …
… The Mystery and Grace of Paul Simon. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
I think it worth mentioning that Simon did not write “Scarborough Fair.} it’s a traditional English ballad.
Something to think on …
Poetry and boxing …
The collection opens with an epigraph from Sonny Liston: “Some day they’re gonna write a Blues song for fighters. / It’ll just be for slow guitars, soft trumpet, and a bell.” Here, Ryan has taken two sentences spoken by Liston after defeating Floyd Patterson in 1962 and broken them into two lines. By treating Liston’s speech as if it were poetry, Ryan allows us to see that Liston’s speech is poetry.
Saturday, March 30, 2024
Something to think on …
The lasting influence of scholasticism …
… the deployment of ideas like Suárez’s against the absolutism of writers like Robert Filmer was sometimes covert, since open acknowledgement of their Spanish Jesuit provenance would have been politically disadvantageous.
Connoisseur of doubt …
“We would all like to have a warning bell that rings loudly whenever we are about to make a serious error, but no such bell is available, and cognitive illusions are generally more difficult to recognize than perceptual illusions,”
Friday, March 29, 2024
A poem …
Appraisal
Life’s mystery deepens as time proceeds.
He’s less sure now of everything.
And doubt turns out to have its thrills.
Nearby Muzak — or whatever — plays a vintage tune
Conjuring parties long past, elsewhere some tabloid
Headlines a famous beauty’s imminent demise.
Life’s mystery deepens as time proceeds.
The past catches up as the future recedes,
While deflowered winter courts the barren heart.
Now we need scientists …
Blogging note …
I am not feeling well today. I may do a little blogging later today, but I’m not sure just now.
Hmm …
… ‘Write Like a Man’ Review: Diana Trilling’s Challenge. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
The principal figure here is Diana Trilling, a brilliant essayist and the wife of the celebrated cultural critic Lionel Trilling. Diana, “the more abrasive of the two,” Ms. Grinberg writes, balanced her husband’s checkbook and deftly edited his drafts. But when she offered similar editorial help to various male friends, they took it (as she herself reported) “as an assault on their masculinity.”
Something to think on …
Thursday, March 28, 2024
Hometown …
… Superior Blues. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
Superior, I learned as a child, was home to the world's largest grain elevator and charcoal briquet plant. It had the cleanest water, and the highest per capita number of saloons and bordellos. It was the birthplace of Morrie Arnovich, second greatest Jewish baseball player and contained the world's second largest trainyard, second only to Chicago.
Something to think on …
Wednesday, March 27, 2024
Something to think on …
Tuesday, March 26, 2024
Just so you know …
The basic ways the gov steals your money:
- if you earn it, income tax
- if you live somewhere, property tax
- if you spend it, sales tax
- if you save it, inflation tax
- if you invest it, capital gains tax
- if you start a business, licenses
- if you own a good business, profit tax
- if you give it away, gift tax
- if you die, inheritance tax
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes …
… Words, words, words. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
On the Bard’s four-hundred-year legacy.
Something to think on …
Monday, March 25, 2024
Hear, hear …
Blogging note …
I have many things to deal with today. Blogging will not resume until later, possibly much later.
Something to think on …
Sunday, March 24, 2024
This is nuts …
We humans have obviously been affecting the Earth since our emergence here — hunting, farming, trade, roads, houses, towns, etc. Maybe these people should sit dow and read H. G. Wells’s An Outline of. History. Or maybe Toynbee.
Pushback …
A person who has no idea of goodness can have no good ideas. If one cannot imagine dealing with rural rage except by fighting it, one is already too late.
Something to think on …
Putting things straight …
I sat through several hours of these public comments and endured many distortions and outright lies read into the public record, including statements denying that Hamas attackers engaged in sexual violence against Israeli women (there were cheers in the overflow room when that happened). And although many pro-Palestinian speakers invoked the number of Palestinians killed and the other deeply painful results of this war, none could bring themselves to concede that it was Hamas who broke the existing cease-fire on October 7, or that Israelis have a right to live in peace.
Saturday, March 23, 2024
Theology with a beat [sort of) …
… Karl Rahner’s theology of The Beatles.
Always concerned about pastoral matters, Rahner abstained from opining about the Beatles or their recordings. Indeed, he generally recused himself from the role of critic, instead expressing interest in the phenomenon of Beatlemania. Witnessing the Beatles’ fervent audience, Rahner observed, is “important for the preacher if he wants to know what today’s people are ‘actually’ like.”
Something to think on …
Bear in mind …
… You’re Not Jesus. (Hat tip, Dave Lull..)
Sorry, folks, but God’s not saying you must condescend to eat with sinners. No: you are the sinner. He condescends to eat with you.
A poem …
Looking
'
The ancients did not see things as we do.
They thought reason finite. Dreams, omens,
Prophecy: Therein lay truth’s treasure chest
Friday, March 22, 2024
Something to think on …
Hmm …
Set in the immediate aftermath of the worst of the pandemic, Galway Confidential explores in detail (as do the other books in the series) the unique complexity of Irish society, with its deeply infused blend of the Church, a roller-coaster economy and a propensity for violence, particularly involving knives…and in these stories, those knives aren’t just sharp, they’re serrated, too.
Thursday, March 21, 2024
Talk about misinformation …
… Google Invents a New Way to Stick It to Trump.
What concerns me he is the corruption of language. I pretty much don’t give a damn about politics, which for many these days has become a religion. I already have one of those.
Something to think on …
Marilynne Robinson on Biblical Interpretation, Calvinist Thought, and Religion in America (Ep. 207) | Conversations with Tyler
Wednesday, March 20, 2024
Something to think on …
Comparison and contrast …
… MACDONALD VERSUS MACDONALD: A CRIME FICTION DEBATE. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
Evaluating the literary legacies of John D. MacDonald and Ross Evaluating the literary legacies of John D. MacDonald and R
Evaluating the literary legacies of John D. MacDonald and Ross Evaluating the literary legacies of John D. MacDonald and Ross Macdonald from inside a Florida flea market
Tuesday, March 19, 2024
Wonderful …
Just so you know …
… What Elizabeth Bishop and Marianne Moore Learned From Each Other. (Hat tip, Dave Lull.)
Rachel Cohen on an Epistolary Friendship Between Two Giants of American PoetryMonday, March 18, 2024
Let’s hope …
… they vote to uphold our Constitutional rights: Supreme Court Hears Oral Argument in Pivotal NCLA Case Against Gov’t Social Media Censorship
Something to look forward to …
Something to think on …
RIP …
Sunday, March 17, 2024
A poem …
Nicodemus
There was a man of the Pharisees, named Nicodemus, a ruler of the Jews: the same came to Jesus by night, and said unto him, Rabbi, we know that thou art a teacher come from God: for no man can do these miracles that thou doest, except God be with him.
Jesus answered and said unto him, Verily, verily, I say unto thee, Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God.
I heard what he said about the law
Being made for man, not the other way
Around. And unrest laid hold of me. Sleep came
Only in snatches, leaving my nights swathed
In barren awareness, my mind a chamber
Black and empty, the darkness within echoing
The darkness without. The law, you see, had shaped
My life, or so I dreamed. His words clutched
My heart, brought it to life, making me
See how it was I had shaped the law to shield
Myself from mystery, reducing everything
To mere occasions, opportunities for sin
Or salvation. The law intends to codify
The good. Except the good is boundless as night
And sky, star glow and darkness, immeasurable
As the heart, that necessary instrument for navigating life.
Reason can sketch and guess and calculate,
Uncannily, from time to time, but always
Leaves out what counts, identifying things, as it does,
Only by accidents they have in common. For me,
The law was just a pin to stab a butterfly.
For him, it was a seed opening into stem
And branch, leaf and blossom, bearing fruit
For nourishing. Where I saw rogues and wantons,
He beheld eternal offspring. The law craves
Certainty. Only there is none. We see that
From the start, and run away, thinking to hide
And putter about in some attic of dissection
And surmise, devising artifacts demanding faith
As great as any simple taboo or command.
I went to see him. We met in secret, late at night,
Amid shadow and moonlight. One must be born
Again, he said, of water and the spirit. I did not
Understand. Nor was meant to. His was not a notion
To think upon and figure. His words made gestures,
Conjuring a feeling for being, the breathing in
And out of life, its buoyancy and flow, from trickle
To torrent, stillness and depth, wind and wave conjoined
In fragrance, flavor, and caress, vision and sound and sense.
We parted in silence. I had inquired. He had answered.
Nothing was left to say, nothing being all was left. Of me
At least. Bearing a lantern home near dawn — clouds
Crowding the moon away — I felt myself turn
Into a knowing absence, awareness and sensation
Intact, but no identity attached or needed. All was
Wordless, each flower wearing its own perfume,
The birds a chorus of arias, every color's every shade
Its very own light-burst, each and all breathing and flowing,
And what remained of me present only to serve as witness.
Come daylight, the common world faded back
And beckoned. But I was not quite there. Time,
Embracing space embracing me, had dwindled
To a point expanding outward in every direction.
Bereft of duration and position, I felt I needed
To assent to something, but could not think what, then
Sensed a stirring, like a drop of mist, or puff of wind,
Were wind softest whisper and mist merest sigh,
Breathing an invitation to agree to be, consent
To happen, bear witness to being made. I watched
Myself take place, as, when a child, my father sat me
Across his lap upon his horse, and galloped across
The meadow. I saw at once how I could live like that.
And I wanted to. The wanting proved an act of will.
I became complicit in my making, moving in time
With wind and wave, light and shade, the wayward tide.
And immediately the common world became again
My habitat, although it did not look the same, perhaps
Was not. For now I saw it from the angle of the breath
And flow of all besides. I was riding a current I knew not
Whither. Life had become a wonder and a terror. I cared not
Who it was I would become, or what would happen.
Intruding was the world of men, somehow askew,
Graceless and grotesque, each and all striving
For distinction, entangled in maneuvers of their own
Devising, ruffians at play. I was in attendance,
Made free in my obedience. As it happens, everything is
Perfectly in order. Only the performers are mostly
Out of step. The few who aren't stand in peril
From the rest. That is where the law comes in:
It catalogues the missteps. Those are all it knows.
His end was preordained. At his trial I spoke on his behalf,
Citing, naturally, a point of law, only to be countered
With a quote from Scripture. Such a dying, what it does
To flesh and tells of life, bears little thinking on.
I and the Arimithean arranged his burial. Two mornings
Later the tomb was empty and many swore thereafter
They had seen and spoken with him. I was not
Among those, needing no assurance. He imparted
To me myself that night. I felt loved simply
For being. Felt ashamed as well, at so often thwarting
My creation. I assented to obey his prompts.
So have I done, and shall continue to.
Come what may, I will act as he directs.