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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 11 of 11. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by B2chica on May 22, 2007, at 8:35:47
is Atticus still around? i have a question for him/others.
i really enjoy sylvia plath...but am a total novice about poetry/poets. since i enjoy her words and intensity, are there others that i would enjoy? Atticus recommended plath a few years ago to me.thanks
b2c
Posted by Sigismund on May 22, 2007, at 19:55:05
In reply to Atticus??, posted by B2chica on May 22, 2007, at 8:35:47
TS Eliot "Four Quartets", especially "East Coker".
Posted by Sigismund on May 23, 2007, at 18:53:34
In reply to Atticus??, posted by B2chica on May 22, 2007, at 8:35:47
Here's the bit from East Coker which is special to me.
II
O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away -
Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
And the conversation rises and and slowly fades into silence
And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing -
I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
Of death and birth.
You say I am repeating
Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.
In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.
And what you do not know is the only thing you know
And what you own is what you do not own
And where you are is where you are not.
Posted by B2chica on May 25, 2007, at 8:43:16
In reply to East Coker (the bit I like), posted by Sigismund on May 23, 2007, at 18:53:34
Posted by malthus on June 13, 2007, at 17:06:58
In reply to Atticus??, posted by B2chica on May 22, 2007, at 8:35:47
Langston Hughes.
Posted by malthus on June 13, 2007, at 19:06:35
In reply to Atticus??, posted by B2chica on May 22, 2007, at 8:35:47
Dream Deferred
"What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?"Langston Hughes
Posted by gardenergirl on June 13, 2007, at 22:04:32
In reply to Dream Deferred, posted by malthus on June 13, 2007, at 19:06:35
Posted by malthus on June 15, 2007, at 9:10:13
In reply to Nice to see you, Malthus (nm) » malthus, posted by gardenergirl on June 13, 2007, at 22:04:32
I haven't been on for a very long time. I myself have been wondering about Atticus and how he is doing. I miss his poetry. ~M
Posted by B2chica on June 18, 2007, at 11:59:10
In reply to Dream Deferred, posted by malthus on June 13, 2007, at 19:06:35
i'll check him out...thnx malthus.
b2c
Posted by Sigismund on June 30, 2007, at 20:54:08
In reply to Re: Dream Deferred, posted by B2chica on June 18, 2007, at 11:59:10
What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.-- Philip Larkin
Posted by Jai Narayan on July 4, 2007, at 13:47:15
In reply to East Coker (the bit I like), posted by Sigismund on May 23, 2007, at 18:53:34
> Here's the bit from East Coker which is special to me.
>
> II
> O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
> The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
> The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
> The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
> Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
> Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark,
> And dark the Sun and Moon, and the Almanach de Gotha
> And the Stock Exchange Gazette, the Directory of Directors,
> And cold the sense and lost the motive of action.
> And we all go with them, into the silent funeral,
> Nobody's funeral, for there is no one to bury.
> I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
> Which shall be the darkness of God. As, in a theatre,
> The lights are extinguished, for the scene to be changed
> With a hollow rumble of wings, with a movement of darkness on darkness,
> And we know that the hills and the trees, the distant panorama
> And the bold imposing façade are all being rolled away -
> Or as, when an underground train, in the tube, stops too long between stations
> And the conversation rises and and slowly fades into silence
> And you see behind every face the mental emptiness deepen
> Leaving only the growing terror of nothing to think about;
> Or when, under ether, the mind is conscious, but conscious of nothing -
> I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
> For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
> For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
> But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
> Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
> So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
>
> Whisper of running streams, and winter lightning.
> The wild thyme unseen and the wild strawberry,
> The laughter in the garden, echoed ecstasy
> Not lost, but requiring, pointing to the agony
> Of death and birth.
> You say I am repeating
> Something I have said before. I shall say it again.
> Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
> To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
> You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.
> In order to arrive at what you do not know
> You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.
> In order to possess what you do not possess
> You must go by the way of dispossession.
> In order to arrive at what you are not
> You must go through the way in which you are not.
> And what you do not know is the only thing you know
> And what you own is what you do not own
> And where you are is where you are not.
>I like this poem or not a poem. It's hard not to be influenced by his brilliance.
nice posting.
yea where is our darling Atticus anyway.
Jai
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