The sound of the Trees - Mountain Interval (1920)

Robert Frost (1874–1963).  Mountain Interval.  1920.

28. The Sound of the Trees

I WONDER about the trees. Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place?         5 We suffer them by the day Till we lose all measure of pace, And fixity in our joys, And acquire a listening air. They are that that talks of going         10 But never gets away; And that talks no less for knowing, As it grows wiser and older, That now it means to stay. My feet tug at the floor         15 And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice         20 Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on. I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.         25 The poem can be found at this address: http://www.bartleby.com/119/28.html

Quote on Happiness

Thanks to Marilyn for the follow-up on the Happiness piece.




"Happiness? That's nothing more than health and a poor memory."

Albert Schweitzer (14 January 1875 – 4 September 1965) Franco-German philosoher & theologian.

New version of "The Work" - Work in progress

 
For better comfort of reading, you can download the PDF document through Scribd. The Work

"John Steinbeck, you'll be an author when pigs fly"

That's what one of his teachers told him, one day.

If you pay attention closely, you'll see the Latin phrase "Ad astra per alas porci" (To the stars on the wings of a pig) along with a pigasus printed on every book he wrote :)

I guess as teachers we should all pay attention to what we say, to what we believe will inevitably happen, to what we foresee. Clearly, one could be proven wrong, over time.


Dedicated to all the John Steinbecks who doodle and daydream in class and who fly to the stars on the wings of a pig at night, on a piece of white, single line paper.
 

Any other day

 

Last night I couldn't sleep.

Before dawn I dreamt of home.

This morning,

I woke up nonetheless, at seven sharp,

Before the alarm clock.

I also cut myself shaving.

I didn't have breakfast,

Nor could I drink tea.

Last night I couldn't sleep,

The fan broke down at midnight sharp.

The heat blanketed the city

And stifled every sigh.

A little before dawn, the rain was so thin

That it fell like snow.

In the morning the air was still between

All the cars roaring to work.

Not a locust could be heard.

There was dirt on the traffic policeman's white cotton glove.

The billboards were immobile, like all good billboards.

At dawn a civet snatched a kitten

From his mother's lap,

Tacitly conceded as sacrifice

On the hungry altar of Nature.

A little after dawn, a cry was heard.

It was difficult to ascertain if it was human or not.

Next morning, the mother would be seen alone,

Licking her swollen teats.

Well past midnight, within a streetlight's radius,

A detective reported a single white, leather shoe,

A cigarette butt, a dead cockroach and half a pandan leaf, widthwise.

This was yet another scene of unsolvable abduction.

And when I parred my fingernails

Early on the morning balcony,

I thought about God and insisted

On cutting them too short.

Either the flesh or the mind are weak,

But these are all we have.

My glasses were nowhere to be found

But right on my nose.

En attendant Godot / Waiting for Godot (1948-49) - Samuel Beckett

 
"Je suis comme ça. Ou j'oublie tout de suite ou je n'oublie jamais."

"I'm like that. Either I forget right away or I never forget. "

 

No one yelled, so I'll keep on quoting Albert

"My religion consists of a humble admiration of the illimitable superior spirit who reveals himself in the slight details we are able to perceive with our frail and feeble mind."

Albert Einstein

I know I'm harping on the same (super)string day in and day out, but I'll say it one more time: pay attention to details.

Copyright: Kevin Harris 1995

If you ever get bored by Albert's quotes, just kindly yell so.

 

"You see, wire telegraph is a kind of a very, very long cat. You pull his tail in New York and his head is meowing in Los Angeles. Do you understand this? And radio operates exactly the same way: you send signals here, they receive them there. The only difference is that there is no cat." Unless it's Schrödinger's cat, which in that case is everywhere, at the beginning, at the end and all along the signal. It even sends and receives the signal, which meows about him. In fact, the cat is both the signal and the message, both container and content.

But ultimately Albert is right, when all is said and done, weighed and poised: there is no cat.

Albert Einstein, continued by me.

 

Copyright: Kevin Harris 1995

I Tella Lelyalla / The Last Traveller

Elenion nárëa únótimë

sírar

tólivëa vílessë

rosselimbar hostar

tambë ná histë

súri yaimië ar amávilar ar undúlië or cúnë huinë

yúlar alarcavë tintilëar

ar i minya apamessë firëar –

saipor erininen purië –

i Araneva saicaima ná firië.

Alcarnarmo

 

Countless flaming stars

glide

flowerlike in the breeze

raindrops gather

as the dusk becomes

winds scream and soar and deluge over bending shadows

embers spangle quickly

and die at the first touch –

boots besmeared with ashes –

the King's funeral pyre is extinguishing.

Rodolphe

 

Existential question: Should I stop quoting Albert Einstein?

"The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and all science. He to whom this emotion is a stranger, who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead: his eyes are closed." 

Albert Einstein

The answer is: no.