tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post5457148865251821660..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: PersistenceStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-12192625663205471652014-11-09T20:10:37.801-08:002014-11-09T20:10:37.801-08:00Bovey Belle: You're very welcome. My pleasur...Bovey Belle: You're very welcome. My pleasure. I came across Stanley Cook through a single poem in an anthology, and then tracked down his Collected Poems. He wrote a number of fine poems.<br /><br />And thank you for the personal report on the Southampton ruin! I am always happy when one of my UK readers is able to share their personal knowledge about a place that appears in one of the paintings. (And I seem to recall you doing so on other occasions -- probably relating to Wales, Hardy Country, and/or E.T.'s haunts.) It's nice to know that it is still there, although I am not surprised at the chimney's demise: it looks to have been pretty precarious back in 1950, when the picture was painted!<br /><br />As ever, thank you for stopping by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-23195786272366909212014-11-09T07:03:35.223-08:002014-11-09T07:03:35.223-08:00How your blog stretches my mind and introduces me ...How your blog stretches my mind and introduces me to new poets. Thank you.<br /><br />Can I just add that the painting of the Southampton ruin was a pleasure, as the walls of that ruin are still there, although I think the chimney (which looks Flemish - we have those round Flemish ones in Pembrokeshire, Wales) was probably taken down by some early form of Health and Safety!!Bovey Bellehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13117332471600275100noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-88895754177945808822014-10-29T18:13:46.224-07:002014-10-29T18:13:46.224-07:00Anonymous: Thank you for the poem by Robinson Jef...Anonymous: Thank you for the poem by Robinson Jeffers, which is new to me. I have never explored his work, although, from what I have read of him, he tended to have a fairly dim view of humanity, bordering on the misanthropic. But this may be a superficial assessment, based on inadequate knowledge. <br /><br />That being said, this poem has some lovely parts, although it seems to me that it is downright grumpy at the end! I can understand (to some extent) the notion of man "uncentering" himself/herself. But he is overly dismissive of "the whole human race," don't you think?<br /><br />Thank you again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-48959662909109571612014-10-29T08:13:27.393-07:002014-10-29T08:13:27.393-07:00Robinson Jeffers, who lived and wrote lived, in a ...<br />Robinson Jeffers, who lived and wrote lived, in a manner of speaking just down the road from you, understood the utter absurdity of mankind's anthropocentric view of our world, his incestuous fascination with himself. Men will go the way of the dinosaurs, the universe no more interested him than in a fly. What will endure is staggering beauty, not the folly of men, their feverous dreams. Let a man uncenter himself.<br /><br />Yesterday morning enormous the moon hung low on the ocean, <br />Round and yellow-rose in the glow of dawn; <br />The night-herons flapping home wore dawn on their wings. Today<br /> Black is the ocean, black and sulphur the sky, <br />And white seas leap. I honestly do not know which day is more beautiful.<br /> I know that tomorrow or nextYesterday morning enormous the moon hung low on the ocean, <br />Round and yellow-rose in the glow of dawn; <br />The night-herons flapping home wore dawn on their wings. Today<br /> Black is the ocean, black and sulphur the sky, <br />And white seas leap. I honestly do not know which day is more beautiful.<br /> I know that tomorrow or next year or in twenty years<br /> I shall not see these things- and it does not matter, it does not hurt;<br /> They will be here. And when the whole human race<br /> Has been like me rubbed out, they will still be here: storms, moon and ocean, <br />Dawn and the birds. And I say this: their beauty has more meaning <br />Than the whole human race and the race of birds.<br /><br /><br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-30654857716079959962014-10-28T11:28:05.819-07:002014-10-28T11:28:05.819-07:00Shelley: Thank you for visiting again. As for th...Shelley: Thank you for visiting again. As for the Haberdashers' Hall and Ozymandias, it turns out the Haberdashers have outlasted Ozymandias by many centuries. Internet research tells me that Ozymandias (Ramesses II) reigned for approximately 66 years. On the other hand, The Worshipful Company of Haberdashers have been around since 1371 and are still going strong. In fact, they have a website! I presume that Hodgkin's painting is of the Hall that was destroyed in an air raid during World War II. But the Haberdashers are, thankfully, still with us!<br /><br />Thanks again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-82587790449423930662014-10-28T11:16:28.660-07:002014-10-28T11:16:28.660-07:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for your thoughts,...Anonymous: Thank you very much for your thoughts, and for sharing "Come In," which is, I think, one of Frost's loveliest poems. Among the many wonderful things in it, I've always been fond of "Far in the pillared dark." The final stanza is one of the best of Frost's marvelous final stanzas. Always a twist . . .<br /><br />Thanks again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-74715825177701239282014-10-28T07:43:43.150-07:002014-10-28T07:43:43.150-07:00That Haberdashers' Hall is so Ozymandias.That Haberdashers' Hall is so Ozymandias.Shelleyhttp://dustbowlstory.wordpress.comnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-81104129088211585862014-10-27T18:29:23.377-07:002014-10-27T18:29:23.377-07:00Yes, one " versed in country things" kno...Yes, one " versed in country things" knows that the trilling bird at twilight, no matter the beauty of the song seeping from dusky woods, is not proffering an invitation to latch upon human ear. The yearning heart hears, "Come in," but that "precarious" thing called experience hears a sterner tone.<br /><br /><br />I came to the edge of the woods, <br />Thrush music -- hark! <br />Now if it was dusk outside, <br />Inside it was dark. <br /><br />Too dark in the woods for a bird <br />By sleight of wing <br />To better its perch for the night, <br />Though it still could sing. <br /><br />The last of the light of the sun <br />That had died in the west <br />Still lived for one song more <br />In a thrush's breast. <br /><br />Far in the pillared dark <br />Thrush music went -- <br />Almost like a call to come in <br />To the dark and lament. <br /><br />But no, I was out for stars; <br />I would not come in. <br />I meant not even if asked; <br />And I hadn't been.<br />Robert FrostAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-76674513879576475162014-10-27T14:28:12.851-07:002014-10-27T14:28:12.851-07:00Mr Floyd: Thank you very much for your thoughts, ...Mr Floyd: Thank you very much for your thoughts, and for sharing Frost's poem, which goes well here. The quintessential Frost touch in the final two lines is lovely.<br /><br />As ever, I appreciate your stopping by, and sharing a fitting poem.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-80203162335263111042014-10-27T14:21:50.312-07:002014-10-27T14:21:50.312-07:00Mr Ashton: I'm pleased to have introduced you...Mr Ashton: I'm pleased to have introduced you to Stanley Cook. I came across a poem of his in an anthology five or so years ago, and tracked down his Collected Poems. I think he deserves greater attention.<br /><br />Yes, these small landscapes are a good reminder to us about what is and what is not important, what passes and what remains, aren't they?<br /><br />As always, thank you for stopping by, and for your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-31390012416702754292014-10-27T09:43:41.268-07:002014-10-27T09:43:41.268-07:00The illusion that nature has an affinity for huma...The illusion that nature has an affinity for human beings, that it somehow nurtures us, communicates with us, reveals to us, is often pointed out by Robert Frost. It's true the woods are lovely, dark and deep, and they seem to invite the observer in. Did one enter the dark woods filling up with snow, one would freeze to death. <br /><br />In his poem "The Need of Being Versed In County Things," Frost soundly makes the point that nature is indifferent to humankind. The remains of the burned down house prompt the poet to imagine the life that once stirred on the spot. For a moment the poet thinks s the sounds of the birds as they fly in and our of broken windows are sighs, sighs like that of a sensibility contemplating what once was and now is no more, that paramount truth that things fade. But the poet then realizes that the birds didn't feel sad. To shun this kind of illusory thinking one "must be versed in country things." <br /><br />It's pure Frost to use the phrase "country things" to belie the profound insight of the poem.<br /><br />The poem The Need of Being Versed in Country Things<br /> <br />The house had gone to bring again<br />To the midnight sky a sunset glow.<br />Now the chimney was all of the house that stood,<br />Like a pistil after the petals go<br /><br />The barn opposed across the way,<br />That would have joined the house in flame<br />Had it been the will of the wind, was left<br />To bear forsaken the place's name.<br /><br />No more it opened with all one end<br />For teams that came by the stony road<br />To drum on the floor with scurrying hoofs<br />And brush the mow with the summer load.<br /><br />The birds that came to it through the air<br />At broken windows flew out and in,<br />Their murmur more like the sigh we sigh<br />>From too much dwelling on what has been.<br /><br />Yet for them the lilac renewed its leaf,<br />And the aged elm, though touched with fire;<br />And the dry pump flung up an awkward arm;<br />And the fence post carried a strand of wire.<br /><br />For them there was really nothing sad.<br />But though they rejoiced in the nest they kept,<br />One had to be versed in country things<br />Not to believe the phoebes wept.<br /><br /><br /> B. Floydnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-12017462003727891362014-10-27T01:56:17.046-07:002014-10-27T01:56:17.046-07:00A wonderful post Mr Pentz and thank you for introd...A wonderful post Mr Pentz and thank you for introducing me to a poet I had not come across before. Wood By A Road is particularly good. These words of your own too "I am moved by the matter-of-factness with which the World goes about its business. The impassive persistence of life is a wonderful thing."<br />How true, in spite of all our human busyness and the unwarranted importance we attach to some of the extraordinarily silly things we do, the world goes on; the grass grows, the trees come into blossom and leaf, the leaves fall, the seasons pass. Such constancy and endurance is as you say a wonderful thing. We are fortunate to be able to witness it.<br />Thank you for bringing Stanley Cook to my attention.John Ashtonnoreply@blogger.com