tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post5133064442040427361..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: AbsenceStephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger12125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-16347263599483068682017-03-31T21:27:56.962-07:002017-03-31T21:27:56.962-07:00Monophthalmos Rex: It's very nice to hear fro...Monophthalmos Rex: It's very nice to hear from you again. I greatly appreciate your kind words. Thank you.<br /><br />And thank you as well for the lines from Housman, which fit well here. As you say, they are "lilting lines" (and lovely ones) -- but with a characteristic Housman twist at the end of the poem: "Blue the sky from east to west/Arches, and the world is wide,/Though the girl he loves the best/Rouses from another's side." Ah, well, such is Housman's world (much, but not all, of the time). Yet, it is a beautiful world nonetheless. It's part of what makes his poetry lovable (for me, at least).<br /><br />As ever, thank you very much for visiting. It is always a pleasure to have you stop by.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-90506851278983176192017-03-31T06:22:52.187-07:002017-03-31T06:22:52.187-07:00Another lovely post--just the thing to brighten a ...Another lovely post--just the thing to brighten a cloudy, cold spring morning in Maine. <br /><br />This is coals to Newcastle, to be sure, but your mention of the sky reflected in pools reminds me of Housman's lilting lines (which you've probably quoted elsewhere), from "Spring Morning" (also from <i>Last Poems</i>:<br /><br />Now the old come out to look,<br /> Winter past and winter's pains.<br />How the sky in pool and brook<br /> Glitters on the grassy plains<br /><br />Thank you, as always, for broadening and deepening my feelings and thoughts!Monophthalmos Rexhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13814495216488968291noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-9847557485785550652017-03-30T09:33:38.417-07:002017-03-30T09:33:38.417-07:00Anonymous: Thank you very much for your extremely...Anonymous: Thank you very much for your extremely kind thoughts -- although I'm afraid you are far too kind! For instance: I would never consider anything that I write to be remotely "the equal of what [I] quote." (Although it is, again, kind of you to say so.) As I have noted here in the past, I see myself solely as a messenger, bringing the poems and the paintings here for the enjoyment (I hope) of those who find their way to this location. Anything that I write is merely makeshift, rickety scaffolding, cobbled together. Finally, I hasten to add (again, as I have noted here in the past) that I know absolutely nothing. Everything that appears here is part of what we all are doing: making our way through the World as best we can.<br /><br />Thank you for sharing the poem by Jonson, which is lovely and moving. As I'm sure you know, Jonson also wrote a touching poem in memory of his daughter:<br /><br />On My First Daughter<br /><br />Here lies, to each her parents' ruth,<br />Mary, the daughter of their youth;<br />Yet all heaven's gifts being heaven's due,<br />It makes the father less to rue.<br />At six months' end, she parted hence<br />With safety of her innocence;<br />Whose soul heaven's queen, whose name she bears,<br />In comfort of her mother's tears,<br />Hath placed amongst her virgin-train:<br />Where, while that severed doth remain,<br />This grave partakes the fleshly birth;<br />Which cover lightly, gentle earth!<br /><br />Thank you again for your thoughts, which I greatly appreciate.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-71459866338191073632017-03-29T09:33:01.605-07:002017-03-29T09:33:01.605-07:00Sir,
I'd wager that most of your readers find...Sir,<br /><br />I'd wager that most of your readers find your description of the world you saw reflected in the pools of water as lovely, if not more so, that any of the poems you quoted. It's quite lovely, this account of your walk after a fierce thirty minutes of hard rain and high wind. Frankly, I always enjoy your prose as much as I relish the poems you quote in your blog. You are the equal of what you quote, and together, this confluence of superb poetry by others and your own splendid prose make for a blog of eloquence, an eloquence, I might add, buttressed with a profound sensibility and a superlative intelligence. I look forward to reading each new blog of yours, for I know you will bravely and elegantly take up literary arms against the inexplicable human predicament, a plight that poetry, at its best, can reveal in a shadowy way, not to our minds but to, rather, some mysterious lump at the core of ourselves.<br /><br />To your collection of poems about loss (see below), allow me to add Ben Jonson's sad poem about the death of his seven-year-old son. Certainly other poems about loss have been more lyrical, more fraught with sorrow and bewilderment, but Jonson's straight-forward poem about his loss is replete with sincerity. The poem elicits not tears but, rather, a sad nod of a man recognizing a truth. We know that behind the poem, in the heart of the man who wrote it, lies an enormous mountain of grief, raw sorrow, a sadness a man cannot reason himself out of.<br /><br />On my First Son <br /><br /> By Ben Jonson <br /><br />Farewell, thou child of my right hand, and joy; <br />My sin was too much hope of thee, lov'd boy. <br />Seven years tho' wert lent to me, and I thee pay, <br />Exacted by thy fate, on the just day. <br />O, could I lose all father now! For why <br />Will man lament the state he should envy? <br />To have so soon 'scap'd world's and flesh's rage, <br />And if no other misery, yet age? <br />Rest in soft peace, and, ask'd, say, "Here doth lie <br />Ben Jonson his best piece of poetry." <br />For whose sake henceforth all his vows be such, <br />As what he loves may never like too much.<br />Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-5920663466492779562017-03-28T20:53:48.625-07:002017-03-28T20:53:48.625-07:00John: Thank you very much. That's very nice ...John: Thank you very much. That's very nice of you to say. <br /><br />I'm pleased you liked the post. The poem about Crethis led me from one thing to another -- these are all favorites of mine, and they just seemed to go together. Yes, the passage by Issa is heart-wrenching, isn't it? It never fails to move me. But, as sad as all these poems are, I feel a sense of comfort and peace when I read them. Perhaps this has something to do with the shared sense of humanity they awaken. I'm not certain.<br /><br />It's always a pleasure to hear from you. Thank you for stopping by again.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-56595946288257560772017-03-28T13:53:19.914-07:002017-03-28T13:53:19.914-07:00Fred: It's very nice to hear from you again. ...Fred: It's very nice to hear from you again. I greatly appreciate your kind words about the post. Thank you.<br /><br />Yes, that is one of the wonderful things about poetry, isn't it? The more poetry that I come to know, the more I realize the truth of what you say.<br /><br />As ever, thank you very much for visiting, and for sharing your thoughts.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-20200708858200647162017-03-28T11:54:52.537-07:002017-03-28T11:54:52.537-07:00Tim: Thank you very much for your kind words. An...Tim: Thank you very much for your kind words. And thank you also for your thoughts about poetry: I heartily agree that "poets are indispensable guides" on our journey through life (and death). As you suggest in your post to which you provide a link, Dickinson is one of those (enigmatic) guides, particularly when it comes to the mystery of death.<br /><br />Thank you for stopping by again. It is always a pleasure to hear from you.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-86709075775530431102017-03-28T11:49:00.994-07:002017-03-28T11:49:00.994-07:00Stephen, there are so many riches in this post. I ...Stephen, there are so many riches in this post. I am re-reading and savouring all you’ve written . Michael Longley’s poem is wonderful, particularly the second verse. The piece on the death of Issa’s daughter is almost unbearably touching. I cannot do better than repeat your own words “It is often the small things that matter, and that are not forgotten, as long as we remain here. But they are not small things at all”<br /><br />Thank you for all your effort in putting together such an absorbing post.<br />John Ashtonnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-60488895172069041172017-03-28T10:38:04.165-07:002017-03-28T10:38:04.165-07:00Mr. Owens: Thank you for the kind words about the...Mr. Owens: Thank you for the kind words about the post. I'm pleased you liked the poems, particularly the poems by Callimachus and Longley. I completely agree about Longley's poem. He is a modern master of the elegy, and this is one of his best.<br /><br />And thank you as well for sharing your lovely translation of Martial's poem. It is quite moving, and, as you suggest, a surprise coming from Martial. I confess that I am woefully ignorant of his work, but my impression (based upon the few poems I have encountered in anthologies) is that he is, to borrow your description, "abrasive." But this poem is, as you say, "tender." I particularly like the conclusion: "and weigh/Lightly on her, kind earth; she was light on you." As you know, asking the earth to "lie lightly" on the departed is a recurring phrase in ancient Greek poetry, and, as you also know, the phrase worked its way into English poetry as well (particularly in the 15th and 16th centuries).<br /><br />Thank you very much for visiting, and for sharing your translation. Please return soon.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-85802987643835915732017-03-27T08:09:27.138-07:002017-03-27T08:09:27.138-07:00Stephen,
A beautiful post.
The sources of the po...Stephen,<br /><br />A beautiful post.<br /><br />The sources of the poems, coming from such a wide variety of places and cultures--Greece to Japan--really demonstrates that we are one species, regardless of external differences.Fredhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10233846613173866140noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-38973238154734022392017-03-27T06:58:37.364-07:002017-03-27T06:58:37.364-07:00Yes! Even when poets write about the terrors of li...Yes! Even when poets write about the terrors of life (e.g., Frost and Dickinson), the outpourings are love poems. Your posting helped me see more clearly this reality. And today I offered something at my blog that touches upon that reality:<br />http://informalinquiries.blogspot.com/2017/03/the-marriage-of-heaven-and-hell.html<br />As we live our lives, we must learn to love both life and death in order to understand and embrace both Heaven and Hell; for those of us who need to learn how to understand, embrace, and love, poets are indispensable guides. Moreover, your always wonder-filled blog has been one of my indispensable guides. Thanks for all of your efforts and gifts.RTDhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17113953356514605424noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-59180956282913128472017-03-27T06:52:12.078-07:002017-03-27T06:52:12.078-07:00Stephen,
Thank you for this lovely post. I am esp...Stephen,<br /><br />Thank you for this lovely post. I am especially grateful for the three versions of Callimachus and for the Longley poem, a very touching one of his that I had not seen before.<br /><br />Recently I came across Martial's poems written on the occasion of the death of a child, Erotion --- perhaps his own child with one of his servants, though he doesn't make that explicit. The poems are tender and grieving in manner, far from Martial's usual abrasiveness --- one is a request to his own parents, that they care for this child when she arrives in the Underworld and keep her from being frightened by what she will see there --- and I was moved enough to attempt my own translations from his Latin. <br /><br /><b>On the Death of Erotion, a Child of Five</b><br /><i>(Martial 5.34)</i><br /><br />I commend this girl, this sweet one, my delight,<br />Fronto and Flaccilla, my parents, into your care,<br />so that with you little Erotion might not take fright<br />at Cerberus's triple roar or the phantoms there.<br />Had she lived six more days of winter cold,<br />she'd have prided herself on being six years old.<br />With such familiar protectors, let her trick and play<br />and still lisp my name, as she used to do.<br />May mellow sod veil her brittle bones --- and weigh<br />Lightly on her, kind earth; she was light on you. <br /><br />. <br />James Owenshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07614935078978354375noreply@blogger.com