Date: Sun, 09 Nov 1997 20:24:15 -0800 From: "Thad Q. Alexander" <rattler-AT-inreach.net> Subject: Re: PLC: Song of Myself BTW, below in stanza 3, line 6 could this be a literary allusion to "The Leach Gatherer?" I believe I have that title correct and I can't seem to remember the poet either, but It keeps coming up when I read this. Just a guess. sorry! "And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths, (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven, O suns- O grass of graves- O perpetual transfers and promotions, If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing? Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest, Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight, Toss, sparkles of day and dusk- toss on the black stems that decay in the muck, Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night, I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected, And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great or small. 50 -- Thad Q. Alexander (rattler-AT-inreach.net) OCC Undergraduate Long Beach, CA. USA --- CHAUCER-AT-listserv.uic.edu Phillitcrit-AT-jefferson.village.Virginia.EDU Phil-lit-AT-Was found morally unfit for my presence:11\3\97 SHAKSPER-AT-ws.bowiestate.edu Great Books of Western Civilization --- For him was lever han at his beddes hed A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle, and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. But all be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre. ---Geoffrey Chaucer, Canterbury Tales
HTML VERSION:
"And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,
(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.)
I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,
O suns- O grass of graves- O perpetual transfers and promotions,
If you do not say any thing how can I say any thing?
Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest,
Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight,
Toss, sparkles of day and dusk- toss on the black stems that
decay
in the muck,
Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs.
I ascend from the moon, I ascend from the night,
I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noonday sunbeams reflected,
And debouch to the steady and central from the offspring great
or
small.
50
--
Thad Q. Alexander
(rattler-AT-inreach.net)
OCC Undergraduate
Long Beach, CA.
USA
---
CHAUCER-AT-listserv.uic.edu
Phillitcrit-AT-jefferson.village.Virginia.EDU
Phil-lit-AT-Was found morally unfit for my presence:11\3\97
SHAKSPER-AT-ws.bowiestate.edu
Great Books of Western Civilization
---
For him was lever han at his beddes hed
A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophie,
Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie.
But all be that he was a philosophre,
Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre.
---Geoffrey Chaucer, Canterbury Tales
--- from list phillitcrit-AT-lists.village.virginia.edu ---
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