Skip to main content

The Platypus Reads Goethe

Sun proclaims his old devotion
in rival song with brother spheres
and still completes in thunderous motion
circuits of his given years.

Angelic powers uncomprehending
strengthen as they gaze there fill
thy works unfathomed and unending
proclaim the first day's splendor still.

solemn earth with mind-appalling
swiftness upon itself rotates
and with the deep night's dreadful falling
it's primal radiance alternates.

High cliffs stand deep in ocean weather
white foaming surf roars out and in
and cliffs and seas rush on together
caught in the globe's unceasing spin.

And turn by turn the tempest raging
from sea to land from land to sea
builds up in passion unaswaging
chains of furious energy.

The thunder strikes, its flash is faster
it spreads destruction on its way
but we thy messengers oh master
revere thy gently circling day.

And all of us uncomprehending
strengthen as we gaze our fill
thy works unfathomed and unending
proclaim the first day's splendor still.

C.S. Lewis describes his ideal life in "Surprised by Joy" as one of quiet contemplation and study. He says that there is nothing wrong with such a life except that it is completely selfish; that is directed toward improvement of the self and not others. There is a kind of sanctified grace in the business of each day in so far as it forces us to come into contact with other people. There is a kind of rest that is not far from the icy pit of Dante's hell. As Mephistopheles discovers, man is restless till he finds his rest in God. It is not a cessassion, but a consummation; not the end of motion, but the fullness of motion. To the degree that our business keeps us restless, to the degree that it forces us to consider the needs, even the very existence of others, it is a mercy that keeps us from the powers of perpetual negation.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Platypus Reads Part XXVII

Thoughts after reading the "Iliad" to prepare a Greece unit for my students: -Hector is a jerk until he's dead. He even advocates the exposure of Achaean corpses and then has the cheek to turn around and ask Achilles to spare his. He rudely ignores Polydamas' prophecies and fights outside the gate to save his pride knowing full well what it will cost his family and city. After he's dead, he becomes a martyr for the cause. -Agamemnon has several moments of true leadership to balance out his pettiness. In this way, he's a haunting foil to Achilles: the two men are more alike than they want to acknowledge. -We see that Achilles is the better man at the funeral games of Patroclos. His lordliness, tact, and generosity there give us a window into Achilles before his fight with Agamemnon and the death of Patroclos consumed him. -Nestor is a boring, rambling, old man who's better days are far behind him, and yet every Achaean treats him with the upmo...

California's Gods: Strange Platypus(es)

We've noticed lately a strange Californian dialectical twist: there, freeways take the definite article.  In other parts of the country one speaks of I 91 or 45 North.  In California, there's The 5, The 405, The 10.  Each of these freeways has its own quirks, a personality of sorts.  They aren't just stretches of pavement but presences, creatures that necessitate the definite article by their very individuality and uniqueness.  They are the angry gods to be worked, placated, feared, for without them life in California as we know it would cease.  Perhaps that's fitting for a land whose cities are named for saints and angels.  Mary may preside over the new pueblo of our lady of the angels, but the freeways slither like gigantic serpents through the waste places, malevolent spirits not yet trampled under foot.

Seeing Beowulf Through Tolkien: The Platypus Reads Part CXCIX

After spending a few weeks wrestling with Tolkien's interpretation of Beowulf , I found myself sitting down and reading Seamus Heaney's translation of the text during a spare moment.  I came to the place where Beowulf presents Hrothgar with the hilt of the ancient sword that slew Grendel's mother.  Hrothgar looks down at the hilt with its ancient runes and carvings depicting the war between the giants and God and meditates on the fortunes of men.  In a flash of insight, I thought: this is the whole poem! Let me explain.  Tolkien believed that the genuine contribution of the Northern peoples to European culture was the theory of courage.  The Northern heroes, at their best, were men who fought for order against chaos -a battle they knew they were doomed to lose.  If they were true heroes, their souls would join the gods and aid them in the final battle against darkness and its monsters and again go down fighting, spitting in the face of the meaninglessness...