Platypus of Truth

Picture 1 features an Autumn nymph just getting ready to dance upon the wind as the leaves begin to fall.  Picture 2 depicts the epic battle between those eternal rivals the Water Donkey and the Vampire Possum.  Picture 3 focuses on the Water Donkey in its undead form with all the relevant statistics.

What could be cooler that J.R.R. Tolkien brandishing the Lance of Longinus along with a Grail-toting C.S. Lewis, and an apparition of Charles Williams, riding on a rocket bear with dual chain guns for arms? Pro-mo for the school's Inklings reading club.

So, I'm already proud of my little band of 9th through 12th graders that managed to put on Sophocles' Antigone at the beginning of this month.  Putting on a Greek Tragedy with a working Chorus is no small deed.  For the seniors, however, an even greater challenge was just around the corner.  This week concluded our school's annual senior thesis presentations. All seniors at the school where I teach are required to present a senior thesis as part of their graduation requirements.  The senior thesis is composed of an 18-24 page written draft on a topic of their choosing and a 10-13 page oral draft which is memorized, presented to the community, and defended before a panel made up of a teacher, the headmaster, a member or two of the local clergy, and a board member or outside expert (the panel is civil and polite, but they ask real questions -it isn't just for show).  It's a daunting task.  Most students in the United States will not experience this sort o...

It's mid-April (the cruelest month), and Summer is still a month-and-a-half-away.  Nonetheless, sunny days and vacation time are beginning to peak at last over the horizon and my mind is contemplating 2013's course of Summer Reading. On the docket: A return to "The Summer of Shannara" with Terry Brooks' prequel The First King of Shannara Liveblogging my read through Robert E. Howard's Conan stories Learning a little more about the Spartans with Paul Cartledge's Spartan Reflections (I'm reading his The Spartans now). Going back to world of historiography with Confessing History , a series of essays on practicing the historian's craft written by Christian historians. Keeping up on my Tolkien with Caldecott's The Power of the Ring (formally released as The Secret Fire ) I have a trip to New England (Home, The Motherland) planned this summer so reading on Puritan New England will continue until moral improves (I'm already work...

Last night, my students staged a production of Antigone by the Greek poet Sophocles.  Though Antigone is the most frequently staged of all the Greek Tragedies it was an ambitious project and I was glad to see the students pull it off (I wonder if they know how great a theatrical triumph that was?!?).  The audience was enthusiastic and the cast ended the night on an ecstatic post-production high with the consuming of many pancakes. I haven't been involved in such a project since senior year of college when we put on an adaptation of Aeschylus' Oresteia .  Returning to Greek theater has been a real joy for me and I've benefited greatly from the opportunity to take a deep-soak in a classical work.  As with ancient hair-styles, boat-building, composition-in-performance, or recipes, there are things that can only be learned by doing.  Back in college, I had dryly theorized that Antigone's actions are portrayed as "wrong-headed" and that the real focus of the dr...

The last few posts can be explained as the results of two weeks spent teaching T.S. Eliot.  I wanted to try and write my own five part Wasteland/Quartet for kicks and giggles (and apparently to inflict it on the rest of you).  As with "The Wasteland," there is a literary key to the work, John Demos' The Unredeemed Captive .  Individual incidents that inspired the work include: a trip to an exhibit of Eastern Orthodox icons, finding out that my favorite tea company had moved from Connecticut to New York, meditations on the California Freeways, The Oresteia , studying at Oxford as an undergraduate, and, of course, growing up in rural southern Connecticut (that pernicious habit).  So, until next time: Weiweilalala.

Latimer and Ridley Stand in stone pomposity More presumptuous Than anything a Jesuit Could create. Merciful necessity, the citizens agreed to wrap them In scaffold, planks, and signs clearly marked: Refurbishing. Burning, burning, burning. God help me, I cannot burn! The Falcon raised the stones of Salisbury by art magical and built the ship yards, and the castle. Men call him The Devil’s son. Now, for a few infested sheep, or a worm within the brain, the megaliths are ringed With hay and signs (strange designs), and certain warding Chemicals. Burning, burning, burning. God help me, I cannot burn! There is a fire in the eye That catches on the blade And peaked hats like Church steeples rise Amidst the iron glade. The daughters all lie bleeding, By the children that they loved And stopped the bullet with The breast As did those mothers Long ago Who fell amidst the fire light and snow. ...