Shore a few lines against my ruin. I am forever telling my students I know nothing about poetry, and they never believe me. I do not know what my poems are about, except on rare occasions, and I never know what they mean. I have met and spoken to many poets who feel the same way, and one among them once put it this way:
Lawrence THE HANDLE, which varies in length according to the height of its user, and in some cases is made by that user to his or her specifications, is like most of the other parts of the tool in that it has a name and thus a character of its own. I call it the snath, as do most of us in the UK, though variations include the snathe, the snaithe, the snead, and the sned.
Onto the snath are attached two hand grips, adjusted for the height of the user. On the bottom of the snath is a small hole, a rubberized protector, and a metal D-ring with two hex sockets.
Into this little assemblage slides the tang of the blade. This thin crescent of steel is the fulcrum of the whole tool. From the genus blade fans out a number of ever-evolving species, each seeking out and colonizing new niches.
I also have a couple of ditch blades which, despite the name, are not used for mowing ditches in particular, but are all-purpose cutting tools that can manage anything from fine grass to tousled brambles and a bush blade, which is as thick as a billhook and can take down small trees.
These are the big mammals you can see and hear. Beneath and around them scuttle any number of harder-to-spot competitors for the summer grass, all finding their place in the ecosystem of the tool. None of them, of course, is any use at all unless it is kept sharp, really sharp: You need to take a couple of stones out into the field with you and use them regularly—every five minutes or so—to keep the edge honed.
And you need to know how to use your peening anvil, and when. When the edge of your blade thickens with overuse and oversharpening, you need to draw the edge out by peening it—cold-forging the blade with hammer and small anvil.
Probably you never master it, just as you never really master anything. That lack of mastery, and the promise of one day reaching it, is part of the complex beauty of the tool.
Etymology can be interesting. Scythe, originally rendered sithe, is an Old English word, indicating that the tool has been in use in these islands for at least a thousand years.
But archaeology pushes that date much further out; Roman scythes have been found with blades nearly two meters long. Basic, curved cutting tools for use on grass date back at least ten thousand years, to the dawn of agriculture and thus to the dawn of civilizations.
Like the tool, the word, too, has older origins. The Proto-Indo-European root of scythe is the word sek, meaning to cut, or to divide. Sek is also the root word of sickle, saw, schism, sex, and science.
Some books do that, from time to time, and this is beginning to shape up as one of them. By his own admission, his arguments are not new.
But the clarity with which he makes them, and his refusal to obfuscate, are refreshing. I seem to be at a point in my life where I am open to hearing this again. Here are the four premises with which he begins the book: Technological progress is carrying us to inevitable disaster.
Only the collapse of modern technological civilization can avert disaster.Poetic Perspectives on the Sky Essay - The Sky is the same everywhere. It is unchanging through time, a silent witness of the ages, quietly documenting the rise and fall of men and nations while forever floating thoughtfully above and around the Earth.
There is a sense of history about the Sky. Albert Camus (—) Albert Camus was a French-Algerian journalist, playwright, novelist, philosophical essayist, and Nobel laureate. Though he was neither by advanced training nor profession a philosopher, he nevertheless made important, forceful contributions to a wide range of issues in moral philosophy in his novels, reviews, articles, essays, and speeches—from terrorism and.
In the 19th century, through an artistic and literary movement known as “Japonisme”, French poets appear to have been solely attracted by the evocation and illustration of Japanese works of art such as color-prints or curios, which they usually transcribed in the sonnet form.
Often when we feel something is missing from a piece of writing, the key lies in examining the tone. Here’s how to revise your work so that it resonates. Rainer Ganahl Manhattan Marxism The artist Rainer Ganahl has been creatively adapting the writings of Karl Marx to his own work since the s.
The German philosopher’s ideas have galvanized projects such as Ganahl’s irreverent fashion show Commes des Marxists, a series of obscene food sculptures inspired by the “credit crunch” of , and a Karl Marx fire extinguisher.
The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. The most you can do is live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides.
” — from Animal Dreams.