CIRCE
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Posts posted by CIRCE
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Your poem, though it seems off to a good start, is just that. It seems very much the work in progress, and that's because it lacks flow. I think the idea is very neato, but if you tweaked the meter that would certainly help. Some concrete suggestions:
The two power-wielders cannot yet rest peacefully
For the goal set forth before them
Will not be achieved easily.
They have been under command of reason;
That which was born in the mind of man
The man who had not succumbed to treason.
He is the one who gave his strength away
To a vehicle on the road
To be able to move and him to obey.
Well, the fact that the rhyme scheme goes aba without a rhyme for b makes it feel unresolved to my mind. What if it were changed to couplets? Say 13 syllables to the first line and 14 for the coupled?
The two power-wielders cannot yet rest peacefully
For the goal that's set forth cannot be acheived easily.
These twin swift, living engines commanded by reason,
Which is bourne of his mind who's not surrendered to treason.
That 3rd line confuses the hell out of me. But revised to my suggested metre with what I think is the intended idea:
Our hero has entrusted his strength somewhat away,
To a swift, careening car that will move him and obey.
Etc, etc. Now some of my word choices are downright ugly and I would never stand by that as my own final product--I just wanted to illustrate how the rhyme scheme and metre could make your stanzas feel more resolved.
If you like the idea of using long lines like that, I think that adding imagery (like the engine thing, or something better) could really enrich your poem.
Yes, it is he who flies up in the skies
And it is he who sails the seas
For he has a desire that never dies.
Like a child on the day of its birth
He fights to live on his own
And change the face of the Earth.
Beneath his realization
The sky now presides;
For it is no longer a demarcation.
I don't get this last stanza, either. What does the sky preside over? And you're saying that it is no longer his limit? That his realization trumps even the sky for it's height? If you allow yourself more syllables, you could make this thought clearer.
But he cannot rest just yet
For much still needs to be done.
What he already has is little to what he can get.
I'll bet if you thought about it, you could find more expressive words to lend to this thought. Also, you already use the word "rest" two other times in the poem. It's not as interesting as it could be.
A power-wielder cannot yet rest peacefully
For the goal he’s set before himself
Will not be achieved easily.
I think the fact that you bring your poem slowly back to the main idea and close with that is cool.
Not too shabby for your first one! And remember--it's yours. If you aren't publishing it, it's for your own enjoyment. So do whatever the hell you want with it!
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I dig this thread!
So...another Kipling poem I hear Rand loved which really speaks to me.
'if' by rudyard kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master,
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!
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Next, what I gather to be a rather obscure poem, as I don't find it referenced often. It makes my flesh tingle every time I read it.
CURFEW MUST NOT RING TONIGHT
by Rose Hartwick Thorpe (1850-1939)
Slowly England's sun was setting oe'r the hilltops far away,
Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day;
And its last rays kissed the forehead of a man and maiden fair,--
He with steps so slow and weary; she with sunny, floating hair;
He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful, she, with lips all cold and white,
Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night!"
"Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,
With its walls tall and gloomy, moss-grown walls dark, damp and cold,--
"I've a lover in the prison, doomed this very night to die
At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh.
Cromwell will not come till sunset;" and her lips grew strangely white,
As she spoke in husky whispers, "Curfew must not ring to-night!"
"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton (every word pierced her young heart
Like a gleaming death-winged arrow, like a deadly poisoned dart),
"Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower;
Every evening, just at sunset, it has tolled the twilight hour.
I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right:
Now I'm old, I will not miss it. Curfew bell must ring to-night!"
Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thoughtful brow,
As within her secret bosom, Bessie made a solemn vow.
She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh,
"At the ringing of the curfew, Basil Underwood must "die.
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large and bright;
One low murmur, faintly spoken. "Curfew must not ring to-night!"
She with quick step bounded forward, sprang within the old church-door,
Left the old man coming slowly, paths he'd trod so oft before.
Not one moment paused the maiden, But with eye and cheek aglow,
Staggered up the gloomy tower, Where the bell swung to and fro;
As she climbed the slimy ladder, On which fell no ray of light,
Upward still, her pale lips saying, "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"
She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great dark bell;
Awful is the gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to hell.
See! the ponderous tongue is swinging; 'tis the hour of curfew now,
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath, and paled her brow.
Shall she let it ring? No, never! Her eyes flash with sudden light,
As she springs, and grasps it firmly: "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"
Out she swung,-- far out. The city Seemed a speck of light below,--
There twixt heaven and earth suspended, As the bell swung to and fro.
And the sexton at the bell-rope, old and deaf, heard not the bell,
Sadly thought that twilight curfew rang young Basil's funeral knell.
"Still the maiden, clinging firmly, quivering lip and fair face white,
Stilled her frightened heart's wild throbbing: "Curfew shall not ring tonight!"
It was o'er, the bell ceased swaying; and the maiden stepped once more
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where, for hundred years before,
Human foot had not been planted. The brave deed that she had done
Should be told long ages after. As the rays of setting sun
Light the sky with golden beauty, aged sires, with heads of white,
Tell the children why the curfew did not ring that one sad night.
O'er the distant hills comes Cromwell. Bessie sees him; and her brow,
Lately white with sickening horror, has no anxious traces now.
At his feet she tells her story, shows her hands, all bruised and torn;
And her sweet young face, still hagggard, with the anguish it had worn,
Touched his heart with sudden pity, lit his eyes with misty light.
"Go! your lover lives," said Cromwell. "Curfew shall not ring to-night!"
Wide they flung the massive portals, led the prisoner forth to die,
All his bright young life before him. Neath the darkening English sky,
Bessie came, with flying footsteps, eyes aglow with lovelight sweet;
Kneeling on the turf beside him, laid his pardon at his feet.
In his brave, strong arms he clasped her, kissed the face upturned and white,
Whispered, "Darling, you have saved me, curfew will not ring to-night."
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Lastly, if anyone's interested--I write poetry. This link is the poetry segment of my (at the moment very screwed up!) webpage:
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And furthermore...
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I love my cat.
I rescued her from the streets when she was a very sick baby of approximately 6 weeks of age. She bonded with me immediately, I paid the vet bills and nursed her back to health. She's been my constant companion ever since.
Kira isn't just a source of amusement and comfort to me, she's a highly intelligent being who is capable of communicating with me, albeit not on a human level. She's very in tune with my emotional state, as are most animals that are close to humans. She participates in my parties, she snuggles with me during those early waking hours, and she greets me by the door.
She accepts training easily. She doesn't have a litterbox because she uses the toilet. She walks on a leash. She doesn't claw my carpet, my curtains, or my satin sheets. I've played with her like a puppy, wrestling and biting, since she was a baby and she learned to restrain her teeth and her claws when playing with me, which I hear most cats don't do.
I've taken her on the NYC subways and busses as well as on a number of airplanes. I can tell she's scared, but she trusts me and her behaviour is exemplary.
I have excellent self-esteem, rightly. But there was a time not so long ago when my life really fell apart. Because of my emotional instability, I found that I was losing myself. I was a shadow of me--and the things that I'm proud of all but disappeared under the misery. When I felt that everything else was gone from my life, that sweet little creature was there with her *almost* unconditional love. I love her, so I wouldn't dream of neglecting her needs for food, water, play, and toilet flushing. So when nothing else brought me out from under the covers, there was Kira biting my toes so I'd feed her. And when I was crying, there was Kira licking my face with her tiny sandpaper tongue. At those times when it seemed too much, when I felt utterly alone, I could see that Kira still thought I was special. And that was *just enough* to pull me through until I could be those things for myself.
So she may not have concepts. She may not have opposable thumbs, and once in a great while I may have to clean up her hairballs. But she has a remarkably special place in my life, and I adore her.
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I like this thread. I don't think a celebration needs to be something that's totally unusual or out of the norm for you. Of course you could do any number of special things for yourself as often as you want.
However, I think a big part of what makes celebrations extra special is the specificity of the details, the extra attention, the intention behind it. I celebrate different occasions in different ways, but there's usually a lot of sensuality involved. I put care into wearing something I particularly like. If I'm entertaining I have flowers and wonderful food. I think ultimately you craft your celebration around the things that you think are special, the things you value.
For romantic holidays, I usually go out and do something active and then have special things waiting at home for a private celebration (ie: light the room with candles, wear some beautiful lingerie, pour some champagne, put out flowers, strawberries, massage oil...).
For traditional holidays (X-mas, New Year's, stuff like that) I love to cook and entertain, so my favorite thing to do is whip up complicated hors d'oeuvres or a multi-course menu all day and serve wine/cocktails and such and sit around and talk/toast/make merry. I enjoy this a lot with people I care about.
For personal holidays like my birthday, I usually want to go out and go somewhere that is special to me. On years I've been alone, I love to rollerblade so I've gone on long treks, browsed in stores a little and such, treated myself to a present or two. I love the Emp State Bldg, so I've gone up there for my birthday and spent a few hours enjoying the view.
I hope something inspires your own creation.
This year's 4th of July is really particularly special to me. I'm not sure what I'm doing earlier in the day. Maybe sunbathe in the park for a while, go for a nice long walk or meet a friend or two. I might drop in on NY Heroes Society's celebration where they'll be reading the Declaration of Independence in the afternoon. And then I'm walking over the B'klyn Bridge in the evening, likely bringing a picnic and watching the fireworks from there. I'm really excited about it.
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Kel-Kel--
You'll be laughing 'cause you're the crazy maniac who killed them and you'll reload because you're the one shooting the gun.
Glad I could clear this up.
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I can't resist dropping in for humor. Um, Save the Humans is hysterical. The things O'ists should never say during sex are hysterical. I particularly like "You bitch. You greedy selfish bitch! What, don't you like my pillow talk?"
My god! (or some appropriate expression of wonder) Is that a copy of Atlas in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?
Anybody like Jesus jokes?
What's the difference between Jesus and a picture of Jesus? (It only takes one nail to hang the picture.)
Why can't Jesus eat M & Ms? (They fall through the holes in his hands.)
What do you do if you see a bunch of communists lying on the floor? (Stop laughing and reload.)
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I would agree--after checking out that definition snippet--that the word is generally used in the way many of us are describing it--as applying to sensitive, stylish, well-groomed men. Prissy boys who pluck their eyebrows are something else altogether.
Don--who *needs* 40 pairs of shoes??? Not I, although I probably own that many. No, I *want* 30 pairs of shoes, and I *need* 10 more for various forms of dance. (slight exaggerations being employed)
Chicks, fags, and metros just tend to apreciate that, beyond having function, shoes can also complement one's wardrobe, and that is a fabulous thing!
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Oh, also...
I think the term Metrosexual is fantastic! I, for one, am almost exclusively attracted to metro men, those who are often assumed gay because they are stylish and sensitive and classy. Now I have an appropriate and all-encompassing adjective and I am delighted!
I don't see what would be considered disparaging about the term, unless the person who said this is very homophobic and resents the comparison. Is this true?
Are all these soapy men who work out and use multi-syllabic words metros, out of curiosity?
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Personally, I think it really matters *how* a guy shows, visually, that he's into you physically. If I get the feeling I'm being mentally undressed initially, I have no interest and just want to chew the guys balls off. If it's a respectfully apreciative look, though, I'm likely to be receptive.
Do I look vampish? I was going for smoldering.
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but I figure it's a win-win situation if anybody is interested!
Here's the deal: I have a rockin' savings account. Bank at which said account is located pays out bonuses to both the person who refers new clients and the existing client who did the referring.
Now if you post a reply with your email address, I'll refer you and we'll both get money.
Is this against the forum rules? I'm not exactly selling anything.... *mentally crosses fingers*
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I see that I've arrived a bit late in this conversation, but there's no time like the present for shameless self-promotion (the best kind)!
The gentlemen seem to think that genuine sexy, lovely and beautiful O'ist females are in short supply. While that's true, I have a myriad of friends who share such qualities. I, of course, and the sexiest, loveliest and most beautiful O'ist female on the market.
Don't believe me?-Laura Baron
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C.A. Thanks for explaining. Maybe I'll give it another watch!
B.F. likes it because it's dark and intense, also for the symbolism and excellent cinamatography. He thought the sequence was really neato (he also likes Pulp Fiction, which I think sucks for some of the same reasons).
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Hey from a fellow NYObj, currently displaced. I don't think I know you. Do you attend any events?
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C.A.--regarding Mulholland Drive, I see your point. However, there are plenty of movies where the characters suffer from their evasion. I don't see that as a big enough deal to make a movie worthwhile. I saw that particular one as obfuscatory and meandering, the characters as nothing special.
I'm very interested in discussing this w/ an Objectivist; this is one of my bf's favorite movies, but I loathed it! He isn't an O'ist, so his reasons for liking it didn't impress me enough to even warrant a second watching. Maybe you'll inspire me to try it again?
-L
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Oooh, and Alive!
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I'd be interested in hearing why people liked: Mulholland Drive and The Fountainhead.
I thought Gary Cooper's Roark was laughable. I cannot *dis*reccomend that movie highly enough, personally, because I think it's so badly done. The acting blows.
Secondhand Lions *was* cool! Very original.
I don't think anybody mentioned Braveheart, which is one of my favorites. For some highly amusing comedy, check out Kenneth Branaugh in How To Kill Your Neighbor's Dog.
Also, loved Center Stage, Air Force One and Girl, Interrupted (which not everyone would id w/)
I loved the story and the characters in Strictly Ballroom, but the dancing is SOOOO bad! It is to ballroom dance what Moulin Rouge is to singing: a disgrace. Vomitous. Absurd.
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Hey, I've got some book reviews of my favorites on my website. Here's the direct link:
http://homepage.mac.com/lbaronnyc/WhatAllD...PeopleRead.html
-Laura
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I've got a question: Why do O'ists have this tendency to need to be condescending? What's the point of everybody being defensive/offensive here? Is it to get our points across? Because I'm not seeing points being got across. I'm seeing bickering.
I note in many of my Objectivist friends that they value being right so highly that they can be oblivious to a myriad of evidence to the contrary, sacrificing the actual truth to their psychological needs. They rationalize away the contradictions between their ideas and their feelings and their actions all the time. It's not serving them.
I used to be guilty of this, and I've been much happier and made much more progress--psychologically, philosophically and otherwise--since I stopped being so concerned with my interest in being right all the time and focused instead on finding out what the truth was, whether I liked what I found or not.
Is this you? Have the strength to admit it. Know thyself.
Good Premises,
Laura
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I haven't been around long, but here's my $ .02.
Commies can always keep their mouths shut and discuss things within the guidelines of the forum, in which case they'd render themselves fairly unoffensive. If they decide to open their pie-holes and start spouting a lot of trash that everybody's annoyed by, that's their own bloody fault and they should be booted.
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Same noted regarding O'ists and optional values. They/we tend to rationalize in favor of things they/we like, when in fact the question is a matter of preference. A good habit to kick.
G'day!
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Not me--I'm from NY. I just happen to know these chicas through my O'ist channels.
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I'm not usually a fan of comics and the like, but I was made quite interested by the previews. I don't think the language was a turnoff at all (though the yucky ugly guys were, maybe!).
As far as profanity goes, I see no reason for people to get their metaphorical panties in a bundle over it. There are plenty of situations in which cursing delivers one's meaning in a better, more conscise manner than not cursing. I only find the use of "foul" language really foul when it's to the exclusion of more expressive means of communication.
I've heard it argued that most curse words are degrading to either sex or the body, but I think that's crap. So called "biblical" swearing doesn't directly refer to the object of the cursing (ie: "Jesus Christ" or "Oh, hell"). Neither does "sexual cursing" ("fuck you"). These things are uttered as expletive: [profane or obscene expression usually of surprise or anger (obscene being "Offensive to accepted standards of decency or modesty").]
There's my two cents on the matter. Decency be damned.
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Carla; ever been to the Penn State club? Some friends of mine ran it not so long ago; Desiree Dudley & Kelly Koenig.
Good to meet you.
The Hand Of Man
in Productivity
Posted
Re: the meter--personal preference, Nikola. I think that poems with inconsistent metres tend to sound sloppy and lazy. But like I said, chica: it's your poem. Do with it what you please.