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  1. Philosophy and Poetry | Columbia University Press
  2. My Philosophy of Life
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Mary V. University of Virginia Press P. Skip to main content. Page-Barbour Lectures. About the Author:. Interested in this topic? Stay updated with our newsletters: Philosophy and Religion. Related Books. Or maybe I'm frankly scared. What was the matter with how I acted before? But maybe I can come up with a compromise—I'll let things be what they are, sort of.

In the autumn I'll put up jellies and preserves, against the winter cold and futility, and that will be a human thing, and intelligent as well.

Philosophy and Poetry | Columbia University Press

I won't be embarrassed by my friends' dumb remarks, or even my own, though admittedly that's the hardest part, as when you are in a crowded theater and something you say riles the spectator in front of you, who doesn't even like the idea of two people near him talking together. Well he's got to be flushed out so the hunters can have a crack at him— this thing works both ways, you know.

You can't always be worrying about others and keeping track of yourself at the same time. That would be abusive, and about as much fun as attending the wedding of two people you don't know. Still, there's a lot of fun to be had in the gaps between ideas. That's what they're made for! Now I want you to go out there and enjoy yourself, and yes, enjoy your philosophy of life, too. They don't come along every day. Look out! There's a big one For John Clare Kind of empty in the way it sees everything, the earth gets to its feet and salutes the sky. More of a success at it this time than most others it is.

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The feeling that the sky might be in the back of someone's mind. Then there is no telling how many there are. They grace everything--bush and tree--to take the roisterer's mind off his caroling--so it's like a smooth switch back. To what was aired in their previous conniption fit. There is so much to be seen everywhere that it's like not getting used to it, only there is so much it never feels new, never any different. You are standing looking at that building and you cannot take it all in, certain details are already hazy and the mind boggles. What will it all be like in five years' time when you try to remember?

Will there have been boards in between the grass part and the edge of the street?

Love's Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley - Poetry Reading

As long as that couple is stopping to look in that window over there we cannot go. We feel like they have to tell us we can, but they never look our way and they are already gone, gone far into the future--the night of time. If we could look at a photograph of it and say there they are, they never really stopped but there they are. There is so much to be said, and on the surface of it very little gets said.

There ought to be room for more things, for a spreading out, like.

My Philosophy of Life

Being immersed in the details of rock and field and slope --letting them come to you for once, and then meeting them halfway would be so much easier--if they took an ingenuous pride in being in one's blood. Alas, we perceive them if at all as those things that were meant to be put aside-- costumes of the supporting actors or voice trilling at the end of a narrow enclosed street. You can do nothing with them.

Not even offer to pay. It is possible that finally, like coming to the end of a long, barely perceptible rise, there is mutual cohesion and interaction. The whole scene is fixed in your mind, the music all present, as though you could see each note as well as hear it. I say this because there is an uneasiness in things just now. Waiting for something to be over before you are forced to notice it.

The pollarded trees scarcely bucking the wind--and yet it's keen, it makes you fall over. Clabbered sky. Seasons that pass with a rush. After all it's their time too--nothing says they aren't to make something of it. As for Jenny Wren, she cares, hopping about on her little twig like she was tryin' to tell us somethin', but that's just it, she couldn't even if she wanted to--dumb bird. But the others--and they in some way must know too--it would never occur to them to want to, even if they could take the first step of the terrible journey toward feeling somebody should act, that ends in utter confusion and hopelessness, east of the sun and west of the moon.

So their comment is: "No comment. John Ashbery The brown and green Nile rolls slowly Like the Niagara's welling descent.

Tractors stood on the green banks of the Loire Near where it joined the Cher. The St. Lawrence prods among black stones And mud. But the Arno is all stones. Wind ruffles the Hudson's Surface. The Irawaddy is overflowing.

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But the yellowish, gray Tiber Is contained within steep banks. The Isar Flows too fast to swim in, the Jordan's water Courses over the flat land. The Allegheny and its boats Were dark blue. The Moskowa is Gray boats. The Amstel flows slowly. Leaves fall into the Connecticut as it passes Underneath. The plain banks of the Neva are Gray. And the Volga is long and wide As it flows across the brownish land.

The Ebro Is blue, and slow. The Shannon flows Swiftly between its banks. The Mississippi Is one of the world's longest rivers, like the Amazon.


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It has the Missouri for a tributary. The Harlem flows amid factories And buildings. The Nelson is in Canada, Flowing. By the later 4th cent. Both Epicurus and Zeno 2 are said to have rejected such conventional paideia. Yet the attitudes of their schools towards poetry were more complex and divergent than this suggests. Epicurus followed Xenophanes and Plato in attacking poetic myths as purveyors of false religious beliefs, to which the proffered antidote was his own natural philosophy. Epicureans acquired a reputation for rejecting poetry; Metrodorus provocatively declared it unnecessary to know even the openings of Homer's epics.

But the possibility of a more positive evaluation remained open, given the school's commitment to pleasure as the criterion of value: Epicurus himself allowed that philosophers could enjoy artistic performances. An Epicurean rapprochement with poetry was eventually effected both by Lucretius' great work, and by the critical writings of Philodemus, who regarded poetry as principally pleasurable, morally neutral in itself, yet capable of conveying ideas compatible with Epicurean philosophy.


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Lucretius and Philodemus demonstrate that Epicureanism had, by the 1st cent. Subjects: Classical studies.