Welcome statement


Parting Words from Moristotle” (07/31/2023)
tells how to access our archives
of art, poems, stories, serials, travelogues,
essays, reviews, interviews, correspondence….
Showing posts with label imagination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label imagination. Show all posts

Saturday, April 3, 2021

Lights, Camera, Action!

Two Poems of Old Age


By Moristotle

The first poem below more or less wrote itself one morning, in the moments after I experienced the internal argument whether or not to flip that light switch. In the days that followed, my ruminations grew to include the ideas of the second poem, and I thought at first that I could work those ideas into the first poem. But I soon learned that I couldn’t – or it would be better not to. For better or worse: “Practicing to Die” and “Rehearsing to Live.”


Practicing to Die

Don’t do it! 
Do it! 
No, don’t do it!
I yell at myself in the silence of my mind.
I remind myself I’m carrying a tray,
better safe than sorry.
I used to lift a finger to flip off the kitchen light
as I passed toward the dining table.
I have done it many times.


Friday, April 13, 2018

How our President copes with his lack of imagination

By Moristotle

A headline in today’s New York Times: “Trump Calls Comey ‘Untruthful Slime Ball’ as Book Details Released” [Eileen Sullivan].

Thursday, May 9, 2013

Thor's Day: God really does exist...

...in certain imaginations

By Morris Dean

Last week's column provoked a reader named Kyle (a pseudonym) to pronounce of me that I have been hoodwinked by Satan, who "uses Education [capital E], as well as many other things [unfortunately, he didn't name them], to blind us to God's Truth [capital T]."
    And Kyle is praying for me—and not only for me but also for "all" of my friends. He prays that we will all [collectively or individually?] "realize how much God loves [us] and that He sent His son, Jesus, to die in [our] place so that [we] might have eternal life with Him."
    Aren't you just dying to have eternal life with Jesus?

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Imagine that "God" exists if doing so...

Today I find myself considering a reformulation of my "new tenth commandment," currently stated:
Thou shalt not bow down and worship likely non-existent "God."
Not inconsistent with that, but indulging the proclivity of perhaps the majority of men and women (some of them my relatives and friends), would be the formulation:
Imagine that "God" (or "Allah" or "Yahweh" or "Jehovah" or whatever) exists if doing so somehow comforts or inspires you, but don't fall down and worship it.

Monday, April 23, 2007

443rd birthday/391st deathday

Let us today remember the birthday of William Shakespeare, born on April 23, 1564—so far as scholars can make out. One measure of Shakespeare's enduring memory is that the Sixteenth Edition of Bartlett's Familiar Quotations1 devotes sixty-three 2-column pages to him, while devoting only two-thirds that number to The Holy Bible.

His Sonnet LV may as well have been addressed to himself:
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rime;
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn,
And broils root out the work of masonry,
Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
    So, till the judgment that yourself arise,
    You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.
With that ending reference to Judgment Day, the sonnet predicts that the beloved shall live until the very end of time. Shakespeare gives every indication of going to do so.

And in the following passage from A Midsummer Night's Dream [II.i.148-154], Shakespeare could have been describing the works of his own imagination:
    Oberon...My gentle Puck, come hither. Thou remember'st
Since once I sat upon a promontory,
And heard a mermaid on a dolphin's back
Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,
That the rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the sea-maid's music.
    Puck.                                    I remember.

By the way, Shakespeare died on his 52nd birthday. He had recently written his own epitaph (as I learned from Stephen J. Greenblatt's excellent book, Will in the World: How Shakespeare Became Shakespeare):
Good friend, for Jesus' sake forbear
To dig the dust enclosed here;
Blest be the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.
Let us remember, remember.
________________________
  1. Bartlett's is "a collection of passages, phrases, and proverbs traced to their sources in ancient and modern literature."