A Golden Hue Upon The Past

Oh for someone who still has a way with words!
Oh for wit. For humour that involves more than profanities and crude imagery.
For lyricism. For style. For class. For grace.
He is rare. That man of wit. Almost no more to be found in my generation.
The last of them are dying out. On whom should we cast the blame for this tragedy?
On the media? On "liberation". Sexual liberation has brought with it a somewhat ironic liberation of language. For, although if you so choose you now may curse and blast and flirt in a manner no way coy in its meaning, and therefore be "free" of the restrictions social protocol had placed upon your use of language in the past, a curious restriction seems to have placed itself upon the lips of most of the young today. You see, although there now exists no facet of the spoken language that is out of bounds in today's public domain, strangely enough, most insist on using but a small handful of the vocabulary available to them. This handful being mostly comprised of that which until a few decades ago was considered blasphemous and shameful.
Like the child finally allowed to have chocolate cake for breakfast, who forevermore will have nothing else because he fears losing this long-awaited right.
Perhaps similarly, many feel the need to litter their speech with as many four letter words as possible, in a way cementing their right to do so if they wish.
"Liberation" has led to "Restriction".

Of course we can blame it on lack of education. Blame it on the 'changing times'. Whatever reason you should choose to excuse this loosening on the grasp of language, it does not change the fact that we are losing something precious. Losing our ability to adequetely express ourselves. Adequetely describe today's world for future generations. Perhaps 'adequete' is not a very good word to use in this case, as for many in today's Ireland, it would be adequete to tell your grandchildren that the world when you were young was "alright, like." That the woman you fell in love with was "savage, like." Not much of a ring to it.

Oh for someone like John Donne, asking her to "send home my long strayed eyes to me, which too long have dwelt on thee."
Or even asking another to "licence my roving hands, and let them go, before, behind, between, above, below."

Or describing to his love the mingling of their two bloods in the one flea that bites them both, which cannot be described as a sin, or a loss of virginity. I'd like to hear men today coming up with such an elaborate story to seduce a woman. Elaborate stories are still around, yet none so poetic or indeed so refreshingly individual.

Or Henry King, who in "The Surrender", a particular favourite of mine, described the parting of him and his love as the parting of the severed soul from its body. Who began the poem with the words "My once dear love, hapless that I no more must call thee so", who continued throughout with a flair and a feeling almost unmatched today:
"We that did nothing study but the way
to love each other, with which thoughts the day
rose with delight to us and with them set
must learn the hatefull art, how to forget

We that did nothing wish that heaven would give
beyond ourselves, nor did desire to live
beyond that wish, all these now cancell must
as if not writ in faith, but words and dust"

Who ended the poem with words as hauntingly beautiful:
"In this last kiss I here surrender thee
back to theyself, so thou again art free
thou in another, sad as that, resend
the truest heart that lover e'er did lend.

Now turn from each. So fare our severed hearts
as the divorced soul from her body parts."

Do you think there is any connection between the increase in secularism and the decrease in romanticism?? Do you become less romantic as your belief in a higher being fades away? Religion requires faith. So too does love. I believe there is some connection. How much of a connection, I do not know.

I could go on..and on. My love for poetry, in particular the certain 17th century poetry termed "Metaphysical", knows no bounds. My admiration for those who write with passion, with style, with ease, is huge.
But I won't go on. Perhaps today's thought is one of my many that seem to place upon the past a golden hue which it never had possessed. There still are those whose words, both spoken and written, strike a chord within me. Some are writers I shall never meet. But others. Others are people who, although perhaps not published, possess that certain 'je ne sais quoi'. I know, because at various points in my life I've met some of them.

To Exist Is Not To Live

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on another note, Tim you're email isnt working. my reply keeps coming back to me. coffee sounds great. Let's hope you read this before you arrive.

it never ceases to amaze me how easy it is for people to give up. give up on others, give up on themselves, give up on their education, give up on life. give up, give up, give up.
but give up to whom? to give up is another way of saying to surrender. you surrender your life, yourself. you surrender your opportunities. you surrender these things to someone else. surrender them to the universe. surrendering these opportunities to someone else who is willing and able to utilise them. surrendering yourself to fate. and yet, for many...fate is the perfect excuse for many of the shortcomings they possess. the perfect excuse for the things that don't go right in their lives. yes, fate is the opt-out clause in the contract of life.
and while, personally, i do adopt a somewhat fatalistic attitude to life, i also still hold onto the firm belief that we can accomplish whatever we want if we put our minds to it. faith is just as strong as fate, and sometimes, its even more powerful. faith in yourself, in your abilities, in others, in love, in life. faith in fate even.
and yet, sometimes, even faith eludes me. its not a nice feeling when you feel there is no hope. when you fail to see what surrounds you. for a moment, your eyes cannot see, your heart cannot love. for a moment, you are as good as dead. for a moment, your hope is gone. and it is only when you resurface; when you reawaken; when your eyes can see and your ears can hear and your heart can feel; when you once again can sense your heart beating out the rhythm of your life; only then do you realise that, to live without hope is not to live, but only to exist. and yet for some, existence is life.
yes, maybe for some. but not for me.