A Hymn to the Evening

Enjoy this beautiful poem from an early American poet, Phillis Wheatley. If you know anything about her life, you know that she was a truly incredible woman. If you don’t know much about her, I encourage you to find out more. 

Soon as the sun forsook the eastern main
The pealing thunder shook the heav’nly plain;
Majestic grandeur! From the zephyr’s wing,
Exhales the incense of the blooming spring.
Soft purl the streams, the birds renew their notes,
And through the air their mingled music floats.
Through all the heav’ns what beauteous dies arespread!
But the west glories in the deepest red:
So may our breasts with ev’ry virtue glow,
The living temples of our God below!
Fill’d with the praise of him who gives the light,
And draws the sable curtains of the night,
Let placid slumbers sooth each weary mind,
At morn to wake more heav’nly, more refin’d;
So shall the labours of the day begin
More pure, more guarded from the snares of sin.
Night’s leaden sceptre seals my drowsy eyes,

CNN Writer: A Shame

The primary purpose of this blog is to post examples of good writing. However, there are times when examples of exceptionally bad writing must be shown as well. Take for example this article from CNN. CNN, like it or not, is considered to be a respectable source of news by many. For that reason, you would expect its columnists and writers to be held to a higher standard. Unfortunately, a great degeneration has occured in the level of writing that many “professional” writers are producing. Take for example the first paragraph after the lead:

Say wha? Hulu? Won’t that confuse people since it sounds like Sulu of “Star Trek” fame? George Takei rocks! It also sounds a lot like Lulu, a custom online book publisher I’ve written about. And to be completely infantile, if the site has any major problems, it’s going to be very easy for people like to me to start writing about how Hulu is in deep doodoo.

Even the author himself seems to realize that his writing is infantile. His junior high style of writing continues throughout the article.

I do understand that he is a technology columnist and not a “serious” writer. But shouldn’t anyone writing for a major news website be able to write better than your average sixth grader? Perhaps the average public schooled sixth grader can’t write yet; I don’t know.

My point is not pick on Mr. La Monica. He is just a part of a growing trend that I see in major publications everywhere. Journalists are increasingly using slang, pop culture references, and terms such as “um”, “like”, “rocks”, and “cool”; stories focus more on worthless celebrities and sports than real news. I cannot count the times I have read an article and wondered afterward how the author ever got a job as a writer. This is very disheartening.

Why is this though? I always say that to be a good writer, you must read good writing, and I believe many aspiring writers today are simply not reading good writing. I believe that because good literature is being ejected from many schools, students have no standard of what good writing is. If a student sees that an author for the New York Times uses slang, he or she will have little motivation not to as well.

I encourage you the reader to continue to read great literature and share it with your friends and colleagues. I doubt that there will ever be writers again like the greats of the past; the english language is waning; but we can at least preserve what we have and use it to inspire ourselves and future generations.

Theme

I have had a complaint about the font size on this blog and I am considering changin the look. Is this a problem for anyone else? Please leave your comments on the design of this blog in the comments.

Lak of Stedfastnesse: Balade

Today I was in the library and I stumbled upon a massive tome that contained all the works of Geoffrey Chaucer. I began reading and really enjoyed the selections that I read, even though the language was at times difficult. In my experience, the harder something is to understand the more rewarding it is when I finally figure it out.

At any rate, the unintentional discovery of his works prompted me to read more from him. As is natural when discovering something new and exciting, I wanted to share a bit of what I found. This is one of his easier to understand poems.

Somtyme this world was so stedfast and stable
That mannes word was obligacioun;
And now it is so fals and deceivable
That word and deed, as in conclusioun,
Ben nothing lyk, for turned up-so-doun
Is al this world for mede and wilfulnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.

What maketh this world to be so variable
But lust that folk have in dissensioun?
For among us now a man is holde unable,
But if he can, by som collusioun,
Don his neighbour wrong or oppressioun.
What causeth this but wilful wrecchednesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse?

Trouthe is put doun, resoun is holden fable;
Vertu hath now no dominacioun;
Pitee exyled, no man is merciable;
Through covetyse is blent discrecioun.
The world hath mad a permutacioun
Fro right to wrong, fro trouthe to fikelnesse,
That al is lost for lak of stedfastnesse.

Sea Fever

This poem is so rich in imagery. You can hear the waves crashing, the wind whipping through the sails, and smell the salty air. I love it. 

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song
and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over.

John Masefield

Alone

I think this poem shows well Edgar Allan Poe’s frame of mind throughout his life. Loneliness can be such a truly overwhelming thing. It does not require physical isolation, but isolation from the enjoyment of human company. His poems are depressing, tragic, but often hauntingly beautiful.

From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

Milton On Shakespeare

I always find it fascinating to read one great writer write about another great writer. John Milton, one of the greatest minds of 17th century literature, wrote the following poem on Shakespeare. I think Shakespeare would have been proud to have so great a mind give homage to his skill.

What needs my Shakespear for his honour’d Bones,
The labour of an age in piled Stones,
Or that his hallow’d reliques should be hid
Under a Star-ypointing Pyramid?
Dear son of memory, great heir of Fame,
What need’st thou such weak witnes of thy name?
Thou in our wonder and astonishment
Hast built thy self a live-long Monument.
For whilst to th’shame of slow-endeavouring art,
Thy easie numbers flow, and that each heart
Hath from the leaves of thy unvalu’d Book,
Those Delphick lines with deep impression took,
Then thou our fancy of it self bereaving,
Dost make us Marble with too much conceaving;
And so Sepulcher’d in such pomp dost lie,
That Kings for such a Tomb would wish to die.

Out of the Depths

I recently finished a biography of the great reformer, Martin Luther. His life was filled with many struggles; emotional, spritiual, and physical. At times he would feel great despair at his helplessness and inability. He did not carry these burdens alone however, but gave them to God to carry for him. He often expressed his feelings of despair in himself and trust in God through the medium of hymns. He took pleasure in being able to sing while sorrowful, and he considered it a way to spite the devil. Enjoy this hymn, based on Psalm 13o, in German and in English.

English Out of the depths I cry to Thee; Lord, hear me, I implore Thee! Bend down Thy gracious ear to me; I lay my sins before Thee. If Thou rememberest each misdeed, If each should have its rightful meed, Who may abide Thy presence? Thou grantest pardon through Thy love; Thy grace alone availeth; Our works could ne’er our guilt remove; Yea, e’en the best life faileth. For none may boast himself of aught, But must confess Thy grace hath wrought Whate’er in him is worthy. And thus my hope is in the Lord, And not in my own merit; I rest upon His faithful Word To them of contrite spirit. That He is merciful and just, Here is my comfort and my trust; His help I wait with patience.

German Aus tiefer Not schrei’ ich zu dir, Herr Gott, erhör mein Rufen; Dein’ gnädig’ Ohren kehr zu mir Und meiner Bitt sie öffnen! Denn so du willst das sehen an, Was Sünd’ und Unrecht ist getan, Wer kann, Herr, vor dir bleiben? Bei dir gilt nichts denn Gnad’ und Gunst, Die ü zu vergeben; Es ist doch unser Tun umsonst Auch in dem besten Leben. Vor dir Niemand sich rühmen kann, Des muss dich fürchten Jedermann Und deiner Gnade leben. Darum auf Gott will hoffen ich, Auf mein Verdienst nicht bauen; Auf ihn mein Herz soll lassen sich Und seiner Güte trauen, Die mir zusagt sein wertes Wort, Das ist mein Trost und treuer Hort, Des will ich allzeit harren. Und ob es währt bis in die Nacht Und wieder an den Morgen, Doch soll mein Herz an Gottes Macht Verzweifeln nicht noch sorgen. So tu’ Israel rechter Art, Der aus dem Geist erzeuget ward Und seines Gott’s erharre. Ob bei uns ist der Sünden viel, Bei Gott ist viel mehr Gnaden, Sein’ Hand zu helfen hat kein Ziel, Wie gross auch sei der Schaden. Er ist allein der gute Hirt, Der Israel erlösen wird Aus seinen Sünden allen.

DailyLit.com

I would just like to share a neat site I recently discovered, DailyLit.com. This site allows you to read great works of literature by having a small excerpt delivered to your email inbox every day. If you spend more time on the computer than you would like, as many of us do, this is great news.

DailyLit has a large selection of books to choose from in many different genres, so chances are that it has one that you have wanted to read. For example, I am having John Milton’s Paradise Lost emailed to me. You can configure the frequency of email deliveries, size of the portion delivered, and when you want it delivered. While this service is not intended to replace traditional books, I certainly don’t think it can hurt to read great writing while checking your email!

A Writer’s Prayer

Lord, that You my pen would free,
That dull thoughts in Thy Light will flee;
That apt words might my servants be,
That I may convey the sense effectively,
I pray in humility.
Amen