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The Weekly List: Top 5 SF Books We Never Want To Read Again

bloginhood — Thu, 09 Oct 2008 06:38:17 +0000

5. The “Foundation” trilogy by Isaac Asimov nominated by harrysaxon

“Okay, don't shoot me for this. I have some intellectual understanding of the path Asimov was carving with the original trilogy, but still hated it. I'm a great lover of character - part of the reason I've always been such a Stephen King fan, he has a gift for creating deep and unique characters - and the book had none; even characters I may have found intriguing with time never got a chance to establish themselves.”

4. The “Gormenghast” trilogy by Mervyn Peake nominated by bloginhood

“This novel was so savagely depressing and slow I couldn’t get past the first hundred pages of the first book. That says a lot, because I pride myself on finishing a story, no matter how bad (usually), and it pained me to toss this heap aside in surrender. Of course, the portrait of utter inanimate despair of the book was probably the point: to put the reader into the mindset of the characters of this world, but it could have been done just as effectively in a quarter of the time/pages – or less – if Peake had had any skill. If the vast castle Gormenghast is a corpse and the intrigue of its inhabitants the rot within, best leave this body to lie in an undisturbed and unmarked grave.”

3. “The Chrysalids” by John Wyndham nominated by harrysaxon

“Of all the sci-fi books the public school system could choose to force me to read, why this forgettable and poorly plotted exercise gets picked is beyond me. The deus ex machina at the end is one of the more embarrassing in the history of so-called ‘classic’ fiction.”

2. “The Divorce of Buddy Figaro – A Taoist Comedy Novel” by David Silverberg nominated by bloginhood

“This novel is what happens when a terrible idea is shat forth upon the universe and the paper it gets wiped/written upon doesn’t get flushed. Terrible excuses for characterization, an idiotic plot, and endless repetition. This book is so completely bad that (and I have to thank reader witchblade37 for pointing this one out) although the author puts significant weight on the poem ‘The Tyger’ he credits it to Kipling. In fact, the poem was written by Blake 71 years before Kipling was born. This pathetic excuse for a yarn was so awful that I regret nominating it for this list simply because in doing so I am required to remember having read it in the first place.”

1. Almost anything written by Piers Anthony nominated by both

Anthony comes out on top in this lineup of the inept for proving that you can have negligible talent and yet still manage to publish tons of garbage year after year. While harrysaxon admits a soft spot for the “Incarnations of Immortality” and “Split Infinity” series, and bloginhood confesses to enjoying the first of the Incarnations books as a teen, we’re both united in saying that Anthony has committed unrelenting and unrepentant crimes against SF literature.

Now it’s your turn. What SF books – and let’s allow short stories too – do you never want to read again?

Kiplin' vs. Palin

bardsworld — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 15:09:00 +0000

A brilliant editorial in yesterdays New York Times has caught my eye. If you've got 5 minutes it is well worth the read.

Kiplin' vs. Palin - New York Times

The piece draws heavily on the following poem, written in 1919.

The Gods of the Copybook Headings

by Rudyard Kipling

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!

the sky is falling!!

Mel — Wed, 08 Oct 2008 13:34:54 +0000

This is the best summary I have seen on the state of the current financial crisis, which I read in Scientific Monthly. Succinct with ways to fix it. But before reading it, consider this poem by Kipling. I loved it when I first read it.

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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe 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!

by Rudyard Kipling

1865-1936, written in 1895

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"If" a poem of inspiration

poetryinacan — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 18:57:58 +0000

If....

by: Rudyard Kipling

"If...." , written by Rudyard Kipling, is an amazingly inspirational poem! It talks about what it means and what is needed in order to be a man ( to be strong and never give up). What I really like about "If....", is how much information is stuffed into it. Life is not easy, and in order to be strong you need to do a ton! You need to be able to," trust yourself when all men doubt you" but "make allowance for their doubting too". Basically, you need to understand why people doubt what you do and at the same time never stop believing in yourself. You must also be willing to wait and have patience. When the narrator of the poem talks about "Triumph" and "Disaster", he refers to them as imposters. Now, to label triumph and disaster as imposters personifies them. He talks about the two as if they are con artists trying to dupe you into thinking one way. One of my teachers used to tell me to, "never get too excited over big sucesses and failures because nothing is as good or bad as it seems, ever". So, I can see how triumph and disaster can be seen as imposters. The reason the two are capitalized is because both are essential tools in becoming strong. Other than the beginning of each line and triumph and disaster, the only capitalized words are will, hold, Earth, kings, and man. Capitalizing will made me think he was refering to a person named William and not the noun. I believe that Rudyard did this to emphasize how important having will and determination is in becoming a man. Hold was capitalized because the narrator is dispensing valuable motivation by shouting "Hold on". When walking with "the Kings", kings can be a very broad term. I think it means walking with great men and women. But, at the same time, do not forget the little folk and the under-dog. It is easy to tell why man is capitalized ( it being the theme of the poem). However, it is important to realize that the narrator is telling his son how to be a man.

The advice given in this poem is definately worth experimenting with. The first time I have seen this poem was atleast five years ago. At that time I took the "If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you" part to heart. That struck home because in highschool I already knew what I wanted to do. I wanted to be a hero ( and still do)! But not many people believed that I could pull it off. I have not lost hope for my dreams though. Still, I push onward building up my character and testing my strengths.

P.S.

Here is Dennis Hopper reading "If"

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AJqESdw7xs

Many many one...

Katy — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 20:22:27 +0000

...many many two, many many three...

I've had a thousand hits (and even my mother can't visit quite that many times all by herself)!

I think it calls for a mini-celebration..

There should be enough for one for each of you.

(Yes, we did make fairy cakes that look like the cat... I'm a frustrated artist, ok?)

I've hit a bit of a block with the tatting and crocheting. I think the first is a technique problem and the second is a resource problem. Plus I feel bad that Batman is all by himself up a ladder doing the horrible painty-edging bits. So I've been trying to update my website. I've managed to html myself into a couple of corners, which I need a little help with, but there should be pages and pages of extra stuff soon.

In the meanwhile, have a fairy cake...

Pata de Perro Diciembre de 2006

alonsovera — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 22:11:46 +0000

Humo por bombas

Texto y Fotos Alonso Vera Cantú

La historia de algunos nos platica que hace 2,006 años al presente mes nació de María, por intercesión divina, el Hijo de Dios. Tuvo a bien hacerlo en la humilde Belén, ciudad que hoy día forma parte del territorio que se dice representa la faceta más compleja del conflicto Árabe-Israelí por su relevancia religiosa para los palestinos, israelíes y jordanos, sin mencionar a los cristianos: el Banco Oeste.

Además del nacimiento pastoral de Jesús, Belén y sus alrededores han espectado eventos como el amor de Ruth y Boaz y la revelación de David, pastor, poeta y rey. Pero más allá de éstos sucesos solemnes para las religiones mayores, sus puestos callejeros con figurillas pías que brillan de noche y las hordas de turistas que se dan cita en su Basílica de la Natividad erigida en el año 326 por órdenes de Elena, madre de Constantino, y que sobrevivió a la invasión Persa gracias a los mosaicos que decoran su piso con la imagen de tres hombres sabios de origen persa, Belén denota lo que un poco de resolución y humo pueden lograr.

Danza con el viento

El humo siempre ha sido parte fundamental de mi vida. No encuentro nada más placentero que reflexionar observando los trazos efímeros de un incienso a la luz de las velas. Creo que el humo acarrea las plegarias al cielo y esparce bendiciones, además de purificar al complejo sistema energético que nos compone como seres vivos, y que por lo general resulta imperceptible a la vista.

Pero hay más, ya que siempre que viajo el humo me llama; a las fogatas tribales en torno a las cuales se danza y platica hasta el alba, a las chimeneas en una fría noche en las montañas, a los cuerpos calcinándose en las piras, a las ofrendas en los templos y a un comal o caldero a la hora de comer. Pero sobre todo a las historias de las personas que fraguan bocanadas luego de un suspiro o reflexión.

Recuerdo a Kipling, que inmortalizó con su poesía a una “Burma girl a-settin´, a-smokin´ of a whackin´ white cheroot”. Los cheroots tienen tabaco, aserrín y pulpa de tamarindo, y están envueltos en hojas de betel con olotes como filtro. Son originarios de los Tamil de Sri Lanka que los llaman curuttu o “enrollado” y lo heredaron a los indios y, por derramamiento cultural, a las más antiguas tribus de Asia. Éste dispositivo de desfogue es empleado por los hombres, mujeres e inclusive niños de un inspirador destino donde mucha de su gente medita desde la infancia, ofrenda incienso sin utilidad por el bien de todos los seres sensibles y pasa la vida fumando, recapacitando así su acontecer.

Alivio de bocanada

Viajando por las humaredas aprendí también que desde hace más de tres mil años se emplea en la medicina ayurvédica de la India una pipa de agua llamada Dhoom Netra que se carga con hierbas aromáticas y medicinales, similar a la que empleaban en la tribu Khokhoin del Sur de África para fumar cáñamo y así curarse de achaques como la epilepsia.

Otro buen ejemplo de humo y humanidad es el de civilizaciones precolombinas que habitaron, y habitan, la América actual. Mucho se habla del tabaco como un producto de origen americano, aunque la transmisión de sus modos de uso sea europea. Sin embargo, es bien sabido que los chamanes de ahora y entonces buscaron alivios y respuestas a través del consumo de alucinógenos, muchos de las cuales se siguen empleando a bocanadas como puerta al mundo de los dioses, enlace con la Madre Tierra o enlace con las realidades ocultas existentes en uno mismo. Ya lo dijo alguien sabio, “morir sin haber tenido una experiencia alucinógena es como morir sin haber vivido un orgasmo”.

Su dulce aroma

Recuerdo mi última travesía cuando, caída la tarde y luego del penúltimo llamado del muecín al rezo, desde las costas de Cartago hasta las calles del Banco Oeste, pasando por las riveras del Nilo y los desiertos de Jordania, los hombres comienzan su peregrinación a las cafeterías. El día al fin refresca e inicia el canto de la narguile acompañado su burbujeo con risas y discusiones de arte, deporte, política y demás materias que dignifican la vida. Cualquier desvelo se disuelve en humaredas y copas de café o té acompañadas con hojaldres y juegos de mesa. Los artistas orientalista del siglo XIX describieron ésta costumbre de origen árabe con similitudes históricas internacionales como el “verdadero arte de vivir”.

Allí todo gira en torno a la narguile, un “objeto elegante” en boca de Honoré de Balzac. Una pipa de agua tradicional que se utiliza en Asia, el Norte de África y el Medio Oriente para fumar tabaco con frutas y especias, en boca de la wikipedia. Es un terapia grupal, donde cada uno toma su turno para fumar y decir sin prisa lo que tiene que decir, y luego desprender una cortina aromática para alistarse a escuchar, preparándose para un día más tolerable sólo por su afable final.

Frente a la creciente desintegración de los lazos sociales y culturales, el alarmante número de muertes derivadas del estrés y las “guerras de origen religioso”, el humo en sus diversos empleos, con su índole pacífica y poética, se muestra como una herramienta para mejorar nuestra sociabilidad. ¿Qué sería del mundo si en vez de pelear nos sentásemos en torno a la narguile a platicar y, en caso de no llegar a nada, prepararla de nueva hasta comprender nuestras similitudes y diferencias? ¿Qué pasaría si cada noche antes de dormir reflexionásemos mirando el humo del incienso y emitiésemos un buen deseo para con el otro?

Reflexionar y asimilar así cada día y problema, solos o en compañía, es una forma más humana y barata que el Prozac o la guerra. Un viaje algo ingenuo, claro está, cuando las guerras, a pesar de lo dicho, no han sido causadas por la raza o religión. De las Guerras Púnicas a las de los Balcanes, y de las Cruzadas a la Segunda Guerra Mundial, la esencia del conflicto humano se resume en intereses económicos.

No sé si es o no la cuna del Mecías, pero algo nació en Belén aquel 1995 en que se celebró la Natividad por primera ocasión gracias a la costumbre palestina de sentarse a fumar, platicar y resolver las diferencias a diario, dado nueva vida al sitio que por su tolerancia ahora da posada también a turistas y ayuda humanitaria internacional. Muchas han sido las experiencias en el mundo. Ya serán suyas. Mientras tanto gracias, y hasta la próxima.

Pomes Penyeach

Atherton Kevin — Mon, 15 Sep 2008 16:50:47 +0000

Now that there's a "Contract Pending" shingle appended to the For Sale sign out front, there's no longer a need to fill the plastic TAKE ONE box with stats 'n' pix about our house. So we printed up some copies of Rudyard Kipling's Seal Lullaby for anyone wise enough or simply curious enough to "take one." We realize this sort of thing seems like affected artsiness to certain people and aggravates them no end, but that makes it all the better.

Liz found the poem on a web log called "Poetic Anthropology" which you can summons to your screen by clicking on these word: HOME IS THE HUNTER.

Magna Carta makes way for Sharia

sharmajee — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 15:25:02 +0000

[caption id="" align="alignleft" width="250" caption="MAGNA CARTA, Magnificient Writing"][/caption]

Great old England, the Empire on which the Sun never set, that wonderful place that gave us this language we share, that great nation of Oliver Cromwell, William Shakespeare, yes indeed, the very nation that gave the word The Magna Carta, England now accepts sharia law. It's official.

Magna Carta, the direct inspiration for the French Revolution, the U.S. Bill of Rights, and a host of international and national movemnts and global documents, was hand written on crumbling parchment and sent far and wide to be read aloud to the people of England by King John in the year 1215.

Magna Carta affirmed the equality and humanity of all people; the right to life, liberty and justice of every man, woman and child.

That Magna Carta is no more. Sharia is now official UK law.

Five courts have been set up to rule on 'muslim personal law'. Rowan Williams, the archbishop of Canterbury already gave his blessings earlier this year.

England will now have two parallel justice systems. Separate justice for separate people.

Goodbye British civilization, thanks for the gifts!

And still when mob or Monarch lays
Too rude a hand on English ways,
The whisper wakes, the shudder plays,
Across the reeds at Runnymede.

What Say The Reeds At Runnymede, Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936

CESARE PAVESE

jjulio — Mon, 08 Sep 2008 22:11:52 +0000

Hoy se cumplen cien años del nacimiento de Cesare Pavese , nacido el 9 de septiembre de 1908 en Santo Stefano Belbo, y releo aquella entrevista que el escritor italiano quiso conceder a la RAI en junio de 1950, dos meses antes de morir en Turín.

"Traducir - dijo entonces Pavese -, hablo por experiencia, enseña cómo no se debe escribir; me hace sentir a cada paso de qué modo una diversa sensibilidad y cultura ha sido expresada en un determinado estilo, y me esfuerzo por hacer que este estilo esté curado de toda tentación que pudiese quedar alimentada por algo mío. Al concluir un intenso periodo de traducciones - Anderson, Joyce, Dos Passos, Faulkner, Gertrude Stein - yo sabía exactamente cuáles eran los modulos y las maneras literarias que no me eran consentidas, es decir, que me resultaban extrañas, que me dejaban frío".

"En una época como la nuestra en la cual quien sabe escribir parece que no tenga nada que decir y quien comienza a tener algo que decir aún no sabe escribir, la única posición digna de quien al menos se siente vivo y hombre entre los hombres me parece ésta: enseñar a las masas futuras, que tengan necesidad, una lección de cómo la caótica y cotidiana realidad nuestra únicamente puede ser transformada por el pensamiento y la fantasía".

"Pavese no se preocupa de "crear personajes" - continuó diciendo el propio escritor hablando de sí mismo -. Los personajes simplemente le sirven para construir fábulas intelectuales. He aquí por qué Pavese, con razón, retiene los "Diálogos con Leucó " como su libro más significativo, y después de él vienen las poesías de "Trabajar cansa". A Pavese le gusta mucho Shakespeare, pero no por la razón romántica de que él logre crear personajes inolvidables, sino por una más verdadera: su absurdo y maravilloso lenguaje trágico ( y también cómico), las terribles frases del quinto acto en el cual, por diversos que sean los caracteres de los personajes, todos dicen siempre la misma cosa. Le gusta, como narrador, Giovanni Battista Vico - narrador de una aventura intelectual. En fin, le gusta también "Moby Dick", que ha traducido, no sabe bien si con mucha competencia, pero sí con mucho entusiasmo, hace ya una veintena de años, y aún ahora le sirve de estímulo para concebir sus relatos no como descripciones sino como juicios fantásticos de la realidad".

"¿Qué querría decir a nuestra crítica? Se sabe que sin Kipling no se explica Hemingway, sin el expresionismo alemán y ruso no se explican ni O`Neill ni Faulkner, sin Maupassant no se explica a Fitzgerald".

Traductor, poeta, narrador, las contrariedades con quien fuera el último amor de su vida, la joven actriz norteamericana Constance Dowling, le condujeron al final aquel 27 de agosto de 1950 en Turín.

(Imágenes: Cesare Pavese.-edebiyat kisvesonde asiri sanat/ Constance Dowling.--internetculturale.it/ Pavese y Constance Dowling en Cervinia.-internetculturale.it)

The Ballad of the King's Jest

mylifeintheknifetrade — Sat, 06 Sep 2008 07:48:17 +0000

When spring-time flushes the desert grass,
Our kafilas* wind through the Khyber Pass.
Lean are the camels but fat the frails,
Light are the purses but heavy the bales,
As the snowbound trade of the North comes down
To the market-square of Peshawur town.

In a turquoise twilight, crisp and chill,
A kafila camped at the foot of the hill.
Then blue smoke-haze of the cooking rose,
And tent-peg answered to hammer-nose;
And the picketed ponies, shag and wild,
Strained at their ropes as the feed was piled;
And the bubbling camels beside the load
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road;
And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale,
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale;
And the tribesmen bellowed to hasten the food;
And the camp-fires twinkled by Fort Jumrood;
And there fled on the wings of the gathering dusk
A savour of camels and carpets and musk,
A murmur of voices, a reek of smoke,
To tell us the trade of the Khyber woke.

The lid of the flesh-pot chattered high,
The knives were whetted and—then came I
To Mahbub Ali, the muleteer,
Patching his bridles and counting his gear,
Crammed with the gossip of half a year.
But Mahbub Ali the kindly said,
"Better is speech when the belly is fed."
So we plunged the hand to the mid-wrist deep
In a cinnamon stew of the fat-tailed sheep,
And he who never hath tasted the food,
By Allah! he knoweth not bad from good.

We cleansed our beards of the mutton-grease,
We lay on the mats and were filled with peace,
And the talk slid north, and the talk slid south,
With the sliding puffs from the hookah-mouth.
Four things greater than all things are,—
Women and Horses and Power and War.
We spake of them all, but the last the most,
For I sought a word of a Russian post,
Of a shifty promise, an unsheathed sword
And a grey-coat guard on the Helmund ford.
Then Mahbub Ali lowered his eyes
In the fashion of one who is weaving lies.
Quoth he: "Of the Russians who can say?
When the night is gathering all is grey.
But we look that the gloom of the night shall die
In the morning flush of a blood-red sky.
Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
We know what Heaven or Hell may bring,
But no man knoweth the mind of the King.
That unsought counsel is cursed of God
Attesteth the story of Wali Dad.

"His sire was leaky of tongue and pen,
His dam was a clucking Khattack hen;
And the colt bred close to the vice of each,
For he carried the curse of an unstaunched speech.
Therewith madness—so that he sought
The favour of kings at the Kabul court;
And travelled, in hope of honour, far
To the line where the grey-coat squadrons are.
There have I journeyed too—but I
Saw naught, said naught, and—did not die!
He hearked to rumour, and snatched at a breath
Of `this one knoweth', and 'that one saith',—
Legends that ran from mouth to mouth
Of a grey-coat coming, and sack of the South.
These have I also heard—they pass
With each new spring and the winter grass.

"Hot-foot southward, forgotten of God,
Back to the city ran Wali Dad,
Even to Kabul—in full durbar
The King held talk with his Chief in War.
Into the press of the crowd he broke,
And what he had heard of the coming spoke.

"Then Gholam Hyder, the Red Chief, smiled,
As a mother might on a babbling child;
But those who would laugh restrained their breath,
When the face of the King showed dark as death.
Evil it is in full durbar
To cry to a ruler of gathering war!
Slowly he led to a peach-tree small,
That grew by a cleft of the city wall.
And he said to the boy: `They shall praise thy zeal
So long as the red spurt follows the steel.
And the Russ is upon us even now?
Great is thy prudence—await them, thou.
Watch from the tree. Thou art young and strong.
Surely the vigil is not for long.
The Russ is upon us, thy clamour ran?
Surely an hour shall bring their van.
Wait and watch. When the host is near,
Shout aloud that my men may hear.'

"Friend of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
A guard was set that he might not flee—
A score of bayonets ringed the tree.
The peach-bloom fell in showers of snow,
When he shook at his death as he looked below.
By the power of God, Who alone is great,
Till the seventh day he fought with his fate.
Then madness took him, and men declare
He mowed in the branches as ape and bear,
And last as a sloth, ere his body failed,
And he hung like a bat in the forks, and wailed,
And sleep the cord of his hands untied,
And he fell, and was caught on the points and died.

"Heart of my heart, is it meet or wise
To warn a King of his enemies?
We know what Heaven or Hell may bring,
But no man knoweth the mind of the King.
Of the grey-coat coming who can say?
When the night is gathering all is grey.
Two things greater than all things are,
The first is Love, and the second War.
And since we know not how War may prove,
Heart of my heart, let us talk of Love!"

*Caravans

First post on my new blog; maybe the era of Kipling is gone, but not in my heart.

h&f 0041 Titanic Overtones: How Obama Fans' Pride Can Boost McCain/Palin Chances

hustleandfloe — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 06:15:49 +0000

Passenger Margaret Devaney said:

"I took passage on the Titanic for I thought it would be a safe steamship and I had heard it could not sink."

..........

New York, NY - First, a disclosure - I am an Obama voter. However, I'm aiming to comment beyond partisanship. Now, on with it...

It is quite interesting to look at how history writes the future time and again.

We verge on that today, as many Obama fans have declared the Palin vice-presidential prospect an immediate "win" for their side. Easy bait, considering the glaring lack of experience that vice-presidents normally bring. [“I think she is the most inexperienced person on a major-party ticket in modern history,” said presidential historian Matthew Dallek. ]

Meanwhile, despite the myriad questions raised on her experience for the job, she gains strong advocates and increasing legitimacy. Consider this excerpt from an editorial in the Christian Science Monitor: "Palin really is what Obama pretends to be, but is not: a citizen activist who entered politics in order to fight entrenched interests and bring about tangible, practical change."

Or, check this take on Politico.com:

"Fishing permit violations. A blue-collar husband who racked up a DUI citation as a 22-year-old. An unmarried teenage daughter who is pregnant and a nasty child custody battle involving a family member. ...'Authenticity is the most important characteristic for someone seeking public office,' said Nick Ayers, executive director of the Republican Governors Association. 'Any news that comes out about her is not going to hurt her because it reinforces the point that she is authentically one of us. ' All of this, to one degree or another, has surfaced in recent days as a result of efforts to discredit or undermine Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin. But these revelations may have the opposite effect: In one sense, they could reinforce how remarkably unremarkable she is.

For me, there is a huge distortion here, worth noting as an indicator of a much larger context. That is: an activist or, a "remarkably unremarkable" person is not a figure we should aspire to for the vice-presidential post. I'm not talking about Palin per se or her job qualifications. I don't think you'll find a job posting requiring those stated particulars that make her attractive. I'm talking about us. If we want a President and a Vice-President, we should demand exactly that.

Let an activist be an activist. That is an honorable undertaking. I'm not sure I would have wanted Martin Luther King Jr. as president. Let a supposedly unremarkable person contribute somewhere else. I know many "ordinary people" who have the kinds of unremarkable pedigrees absolutely well-suited to effect major change at levels lower than that of international government. There's no shame in that.

But, with respect to the highest offices in the land, we are seeing a see a major shift in priorities. We've lowered the standard for office to a proof of one's humanity through rudimentary measuring systems: diners and guns. This shift places incentive to pander low in order to win. If that can be accomplished with a nod to qualifications, so be it. If not, no matter. We are the drivers for this case, now openly requiring that our leaders be anti-intellectual underachievers or "just like us."

I imagine, if we carried this thought into other arenas we'd all be doing our own plumbing, building our own houses, putting out our own fires, and bashing Michael Phelps and Usain Bolt for not slowing down to a pedestrian's pace ...so we could better identify with them. Drat to all of that specialized high-performance elitism! I want ME for president.

Politicians have been kissing babies for years, but that is not to say that pandering standards cannot be lowered to the extreme. I can hear Rudyard Kipling's sentiment coming to mind as a rebuttal here:

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;

Yes, a President must be plain old people, too.

But, I bet that Kipling wrote under the assumption that you couldn't conjure humanity in the eating of 250 "lumberjack breakfasts" at local diners or by showing the world that you can drop a moose from 150 yards with a .243. Those are things that we may find out, but they shouldn't be the litmus tests for being down to earth.

So, that's the Titanic scenario. Obama's ship can sink on the touch of a populist iceberg. I'm not sure he's buying into the hype, evidenced by his immediate hushing of the fan base now rumouring about Palin's daughter's pregnancy and his attempt to return to McCain and Palin's qualifications.

But the arrogance of dismissing Palin and thus, not recognizing the new context in which we vote [this extreme populism, esp. as positioned against Obama's alleged aloofness due, oddly enough, to his background and his literacy] combined with traditionally arrogant assumptions on points of belief, e.g. citing Palin's espousing of creationism as a weakness [weakness in whose eyes?], could find many in for quite the swearing-in shock in January.

We vote on intuition and feeling. That's fact. Or else we would have presidential spreadsheets to point to. If you're an Obama supporter, underestimating Palin is the pride that goes before destruction, the haughty spirit that goes before the fall. If you are a McCain supporter, you should take heart in the fact that he has tapped into what really moves us, for better or for worse. I think for worse.

...

Epilogue: If we keep this up, we'll be left wanting for a real President - someone much smarter than the average citizen about that whole running a government thing, someone with no time to shake every hand, eat pancakes at your diner, or shoot guns with the regular folk ...except on welcome coincidence. If you meet him/her in those latter circumstances, at random, and don't shake hands or pass some syrup together, then that would truly be the mark of the inauthentic.

But we would have noticed long before that.

AWAD - Fancier Words

wordspevut — Sun, 31 Aug 2008 05:55:57 +0000

"Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind," British writer Joseph Rudyard Kipling said, and that might help explain why some of us get so hooked on them. As time passes, we experience symptoms of mithridatism, ...
traislinge.blogspot.com

The Noble Mongoose

genghiskuhn — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 22:11:36 +0000

"He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and his habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink. He could scratch himself anywhere he pleased with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use. He could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle brush, and his war cry as he scuttled through the long grass was: 'Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!' "

-taken from Rudyard Kipling's "Rikki Tikki Tavi"

Kipling - Coleções Cuby Brown e Thrill

Condessa Anastacia Beaverhausen — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 19:36:31 +0000

A Kipling não pára! A marca belga de bolsas, mochilas, carteiras, malas, estojos e tudo mais que você possa precisar para seu dia-a-dia ou viagens, apresenta agora, como parte da coleção IF, a estampa Cuby Brown. Com pequenos cubos nas cores prata, preto, marrom e verde-limão, está disponível nos modelos Fairfax, Pomello (foto acima) e Malibu.

E a característica da linha IF, que teve como inspiração o poema de mesmo nome, de Rudyard Kipling, é a exclusividade, já que todas as edições que lança são limitadas.

A Kipling traz, ainda, mais uma novidade, dessa vez para aquelas clientes que, embora fã de seu estilo esportivo/casual, não dispensam uma boa bolsa em couro. A coleção Thrill, vem com design arrojado, linhas geométricas e muitos detalhes (repare no monkey clip), produzida em couro italiano. Suas cores, bem sutis, dão o toque final de elegância ao acessório.

Os modelos vão desde bolsas pequenas até as maiores, de mão ou de ombro e carteiras, tudo para agradar em cheio as mulheres que não abrem mão de funcionalidade, versatilidade e beleza.

[gallery]

Onde Comprar:

consulte o site da Kipling para encontrar a loja mais próxima.

Para conhecer outra linha da Kipling, clique aqui.

The music nerd's burden

debcha — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 01:02:19 +0000

(click to see full comic on Dustinland)

Ah, the music nerd's burden. Dustinland has an excellent Kipling-level apologia for all of us.

(thanks, Keith!)

a little just, more so

billstrickland — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 16:50:54 +0000

Still ran Dingo — Yellow-Dog Dingo — very much bewildered, very much hungry, and wondering what in the world or out of it made Old Man Kangaroo hop.

More from "The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo." I just can't get enough of it . . . who the hell writes like that? Ruddy was, of course, inspired by the incantation of formal Indian storytelling, but I wonder if he borrowed the source material and made it accessible to the Western world, sort of like a literary Paul Simon. The rhythms remind me of a lot of Technicians of the Sacred, one of those books that changed my life . . . Natalie is going around chanting lines and lines from the kangaroo chase scenes. You'll be sitting there doing something and out of nowhere you hear: "Down sat Dingo — Poor Dog Dingo — always hungry, dusky in the sunshine; hung out his tongue and howled."

Walk & See: Shopping Villa-Lobos - 23/08/08

Art Vandelay — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 20:48:32 +0000

Inaugurado em 2000, no Alto de Pinheiros, uma das regiões mais nobres de São Paulo e vizinho do parque que lhe empresta o nome, O Shopping Villa-Lobos conta com um mix de lojas bem interessante, decoração moderna, mas simples e um público variado, que vai de famílias fazendo compras à grupinhos de adolescentes em busca de diversão.

As lojas que você verá na galeria abaixo são: Imaginarium, Lucy in the Sky, Schutz, Animale, Argentum, Capodarte, Carmen Steffens, Cavalera, Fillity, Folic, Hering, Kipling, Le Lis Blanc, L'occitane, Loja do Chá, Luigi Bertolli, Loja do Mam, Mandi, Maria a Mare, MOB, Nem, Pepper, Star Point, Timberland, Uncle K, Viva Allegra e Zara.

[gallery]

Onde comprar:

Shopping Villa-Lobos

Clique aqui para visitar o site do shopping.

Italian Design Laptop Tote Bag - Women's Laptop Bag Case

techmechwizard — Sun, 24 Aug 2008 16:49:42 +0000

Italian Design Laptop Tote Bag - Women's Laptop Bag Case

Author: Writeright

We, the fairer sex, or ladies as you call us hereby declare that we too would be shoulder to shoulder with men and face the changing technologies, the changing style of eating, cooking living and maybe … breathing too. And the contribution I wish to give is using the laptop in an appropriate manner, not merely like the blonde girl in the next cubicle who gets squealing whenever she succeeds at minimizing her application. Well, she’s blonde and I am a brunette, and I too have had my share of blonde moments. Anyways, I recently started using a laptop bag for my laptop. It’s from HandStands and its working fine for me.

HandStands has Italian style laptop totes in brown and black crocodile textures. Don’t worry; PETA won’t be angry on you, HandStands laptop tote bags are not made from crocodile leather, it’s just the texture. It feels very much like a crocodile style laptop tote. It looks like a regular beach bag or everyday use computer bag, but is exceptionally made from Italian leather – one of the finest leather known to humans. Considering this I felt that they had misprinted the price of the Italian design laptop tote bag/ laptop case but it wasn’t, the bag is quite cheap considering the leather quality. Secondly, Italian leather in particular is very very VERY durable, and it will last for all seasons. I haven’t checked for the durability in rainy season, but I am sure it will see through that too.

HandStands Italian design laptop tote bag might not seem good enough in comparison to the laptop backpack teenagers carry these days, but trust me, if you have to gift it to someone or buy one for yourself, the thinkpad bag will be the ideal option.

Italian leather laptop bags will surely sustain the fast-paced lifestyle we business women have. You won’t have to use canvas tote bags, or tote bags for laptops that are meant only for securing the laptop. Little do people know that women like things which are durable and look good, all at a reasonable price! Reason why I insist on buying leather tote bags for notebook - the leather laptop tote in particular. You will love the style and you’ll love taking it everywhere you go.

Article Source: http://www.articlesbase.com/laptops-articles/italian-design-laptop-tote-bag-womens-laptop-bag-case-532296.html

Leo Abse

cb — Thu, 21 Aug 2008 05:55:25 +0000

We all have views that jump to mind when we speak of politicians - they are some of the least trusted of professions. It's easy to be cynical when power is on the table, so to speak.

So taking the lead from Aethelread's touching tribute, I think it is only right to remember Leo Abse, a politician and social reformer who died yesterday at the age of 91.

The Telegraph mentions in his obituary that

He was... a skilled parliamentarian, with no ambition for office, who used parliamentary question time, backbench motions and the private members’ bill procedure to great effect.

Image via Wikipedia

'with no ambition for office' - just dwell on that for a while as we consider the nature of politics today.

During his time as an MP he pushed through more Private Members' Bills in his 30 years in the House of Commons than any other parliamentarian.

He will be best remembered perhaps, for sponsoring the 1967 Sexual Offences Bill which decriminalised homosexuality in the UK (edit: Aethelread points out in the comments 'One minor point though - the 1967 Act only decriminalised homosexuality in England and Wales, not the UK as a whole. It wasn’t decriminalised in Scotland until 1981, and in Northern Ireland until 1983.' - sorry, Scotland and NI..)

He featured heavily in promoting the liberalisation of divorce laws and sponsored the 1975 Children's Act.

I can't recreate some of the obituaries that have been published today, for there are many to choose from. Tam Dalyell, himself a former MP from South Wales writes in The Independent

Policies, for Abse, cannot be disengaged from the policy-makers. The drives and psychological needs of the politicians invade and distort the panaceas they offer to the electorates. If more objective assessments are to be made of policies, assessments must be made of the men and women who expound them. Abse himself deserved to be remembered as one of the most significant social reformers of 20th-century Britain

Lots of words and lots of history. It's rare to see a politician so universally praised though.

I wonder if we will see a similar type of politician emerge again - one who is not a slave to the party line. We need more like him, I'd say.

'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!'

Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

La Russia e la crisi dell'ideologia democratica (1)

Zamax — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 21:28:42 +0000

He sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zam-Zammah on her brick platform opposite the old Ajaib-Gher - the Wonder House, as the natives call the Lahore Museum. Who hold Zam-Zammah, that "fire-breathing dragon", hold the Punjab; for the great green-bronze piece is always first of the conqueror's loot.

Se ne stava, a dispetto dei regolamenti municipali, a cavalcioni del cannone Zam-Zammah posto sulla sua piattaforma di mattoni di faccia all'antica Ajaib-Gher, la Casa delle Meraviglie, come gl'indigeni chiamano il Museo di Latore. Chi tenga Zam-zammah, il "drago dal fiato di fuoco", tiene il Punjab; perché quel gran pezzo di bronzo verde è sempre il primo bottino del conquistatore.

Questo è l'incipit di Kim, capolavoro di Rudyard Kipling, dal nome del ragazzino attraverso i cui occhi l'India magmatica e pittoresca, brulicante di colori e uomini, fiabesca e realistica insieme, si presentò al grande pubblico dei lettori all'inizio del secolo scorso. Il grand tour indiano partiva dunque da Lahore: ma cosa avrebbe mai pensato lo scrittore britannico se qualche santone gli avesse predetto che molto meno di un secolo dopo Lahore sarebbe stata una città di uno stato chiamato misteriosamente "Pakistan" ("il paese dei puri") e non dell'India ? Come avrebbe potuto supporre che il raj si sarebbe col tempo spezzettato in quattro unità, l'India attuale, il Pakistan, il Bangla Desh e lo Sri Lanka? Una risposta sta in parte, ma una parte importante, negli stessi occhi di Kim. Cresciuto come un animaletto nel ventre della società indostana, del sangue britannico - occidentale - ha però conservato l'istinto classificatore, ordinatore: i personaggi, le etnie, le caste si fanno avanti con nettezza di contorni, in una magnifica, colorata ed eppur viva cristallizzazione.

Il personaggio centrale, Kim, è un orfano che, al pari di un camaleonte, è in grado di assumere qualsiasi identità, ma che nel corso della vicenda si dimostra un vero britannico. Mentre è in viaggio sulla Grand Trunk Road, Kim dà corpo alla fantasia coloniale inglese dell'osservatore onnisciente, il solo in grado di conoscere tutti gli abitanti del paese. (Storia dell'India moderna, Barbara D. Metcalf, Thomas R. Metcalf)

I britannici, anche quei governanti liberali benintenzionati di stampo illuminista che nell'ottocento presero a cuore le sorti del continente indiano, non potevano rendersi conto che impiantare la civiltà occidentale e soprattutto qualcosa di simile alla democrazia, con la pervasività burocratica figlia del suo afflato universalistico, con la pesantezza delle infrastrutture amministrative di uno stato moderno, o peggio ancora nazionale, voleva dire irrigidire e codificare quelle differenze di casta, di religione, di lingua che proprio invece nell'informalità magmatica della società indiana potevano bene o male convivere. A meno di fare tabula rasa con la violenza annichilatrice dei giacobini, stabilire diritti e doveri significava identificare l'individuo, in base a etnia, religione, casta; significava creare delle lingue amministrative e ufficiali. Nel segno dell'influenza occidentale nacquero col tempo anche associazioni culturali, di stampo religioso/linguistico e poi politico che erano un segno di progresso ma che acuirono le divisioni. Al momento dell'indipendenza nel 1947 il paese si spaccò tra indù e musulmani, con una tragica scia di trasmigrazioni da una parte e dall'altra di milioni di persone: i musulmani fondarono i due Pakistan, quello occidentale di lingua ufficiale urdu, e quello orientale di lingua ufficiale bengali, poi indipendente col nome di Bangla Desh; gli induisti ebbero tutto il resto tranne l'isola di Ceylon, dal 1972 Sri Lanka, popolata in gran parte da singalesi di religione buddista. Il tentativo di imporre l'hindi come lingua unitaria dell'India è invece fallito, soprattutto per l'opposizione dei duecento e passa milioni di abitanti del sud-est che, benché induisti, parlano lingue dravidiche, cioè non indoeuropee. Anche la minoranza Tamil dello Sri Lanka è di lingua dravidica.

Tutto ciò mi è venuto in mente in questi giorni segnati dall'acutizzarsi delle tensioni russo-georgiane nel constatare il dispiegamento generalizzato, da entrambe le parti ma anche nel mondo mediatico e diplomatico, dell'armamentario retorico di frasi fatte di quella che si potrebbe chiamare l'ideologia democratica: integrità territoriale, sovranità, autodeterminazione dei popoli, intangibilità dei confini - cose che, nei fatti, sono spesso in contraddizione fra di loro - e poi, inevitabilmente, accuse reciproche di genocidio e di crimini contro l'umanità. Questi slogan non fanno altro che togliere alla diplomazia ogni potere contrattuale e a chiuderla in un vicolo cieco. Nel caso in questione, voglio dire, chi ha paura del bullismo putiniano e di una nuova politica di potenza della Russia - e la vuole smascherare - non può dire delle mezze verità che alla fine alimentano il vittimismo e il nazionalismo dei russi. Il rischio è quello di replicare su scala mondiale il pasticcio ex-jugoslavo e di fare della Russia un'enorme Serbia. Nei Balcani, dopo l'inevitabile e relativamente poco problematico riconoscimento di Croazia e Slovenia, vista l'omogeneità etnolinguistica dei due nuovi paesi, e dopo la sconfitta militare serba, una volta messe a tacere le armi, l'Occidente, per sbrogliarsi dai pasticci, scelse la scorciatoia di affrettati riconoscimenti internazionali, creando con la Bosnia-Erzegovina, il Montenegro, la Macedonia ed infine il Kosovo niente altro che quattro piccole e destabilizzanti Jugoslavie. Quando si parla di intangibilità dei confini, bisogna intendersi: se la cosa significa che semplicemente essi non possono essere modificati unilateralmente è un conto, se invece significa che ogni discussione sui confini ed ogni eventuale e concordata loro modifica è interdetta, allora si è fuori della realtà; e paradossalmente in questo feticismo territoriale il messianismo dell'ideologia democratica e il bullismo nazionalista si danno la mano.

Chi auspica allora una politica di fermezza nei confronti di una Russia neozarista - e io sono tra questi - deve contemperarla con la giustizia, e deve cercare almeno un po' di mettersi nei panni dei governanti e della gente russa. Se le preoccupazioni, il nervosismo e l'intransigenza dei baltici e dei polacchi sono comprensibili, visto che hanno sempre sentito sul collo il fiato del gigante russo, senza parlare dei periodi di occupazione, non si può tuttavia fare di ogni erba un fascio e considerare alla stessa stregua tutti i territori fuoriusciti dall'impero russo e sovietico. La Russia, ad esempio, non può rivendicare nulla nei confronti dei paesi baltici: le forti minoranze russe sono frutto di un peccato originale - i tentativi di russificazione del periodo sovietico - solo ad essa addebitabile.

Ma assai diverso è il caso dell'Ucraina. Non solo un 30 per cento dei circa cinquanta milioni degli abitanti - concentrato nell'est del paese - è russofono (la lingua russa era anche detta "grande russo" per distinguerla dal "piccolo russo", ossia la lingua ucraina); ma la stessa Rus' di Kiev costituì, più di mille anni fa, il nucleo iniziale dello stato russo: li si ebbero le prime espressioni di letteratura russa, lì prese forma, sotto l'influenza di Costantinopoli, la chiesa ortodossa russa. Ucraino era Gogol', e ucraina è l'ambientazione di parte delle sue opere. In occasione della recente morte di Solzhenitsyn qualcuno con sbrigativa ingenerosità - verso un uomo che la sua battaglia l'ha combattuta, eccome - ha accusato lo scrittore russo di non aver capito l'Occidente. E' vero, Solzhenitsyn era un rappresentante di quel tenace pensiero conservatore-reazionario slavofilo che guardava alla sua patria come una fonte salvifica di spiritualità per l'Occidente materialista, ma non lo era alla maniera volgare ed aggressiva dei nazionalisti imperialisti. Sognava la riunione di Russia, Bielorussia ed Ucraina ma non gl'importava niente dei paesi baltici, del Caucaso, o dei nuovi paesi dell'ex pancione turco-asiatico dell'Unione Sovietica. A distanza di più di 130 anni avrebbe potuto sottoscrivere, credo, le parole scritte da Dostoevskij in una lettera spedita nel 1873 al granduca Aleksandr Aleksandrovič, il futuro zar Alessandro III, insieme ad una copia del romanzo I Demoni:

[...] Penso che esso sia una diretta conseguenza dell'enorme frattura che si è prodotta fra tutta la nostra formazione intellettuale e le basi primitive e originali della vita russa. Perfino i più illuminati fra gli esponenti della nostra civiltà pseudo-europea sono da tempo convinti come sia assolutamente delittuoso, per noi russi, pensare alla nostra originalità. E la cosa è tanto più temibile in quanto essi hanno perfettamente ragione, poiché, dall'istante in cui, con orgoglio, ci siamo definiti europei, abbiamo rinunciato ad essere russi. Turbati e sbigottiti dalla distanza che ci separa dall'Europa, sul piano dello sviluppo intellettuale e scientifico, abbiamo dimenticato che, nell'intimo dell'animo russo e nelle sue aspirazioni, portiamo in noi, in quanto russi e sempre che la nostra civiltà possa rimanere originale, la facoltà di recare forse al mondo una nuova luce. Abbiamo dimenticato, nell'ebbrezza della nostra umiliazione, questa immutabile legge storica, e cioè che senza l'orgoglio del nostro significato mondiale, in quanto nazione, mai potremo essere una grande nazione né lasciare dopo di noi un sia pur lieve apporto originale al bene dell'umanità. Abbiamo dimenticato che tutte le grandi nazioni hanno manifestato le loro immense forze proprio perché erano così "orgogliose" di se stesse, e che hanno dato il loro contributo al mondo, che gli hanno recato ognuna non fosse altro che un raggio di luce, proprio perché sono rimaste fieramente, fermamente, e sempre "con orgoglio", se stesse. [...]

Dostoevskij aveva torto, perché non c'era arte, tecnica o scienza - tranne la pittura forse - che la Russia non avesse sviluppato, alla propria maniera, grazie al contatto con l'Europa, non solo da quando Pietro il Grande decise con metodi terribili da satrapo asiatico d'occidentalizzare il paese, ma fin da quando Ivan III chiamò a Mosca verso il 1500 architetti italiani a sovrintendere ai lavori per la costruzione delle cattedrali del Cremlino e per il rifacimento di torri e mura della cittadella fortificata sulla Moscova. Ma aveva anche sufficiente sensibilità per capire che la Russia era nel fondo un bestione delicato ed insicuro, e quindi spesso aggressivo, un colosso d'argilla bisognoso di camminare col proprio passo, e che invece il trauma di questo incontro con l'Europa stava portando al collasso; cosa che sfuggiva sia ai liberali salottieri, sia agli idealisti rivoluzionari, sideralmente lontani dal popolo tanto quanto i primi. Gli artisti che, a mio avviso e per quello che so, vissero con più equilibrio e con più acume questo dualismo all'interno della cultura russa furono nell'ottocento lo scrittore Ivan Turgenev, e nel novecento il compositore Igor Stravinskij, dalle cui "Cronache della mia vita" uscite negli anni trenta, traggo questo gustoso quadretto della temperie culturale pietroburghese della sua giovinezza:

Il solo ambiente in cui trovavo allora incoraggiamento alle mie ambizioni nascenti era la famiglia dello zio Jelatcitc, cognato di mia madre; lui e i suoi figli erano ferventi appassionati di musica, con una decisa tendenza a sostenere quella d'avanguardia o considerata tale all'epoca. Lo zio apparteneva a quella classe sociale, preponderante allora a Pietroburgo, costituita da proprietari terrieri molto ricchi, da funzionari più o meno alti, da magistrati, da avvocati e via dicendo. Tutto questo mondo si piccava di liberalismo, esaltava il progresso e si credeva tenuto a professare opinioni cosiddette avanzate sia in politica che in arte e in tutti gli altri campi della vita sociale. Da tutto questo si capisce quale fosse la mentalità dominante. Era lo spirito di fronda contro un governo "tirannico", l'ateismo d'obbligo, l'affermazione un po' ardita dei "diritti dell'uomo", il culto della scienza materialistica e, al tempo stesso, l'ammirazione per Tolstoj e per il suo dilettantismo cristianeggiante.

Uscita dai settant'anni della glaciazione comunista, la Russia che ha riannodato i legami sempre intrisi di un sentimento di odio-amore con l'Europa e l'Occidente, è ancor oggi un enorme territorio relativamente spopolato. Coi suoi 17 milioni circa di kmq e i suoi circa 150 milioni di abitanti, la Russia è un paese grande il doppio della Cina e con 1/9 appena della sua popolazione; è un paese grande il doppio degli Stati Uniti e con metà della sua popolazione; grande il doppio del Brasile e con ¾ della sua popolazione; grande più di cinque volte l'India e con 1/7 della sua popolazione; grande quasi 50 volte il Giappone ma con una popolazione di poco superiore; grande 120 volte il formicaio del Bangla Desh e con la stessa popolazione! Malgrado le immense risorse naturali, e stante la sua relativa arretratezza economica, non è un paese che si possa permettere di giocare in solitario la partita geostrategica mondiale. Di fronte alle incognite della crescita asiatica, considerando l'impressionante base demografica dalla quale procede, il destino migliore della Russia è quello di farsi cooptare, al pari dell'Europa, nella pax americana. Ma per farlo ha bisogno di tempo e di salvare le apparenze e l'orgoglio nazionale. Sta all'Occidente tenerla a bada, avere pazienza e duttilità, con fermezza ma senza isterismi, e non cacciarsi in inutili avventurismi.

Reading at Whim

Atherton Kevin — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 21:10:25 +0000

Some American poet (Google him yourself; I'm too lazy.) is famous for exhorting his public to "Read at whim! Read at whim!" Well, I like advice which I already follow anyways, so that's what I've been doing.

Hearing snippets from O'Bama's "citizen of the world" speech in das Vaterland, I was reminded of Heinlein's old juvenile yarn Citizen of the Galaxy. That book, Wiki taught me, had been inspired in part by Rudyard Kipling's novel, Kim (published the year of Heinlein's birth: 1907). Okay, good enough; I had the novel in ebook form on my PDA, so I dove in. Sadly, the ebook had so many annoying OCR errors (Does nobody edit anything anymore?) that I went in search of a nice printed version at the annual AAUW used book sale, a real madhouse of bargain hunters held each August in this my city.

No luck so far as snagging a Kim was concerned, and I didn't find Citizen of the Galaxy either, but look at the nifty, beat-up copy of another Heinlein juvvy I found: Time For the Stars. It wasn't quite this beat-up when I purchased it. Poor little paperback! You survived how long: four decades; five? And who knows how many owners? But when you fell into my hands it was curtains for you. You didn't ask to come with me while I did yardwork and handyman jobs. No, but I insisted you ride in my pocket. Now look at you: tatters. You've lain on your last Used Book table. The Relativity Time Dilation that forms the core of the Heinlein story (Telepathic twins are used to maintain Earth/Starship communication at near-lightspeed, so the Earthside one grows older, while, etc. etc.) has caught up with you. Into the bin you go, aged youth. Maybe you'll be reincarnated as a Starbuck's Coffee Sleeve.

Conservative revolution, radical revolution: there's a difference

liturgical — Wed, 13 Aug 2008 03:44:00 +0000

There is a difference between a conservative revolution and a radical revolution.

A conservative revolution seeks to preserve and reinvigorate good old things.

A radical revolution can seek to tear down institutions and established ways; but, sometimes a radical revolution merely wants to pursue a new vision of Utopia. The former version of radical revolution is anarchic; the latter is misguided.

CONSERVATIVE REVOLUTION: THE REFORMATION

"Our evidence shows that Reformers considered the patristic tradition as second only to biblical authority, and used it as a critical source in vindication of their views. The Tradition of the church was not the same as the traditions which they opposed; in fact the former helped to expose the nature of the latter,” Daniel H. Williams wrote in Retrieving the Tradition and Renewing Evangelicalism: A Primer for Suspicious Protestants. (That is why it has been difficult to hear some speak of recent "revivals" as similar events to the Reformation.)

RADICAL REVOLUTION: RECENT NOTIONS OF 'PROGRESS'

In the old days, I was once told, school children had copybooks, and across the tops of these pages were written wise, time-tested sayings. As G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis often noted in their times, old points of view frequently were mocked and belittled as things of the past, yet the mocking and the belittling had more to do with fashionable thinking than serious thinking.

If you'll forgive Rudyard Kipling much of who he was, and if you'll endure his old style of poetry, you will find a brilliant expression of radical revolution (in conflict with wise old ways) in his poem "The Gods of the Copybook Headings."