April 13, 2020

Sonnet 73.

Posted by Ann Althouse at 9:35 AM
Tags: , , ,

15 comments:

Temujin said...

I saw that Sir Stirling Moss died yesterday. I was thinking that a number of people- formerly famous people- have passed on during these last few corona weeks, and not from the virus, but from old age and the accompanying breakdowns of the body and mind. I was thinking that most people reading about Stirling Moss would have no idea who he was, and that he was known world-wide for years. Not everybody knew what he did, but the name, Stirling Moss was recognizable world-wide. (he had a Q-rating before there was Q-ratings.)

Growing up in Detroit I was car focused like the rest of the metro area. We grew up knowing all the cars, the races, and the racers. Even though Detroit was not so much a Formula 1 town in the 60s, we followed the racers and knew of Stirling Moss. He was one of the Bigs in a very global, luxury sport.

4/13/20, 9:52 AM
Maillard Reactionary said...

"...To love that well which thou must leave ere long."

Very appropriate. And something to keep in mind every day.

4/13/20, 10:04 AM
Sebastian said...

"not from the virus, but from old age and the accompanying breakdowns of the body and mind"

Of course, most "causes of death" really refer to "from old age" etc. It was so before the virus, it will be so in attributing deaths to the virus.


4/13/20, 10:14 AM
Wince said...

Moss unashamedly loved what he did, yet all the time he was fully aware of just how dangerous the day job was. His remarkable success should be measured against his very real awareness of the risks involved in achieving it.

Despite the dangers of Formula One racing, a rolling Moss gathered no grave stone.

4/13/20, 10:29 AM
Mr. O. Possum said...

Stewart's recitation of Sonnet 29 is wonderful.

4/13/20, 10:35 AM
Yancey Ward said...

One of the Shakespeare Sonnets I had memorized at one point in my life.

4/13/20, 10:56 AM
Richard Dolan said...

Nice. Since poetry is in the air (going around faster than the virus!), perhaps some of you have seen the "Poem Exchange" email going around. I got it last week, and though I usually ignore such things, decided to participate this time. Here's how it begins:

Dear Friends--

We’re starting a collective, constructive, and hopefully uplifting exchange. It's a one-time thing and we hope you will participate. We have picked those we think would be willing and make it fun.

Please send a poem to the person whose name is in position 1 below (even if you don't know them), with the email subject Poem Exchange. It should be a favorite text/verse/meditation that has affected you in difficult times. Or not. Don't agonize over it. If you'd like to send a poem in your own language and provide a translation, please do so! ....

The poem I chose to respond with was Spelt from Sybil's Leaves (GM Hopkins, 1886), which I've liked since high school. My wife chose this one, which is both funny and all too accurate for those of a certain age:

Forgetfulness
Billy Collins - 1941-

The name of the author is the first to go
followed obediently by the title, the plot,
the heartbreaking conclusion, the entire novel
which suddenly becomes one you have never read,
never even heard of,
as if, one by one, the memories you used to harbor
decided to retire to the southern hemisphere of the brain,
to a little fishing village where there are no phones.
Long ago you kissed the names of the nine Muses goodbye
and watched the quadratic equation pack its bag,
and even now as you memorize the order of the planets,
something else is slipping away, a state flower perhaps,
the address of an uncle, the capital of Paraguay.
Whatever it is you are struggling to remember
it is not poised on the tip of your tongue,
not even lurking in some obscure corner of your spleen.
It has floated away down a dark mythological river
whose name begins with an L as far as you can recall,
well on your own way to oblivion where you will join those
who have even forgotten how to swim and how to ride a bicycle.
No wonder you rise in the middle of the night
to look up the date of a famous battle in a book on war.
No wonder the moon in the window seems to have drifted
out of a love poem that you used to know by heart.

4/13/20, 11:39 AM
Narr said...

Beauty.

Keillor was a good poetry reader too, and used to feature people like Collins IIRC.

I've always liked S's poetry more than the plays.

Narr
Sir Pat don't look so good hisself

4/13/20, 11:53 AM
traditionalguy said...

Great writing there. Who was the author? I want to read the rest of his work.

4/13/20, 12:00 PM
Yancey Ward said...

We don't know who the author really was- she was probably not English, but brought there against her will by some rich Earl or Duke.

4/13/20, 12:21 PM
DavidUW said...

So called English majors should be angry they are not required to read Shakespeare. Their lives would be more greatly enriched.

Or they could just go to the library for once.

4/13/20, 12:23 PM
Richard Dolan said...

Trad,
If you were asking me, it's Billy Collins, former Poet Laureate of the US. But he's a NYC-er so beware. Easy to find him and his poetry on google.

4/13/20, 12:27 PM
traditionalguy said...

Time to re-visit Stratford on the Avon in Ontario. Exchange rate is better than last year. And non stops to Toronto are cheap as dirt.

4/13/20, 1:12 PM
Maillard Reactionary said...

DavidUW said: "So called English majors should be angry they are not required to read Shakespeare. Their lives would be more greatly enriched."

Very true. As should History majors who have not read Thucydides, Economics majors who have not read Milton Friedman, Political Science majors who have not read Robert Conquest or Roger Scruton, and any citizen who never had to memorize the Preamble to the Constitution.

Once you can read, no excuses to not do so.

4/13/20, 2:26 PM
rcocean said...

Good Reading. But Gielgud is better.

4/13/20, 7:09 PM

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