:: Eversong ::

:: Friday, January 31, 2003 ::

Uses and Disadvantages for History in Life

"A historical phenomenon, known clearly and completely and resolved into a phenomenon of knowledge, is, for him who has perceived it, dead: for he has recognised in it the delusion, the injustice, the blind passion, and in general the whole earthly and darkening horizon of this phenomenon, and has thereby also understood its power in history.

This power has now lost its hold over him insofar as he is a man of knowledge; but perhaps it has not done so insofar as he is a man involved in life."

- Nietzsche


:: Plod 4:18 PM [+] ::
...

The Humble Minstrel Sits Alone (Chris Turner)

The Humble Minstrel sits alone this icy night,
His quill in hand,
His paper illuminated by dim candlelight.

His words tumble like a literary cascade,
His escape - his dreams,
For how much longer can he keep up this charade?

When people see him they clap and smile,
Always friends,
But they do not see the hurt all the while.

This projected mask of happiness,
A thin veneer,
Conceals an empty loneliness.

"Oh come Minstrel, let us hear you play!
Your words your songs!
Play for us, Minstrel, bring light to the day!"

But they do not see his torment,
Only smiles,
They do not hear his lifelong lament.

The Humble Minstrel sits alone this icy night,
His fading joy,
His essence bathing in solitary moonlight.

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Inspiration for this poem came from an image that came to me in my mind while sitting alone in my room. Rather strange, it featured a medieval jester sitting alone at a writing desk in an empty, darkened room, with nothing but a fading candle and a shaft of moonlight for company. The jester laments because he is alone, yet everybody sees him as happy and joyous, for he is the vehicle to take away their own misery. He is dehumanised in the eyes of others, little more than a functionary. The tragedy of the jester/minstrel is that nobody notices his feelings, because he spends all his time making them feel better. The poem is intended to be slightly allegorical.
:: Plod 4:30 PM [+] ::
...

Why Today? (Chris Turner)

Why does my heart ache with a sorrowful groan,
When yesterday it was warm and tender?
Why am I confined to a prison of hurt,
When yesterday all was happy and free?

I have escaped from one torment,
Only to find another, more painful - more cruel.
Faith and Kindness have been wicked mistresses,
And honesty has deceived one who upholds it.

Why today is all so weary,
When yesterday I was alive and sprightly?
Why today does fear hold me in its icy grip,
When yesterday I held your gentle hand?
:: Plod 4:13 PM [+] ::
...