Memorial Day in the Poetry Corner

How did I miss this one when I did the week-long cycle of American war poetry a few years back?  Well, better late than never.  Thanks to all the veterans who have answered the call.  Read the rest of this entry »

Mother’s Day in the Poetry Corner (Reposted)

I posted this two years ago, but I can’t resist reposting it.  Happy Mother’s Day all around. Read the rest of this entry »

Good Friday in the Poetry Corner

Last year, we went to the Poetry Corner for Palm Sunday.  This year, our visit falls on Good Friday. Read the rest of this entry »

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Fear the Boom and Bust

À propos of the upcoming vote on whether to confirm Ben Bernanke for another term as Chairman of the Federal Reserve, I pass along the following video.  Proving once again the capacious bounds of human imagination, it presents some of the basic differences between Keynesian and Austrian economic perspectives by casting Keynes and Hayek as . . . well, you’d better just watch it yourself.  (Bernanke and Geithner make an appearance (in character at least) at 4:28.)

One of the creators, Russ Roberts of George Mason University, has a weekly podcast called Econtalk that’s terrific.

Leisure, by William Henry Davies

I’ve been too busy to write much here lately, which is perhaps why this appeals so much.  If you’ve been busy too, sit for a moment in the Poetry Corner.

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

May you all have ample time to stand and stare.

Palm Sunday in the Poetry Corner

The Donkey

by G.K. Chesterton

When fishes flew and forests walked,
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood,
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry,
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
Of all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient, crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

Measure, Volume III, Issue 2

Last May, I passed along the good news that Measure, A Review of Formal Poetry, would be expanding to two issues per year.  I know I sold at least one subscription with that news, so I’m happy to report that the second half of Volume III arrived this week and it’s as delightful as ever.  Some of the poems are built on classical allusions, some meditate on events as recent as Katrina, and some are almost entirely whimsical (though no less artful for that).

But on the eve of the Big East Tournament for men’s basketball — and a post-season that I fear will leave Hoya fans disappointed — it’s this poignant reflection on fame and fate by Michael Cantor that strikes me as the best sample to give RM readers.  Read the rest of this entry »