Shamus

Excerpt from Meditations by Marcus Aurelius.From Apollonius: moral freedom, the certainty to ignore the dice of fortune, and have no other perspective, even for a moment, than that of reason alone; to be always the same man, unchanged in sudden pain, in the loss of a child, in lingering sickness; to see clearly in his living example that a man can combine intensity and relaxation; not to be impatient in explanation; the observance of a man who clearly regarded as the least of his gifts his experience and skill in communicating his philosophical insights;

Excerpt from Reason by Isaac Asimov."Look at you," he said finally. "I say this in no spirit of contempt, but look at you! The material you are made of is soft and flabby, lacking endurance and strength, depending for energy upon the inefficient oxidation of organic material - like that." He pointed a disapproving finger at what remained of Donovan's sandwich. "Periodically you pass into a coma and the least variation in temperature, air pressure, humidity, or radiation intensity impairs your efficiency. You are makeshift."I, on the other hand, am a finished product. I absorb electrical energy directly and utilize it with an almost one hundred percent efficiency. I am composed of strong metal, am continuously conscious, and can stand extremes of environment easily. These are facts which, with the self-evident proposition that no being can create another being superior to itself, smashes your silly hypothesis to nothing."

Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley.The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean,The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion;Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divineIn one spirit meet and mingle. Why not I with thine?—See the mountains kiss high heaven And the waves clasp one another;No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother;And the sunlight clasps the earth And the moonbeams kiss the sea:What is all this sweet work worth If thou kiss not me?

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.66. Prelate GyosonMountain Cherry,let us console each other.Of all those I knowno one understands methe way your blossoms do.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.99. Retired Emperor GotobaThough it is futile to ponderthe ways of the world,I am lost in desolate musing –I have loved some and hated others,even hated the ones I love.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.72. Lady KiiI stay well awayfrom the famed Takashi shore,where the waves, like you, are treacherous.I know if I get too close to either,my sleeves will end up wet.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.53. Mother of MichitsunaSomeone like youmay never knowhow long a night can be,spent pining for a loved onetill it breaks at dawn.

Excerpt from Kusamakura by Natsume Soseki.Small, low voice though it is, a thin thread of sound is pulsing faintly in the sleepy spring night. Strangely, it’s not only the melody that comes to me; when I concentrate, I can also make out the song’s words, though catching them from such distant singing would seem impossible. They are repeating over and over the song of the Nagara maiden:As the autumn’s dewthat lies a moment on the tipsof the seeding grass,so do I know that I too mustfade and be gone from this brief world.At first the voice sounds quite close to the balcony, but it grows gradually fainter and more distant. When a thing finishes abruptly, you register the abruptness of its ending, and the loss is not deeply moving to you. A voice that breaks off decisively will produce a decisive feeling of completion in the listener. But when a phenomenon fades naturally away toward nothing with no real pause or break, the listening heart shrinks with each dwindling minute and each waning second to a thinner forlornness. Like the beloved dying husband who yet does not die, the guttering flame that still flickers on, this song racks my heart with anticipation of its end and holds within its melody all the bitter sorrows of the world’s transient springs.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.57. Murasaki ShikibuJust like the moon,you had come and gonebefore I knew it.Were you, too, hidingamong the midnight clouds?

The Aim by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts.O THOU who lovest not aloneThe swift success, the instant goal,But hast a lenient eye to markThe failures of th’ inconstant soul,Consider not my little worth,—The mean achievement, scamped in act,The high resolve and low result,The dream that durst not face the fact.But count the reach of my desire.Let this be something in Thy sight:—I have not, in the slothful dark,Forgot the Vision and the Height.Neither my body nor my soulTo earth’s low ease will yield consent.I praise Thee for my will to strive.I bless Thy goad of discontent.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.47. Priest EgyōHow lonely this villahas become, overgrownwith vines and weeds.No one visits me –only autumn comes.

Maiden Name by Philip Larkin.Marrying left your maiden name disused.Its five light sounds no longer mean your face,Your voice, and all your variants of grace;For since you were so thankfully confusedBy law with someone else, you cannot beSemantically the same as that young beauty:It was of her that these two words were used.Now it’s a phrase applicable to no one,Lying just where you left it, scattered throughOld lists, old programmes, a school prize or two,Packets of letters tied with tartan ribbon –Then is it scentless, weightless, strengthless, whollyUntruthful? Try whispering it slowly.No, it means you. Or, since you’re past and gone,It means what we feel now about you then:How beautiful you were, and near, and young,So vivid, you might still be there amongThose first few days, unfingermarked again.So your old name shelters our faithfulness,Instead of losing shape and meaning lessWith your depreciating luggage laden.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.77. Retired Emperor SutokuLike water rushing downthe river rapids,we may be partedby a rock, but in the endwe will be one again.

Excerpt from The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch by Philip K. D.Palmer… it’s all the same, it’s all him, the creator. That’s who and what he is, he realized. The owner of these worlds. The rest of us just inhabit them and when he wants to he can inhabit them, too. Can kick over the scenery, manifest himself, push things in any direction he chooses. Even be any of us he cares to. All of us, in fact, if he desires. Eternal, outside of time and spliced-together segments of all other dimensions… he can even enter a world in which he’s dead.

Excerpt from The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch by Philip K.D.“Oh no,” she said, still smiling; her eyes poured over with light, that of compassion. She understood how he felt, that this was not an impulse only. But the answer was still no, and, he knew, it would always be; her mind was not even made up–there was, to her, simply no reality to which he was referring. He thought, I cut her down, once, cut her off, lopped her, with thorough knowledge of what I was doing, and this is the result; I am seeing the bread as they say which was cast on the water drifting back to choke me, water-soaked bread that will lodge in my throat, never to be swallowed or disgorged, either one. It’s precisely what I deserve, he said to himself; I made this situation.Returning to the kitchen table he numbly seated himself, sat as she filled his cup; he stared at her hands. Once these were my wife’s, he said to himself. And I gave it up. Self-destruction; I wanted to see myself die. That’s the only possible satisfactory explanation.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.34. Fujiwara no OkikazeOf those I loved, none are left.Only the aged pineof Takasagohas my years, but, alas,he is not an old friend of mine.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.41. Mibu no TadamiI had hoped to keep secretfeelings that had begun to stirwithin my heart,but already rumours are rifethat I am in love with you.

A poem from One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each (Hyakunin isshu, 百人一首) by Fujiwara no Teika.Translated by Peter MacMillan.63. Fujiwara no MichimasaRather than hearing it from others,somehow I want to find a wayto tell you myself,just one thing –‘Now I must give you up!’

After Years by Ted Kooser.Today, from a distance, I saw youwalking away, and without a soundthe glittering face of a glacierslid into the sea. An ancient oakfell in the Cumberlands, holding onlya handful of leaves, and an old womanscattering corn to her chickens looked upfor an instant. At the other sideof the galaxy, a star thirty-five timesthe size of our own sun explodedand vanished, leaving a small green spoton the astronomer's retinaas he stood on the great open domeof my heart with no one to tell.

Fortune Teller by Li Zhiyi.I live at the head of the Yangtze River,You live at it's mouthI think of you constantly but never see youThough we drink the same Yangtze RiverWhen will this river rest?When will my pain end?If your feelings are just the same as mine,We'll never stop longing for each other.