The good editors at Social Matter note that Hopkins is underrated and prolific. But not all are sonnets, and not all appeal to my ears. This does. To R. B. Tbe fine delight that fathers thought; the strong Spur, live and lancing like the blowpipe flame, Breathes once and, quenchèd faster than it came, Leaves […]Read More → Sunday Sonnet
Sydney considered those who did not see the stars as causing issues on this world as fools, for great causes great effects procure/and know those bodies high reign on the low. Sydney may be wiser than the modern man, for he considers that there are causes, and reasons, and that we are driven by things […]Read More → Saturday Sonnet
NZ has just been tested by two Canadian Libertarians, and in my view, we have failed. Then there’s Newshub’s Patrick Gower. Perhaps I should have started with him. Gower interviewed Southern and Molyneux (it wasn’t screened, but you can see it online) and afterwards told newsreaders Samantha Hayes and Mike McRoberts that it was one […]Read More → Canadian Kipple
I don’t have a great time for the Victorian Poets, which is a gap I am trying to correct. Kipling is obvious: but there are those such as Hopkins who are equally unfashionable because of his faith. And could write. God’s Grandeur The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, […]Read More → Sunday Sonnet.
Again, a conceit. Stella is the avatar of virtue. If you do not know what virtue is, look at beauty. Which is a lie: there are many beautiful women and men who are evil. The image is deceptive. But true beauty lasts longer than youth, and that comes from within. XXV The wisest scholler of […]Read More → Saturday Sonnet.
The number of sonnet sequences appropriate for Sunday are few. There is Donne, Baxter and Locke: many religious poems are not in this form. But after Newman last week, a lament at his death by one of the best Victorian poetesses: I prefer Rossetti to Dickinson. Cardinal Newman “In the grave, whither thou goest.” O […]Read More → Sunday Sonnet
We have a deck to stain and little good weather to do it. We worked until sunset, hence this is up late. Earlier in the day I had seen a photographer taking yet another photo of the Dunedin Railway station, while golden light illumined the statue of justice on the gothic law courts behind him. […]Read More → Saturday Sonnet.
I have been using two of the great poets of the English language, Protestant variety: Donne and Locke. I have used Belloc, whose sonnet sequences was weaker. And last week I surprised some by quoting Oscar Wilde: he may have been decadent, but he came from a line of Irish faithful. This is his contemporary […]Read More → Sunday Sonnet
A young man in love is useless. An old man, in marriage to his beloved, knows that the contemplation of her eyes and attending his gaze on her is not being useless, but of great value. It is far better to preserve the family than seek great ambition. Our Kings and Rulers will sacrifice our […]Read More → Saturday Sonnet.
Since the offspring of the British Empire have chosen to disavow the best poet of that empire, and it is Friday, and I am of this profession, a very short poem. Doctors 1923 Man dies too soon, beside his works half-planned. His days are counted and reprieve is vain: Who shall entreat with Death to […]Read More → Short Kipple.