My first post on our little blog, so bear with me. I'd like to start by saying I miss you all! I apologize for not making it to the last few meetings; my plans are continually thwarted by illness, lack of sleep, and other matters which refuse to be ignored. I figure the next best thing is to have stimulating conversation within the confines of this page, in keeping with the last few posts.
That being said, I'd like to share 2 of my favorite poems. The first is very well known: "Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley.
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I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
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The 2nd was published a month later by Shelley's pal Horace Smith, with the catchy title "On A Stupendous Leg of Granite, Discovered Standing by Itself in the Deserts of Egypt, with the Inscription Inserted Below."
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In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desert knows:
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
The wonders of my hand." The City's gone,
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.
We wonder, and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
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While reading these, we are reminded of the futility of the world. James puts it similarly James 1:10.... "But the one who is rich should take pride in his low position, because he will pass away like a wild flower. For the sun rises with scorching heat and withers the plant; its blossom falls and its beauty is destroyed. In the same way, the rich man will fade away even while he goes about his business."
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On the other hand, we do have a legacy of relationships. Those are really the only things that last. Let those not be found "in decay", or as a "colossal wreck, boundless and bare". Rather, let us bear with one another in love, and build up that which lasts. Hope to see you all soon.
Good to hear from you John. I love the Shelley poem. Is it true that the poets wrote these poems as a competition?
ReplyDeleteYup, both wrote in to a magazine as part of a friendly competition. The Shelley poem was published first, then the Smith poem in the next issue. Both uses fake names. Apparently sonnet-writing competitions were all the rage back then.
ReplyDeleteEchoes of shared sentiment: good to see your words John, and the wisdom that always seems to tag along. It carries me a little hearing you wax eloquent on Scripture, and of course it's truth: in a little while we won't be here, but our love will.
ReplyDeleteI've been pretending to be busy and haven't checked this page in a while, so sorry if all this is past-fact irrelevant. But Mon. in my poetry class, these very two poems went under our autopsy, Shelley being held out as the clear winner and genius without peer, as if that vanity isn't also boundless and bare.
Thanks for your love,
Hope some returns.