| Joseph Littleshoes |
Bob Terwilliger wrote:
> Bob Terwilliger was obviously drunk when he posted:
>
> >> ----------------------
> >> Liber XV sec. VII.
> >> ----------------------
> >>
> >> The Anthem
> >> --------------
> <snip>
> >> Aleister Crowley
> >> Gnostic Mass.
> >> The Office of the Anthem.
> >> Liber ABA.
>
> I've always liked this better:
Would you care to compare and discuss it? Stanza for stanza?
You have made an obvious statement i have just not made up my mind yet
precisely what it is.
As an invitation to discuss the relative merits of the poetry quoted i
could get a bit enthusiastic about but other wise, no. I mangled the
"One Star In Sight" sadly i could not find my text.
And i have not yet even posted the Hymn to Pan
---
J (IO PAN IO PAN) L
> The Hollow Men
>
> I
>
> We are the hollow men
> We are the stuffed men
> Leaning together
> Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
> Our dried voices, when
> We whisper together
> Are quiet and meaningless
> As wind in dry grass
> Or rats' feet over broken glass
> In our dry cellar
>
> Shape without form, shade without colour,
> Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
>
> Those who have crossed
> With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
> Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
> Violent souls, but only
> As the hollow men
> The stuffed men.
>
> II
>
> Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
> In death's dream kingdom
> These do not appear:
> There, the eyes are
> Sunlight on a broken column
> There, is a tree swinging
> And voices are
> In the wind's singing
> More distant and more solemn
> Than a fading star.
>
> Let me be no nearer
> In death's dream kingdom
> Let me also wear
> Such deliberate disguises
> Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
> In a field
> Behaving as the wind behaves
> No nearer --
>
> Not that final meeting
> In the twilight kingdom
>
> III
>
> This is the dead land
> This is cactus land
> Here the stone images
> Are raised, here they receive
> The supplication of a dead man's hand
> Under the twinkle of a fading star.
>
> Is it like this
> In death's other kingdom
> Waking alone
> At the hour when we are
> Trembling with tenderness
> Lips that would kiss
> Form prayers to broken stone.
>
> IV
>
> The eyes are not here
> There are no eyes here
> In this valley of dying stars
> In this hollow valley
> This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
>
> In this last of meeting places
> We grope together
> And avoid speech
> Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
>
> Sightless, unless
> The eyes reappear
> As the perpetual star
> Multifoliate rose
> Of death's twilight kingdom
> The hope only
> Of empty men.
>
> V
>
> Here we go round the prickly pear
> Prickly pear prickly pear
> Here we go round the prickly pear
> At five o'clock in the morning.
>
> Between the idea
> And the reality
> Between the motion
> And the act
> Falls the Shadow
>
> For Thine is the Kingdom
>
> Between the conception
> And the creation
> Between the emotion
> And the response
> Falls the Shadow
>
> Life is very long
>
> Between the desire
> And the spasm
> Between the potency
> And the existence
> Between the essence
> And the descent
> Falls the Shadow
> For Thine is the Kingdom
>
> For Thine is
> Life is
> For Thine is the
>
> This is the way the world ends
> This is the way the world ends
> This is the way the world ends
> Not with a bang but a whimper.
>
> ---T. S. Eliot (1925)
|
|
|
| Bob Terwilliger |
Joseph waxed evermore:
> One Star In Sight--------------------
>
> Thy feet in mire thy head in murk, oh man how piteous thy plight, the
> doubts that daunt the ills that irk, thou hast not wit nor will to
> fight.
>
> How hope in heart or worth in work. No Star in sight.
>
> Thy "Gods" prooved puppets of the priests.
>
> "TRUTH" all's relation science sighed! In bondage with thy brother
> beast love tortured thee as loves hope died and loves faith rotted, life
> no lest dim star descried
>
> Thy cringing carrion cowered and crawled to find a chance cast clod
> whose pain was purposeless, appalled it trod its vain agony across the
> void sky.
>
> All souls eternally exist. Each individual, ultimate, each makes itself
> a mist of mind and flesh to celebrate some tender tryst.
>
> Some drunkards doting on the dream despair that it should die, mistake
> themselves for their own shadow scheme, one star can summon them to
> wake!
>
> Star soles serene that gleam on life's calm lake
>
> :)
ObFood: What sauce best accompanies crab-dill ravioli? Beurre blanc? Velouté
sauce? Marguery sauce?
I
Our eunuch dreams, all seedless in the light,
Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
Whack their boys' limbs,
And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
Fold in their arms.
The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
II
In this our age the gunman and his moll
Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
Strange to our solid eye,
And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
down in the yard of day.
They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill
Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
III
Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
Raise up this red-eyed earth?
Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
Or drive the night-geared forth.
The photograph is married to the eye,
Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith
That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
IV
This is the world; the lying likeness of
Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
Loving and being loth;
The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
This is the world. Have faith.
For we shall be a shouter like the cock,
Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
The image from the plates;
And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
And who remains shall flower as they love,
Praise to our faring hearts.
---Dylan Thomas - Our Eunuch Dreams
|
|
|
| Bob Terwilliger |
Joseph wrote:
> Would you care to compare and discuss it? Stanza for stanza?
Not in this NG, thanks.
> And i have not yet even posted the Hymn to Pan
> ---
> J (IO PAN IO PAN) L
Heh...reminds me of "Iä! Iä! Yog-Sothoth!" (though "Hymn to Pan" is one of
my favorite songs by Rhea's Obsession.)
ObFood: Pan Bagnat
Make a vinaigrette: Combine red wine vinegar, tarragon, basil, and oregano
in a jar. Add olive oil, close jar, and shake well.
Cut a good-quality loaf of artisanal bread in half horizontally. Scoop out
the insides. Into the hollow thus created, drizzle some of the vinaigrette.
Slice some tomatoes and put them into the hollow. Sprinkle with salt and
pepper. Add some sliced marinated artichoke hearts and sliced mozzarella
cheese. Drizzle with more vinaigrette. Add some good-quality pitted olives
and chopped scallions. (You can add roasted peppers too.) Top with lettuce.
Drizzle the underside of the top of the loaf with the vinaigrette and then
put the top back onto the loaf. Press the loaf for at least half an hour
for the flavors to mingle. Slice and serve.
(Some people like to add anchovies or tuna, but I like the fish-free version
better.)
Bob
|
|
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| Melba's Jammin' |
In article <43537b58$0$9192$bb4e3ad8@newscene.com>,
"Bob Terwilliger" <virtualgoth@die_spammer.biz> wrote:
(snip)
>
> ObFood: Pan Bagnat
(snip)
> Bob
First time (and only, I think) I had pan bagnat in Phoenix about 25
years ago, I loved it. Never made it.
Indian Summer
In youth it was the way I had
To do my best to please
To change with every passing lad
To suit his theories
But now I know the things I do
And do the things I do
And if you do not like me so
To hell, my love, with you.
-Dorothy Parker
--
http://www.jamlady.eboard.com
|
|
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| Bob Terwilliger |
Barb wrote:
> First time (and only, I think) I had pan bagnat in Phoenix about 25
> years ago, I loved it. Never made it.
It's my idea of perfect picnic food; it actually gets BETTER when it sits
for a while.
> Indian Summer
>
> In youth it was the way I had
> To do my best to please
> To change with every passing lad
> To suit his theories
>
> But now I know the things I do
> And do the things I do
> And if you do not like me so
> To hell, my love, with you.
>
> -Dorothy Parker
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing
than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
---e. e. cummings
Bob
|
|
|
| Dee Randall |
"Bob Terwilliger" <virtualgoth@die_spammer.biz> wrote in message
news:4353a454$0$9155$bb4e3ad8@newscene.com...
> Barb wrote:
>
>> First time (and only, I think) I had pan bagnat in Phoenix about 25
>> years ago, I loved it. Never made it.
>
> It's my idea of perfect picnic food; it actually gets BETTER when it sits
> for a while.
>
>
>> Indian Summer
>>
>> In youth it was the way I had
>> To do my best to please
>> To change with every passing lad
>> To suit his theories
>>
>> But now I know the things I do
>> And do the things I do
>> And if you do not like me so
>> To hell, my love, with you.
>>
>> -Dorothy Parker
>
>
> I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
> than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
> ---e. e. cummings
>
> Bob
>
I thought this was
> I'd rather learn from one bird how to sing
> than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
> ---fossi....
|
|
|
| Felice Friese |
Barb contributed this gem to the current poetry thread:
> Indian Summer
>
> In youth it was the way I had
> To do my best to please
> To change with every passing lad
> To suit his theories
>
> But now I know the things I do
> And do the things I do
> And if you do not like me so
> To hell, my love, with you.
>
> -Dorothy Parker
Barb wins!
Felice
|
|
|
| Dee Randall |
"Felice Friese" <friese@comcast.net> wrote in message
news:zdmdnSwk-7cQf87eRVn-rA@comcast.com...
>
> Barb contributed this gem to the current poetry thread:
>
>> Indian Summer
>>
>> In youth it was the way I had
>> To do my best to please
>> To change with every passing lad
>> To suit his theories
>>
>> But now I know the things I do
>> And do the things I do
>> And if you do not like me so
>> To hell, my love, with you.
>>
>> -Dorothy Parker
>
I sent this poem to DH this a.m. and watched him LOL when he read it. He
knows first-hand of what she speaks.
Thanks again for this poem. It lightened the load.
Dee Dee
|
|
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| Joseph Littleshoes |
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Bob Terwilliger wrote:
> >
> > Star soles serene that gleam on life's calm lake
> >
> > :)
>
> ObFood: What sauce best accompanies crab-dill ravioli? Beurre blanc?
> Velouté
> sauce? Marguery sauce?
I often make a stuffed pasta with a ground seafood filling. Most often i
will do stuffed shells rather than go to the trouble of making &
assembling my own ravioli but i like a thin subtle sauce with them
rather than a thick highly flavoured sauce.
Browned butter with a bit of garlic and herbs, a white wine, butter and
garlic reduction sauce, a "Gloucester" sauce is just a bit of mayonnaise
thinned with sour cream and lemon and a touch of fennel, a nice herbal
vinaigrette, if using fresh crab the shells and any discard as well as
any juices one can make a basic crab stock and use it with some milk or
cream to make a simple white sauce with, adding mushrooms, shallots,
garlic etc. as desired.
Something i have not yet tried is a sauce vert or green sauce made by
taking various green leafy herbs and vegetables and blanching, and
squeezing in cheese cloth, very firmly till one obtains about 1/2 cup of
thick herb juice of spinach leaves, watercress, parsley, tarragon,
chervil etc., then add this juice to a very thick mayonnaise.
But with a dill crab pasta i think garlic butter & lemon juice would be
perfect. Even a beurre de moutarde or a mushroom sauce might be nice.
If one really wanted a tomato sauce to serve with the crab pasta one
might consider any of the white wine tomatoe sauces such as sauce
bretonne or chasseur.
---
JL
>
>
> I
>
> Our eunuch dreams, all seedless in the light,
> Of light and love the tempers of the heart,
> Whack their boys' limbs,
> And, winding-footed in their shawl and sheet,
> Groom the dark brides, the widows of the night
> Fold in their arms.
>
> The shades of girls, all flavoured from their shrouds,
> When sunlight goes are sundered from the worm,
> The bones of men, the broken in their beds,
> By midnight pulleys that unhouse the tomb.
>
> II
>
> In this our age the gunman and his moll
> Two one-dimensional ghosts, love on a reel,
> Strange to our solid eye,
> And speak their midnight nothings as they swell;
> When cameras shut they hurry to their hole
> down in the yard of day.
>
> They dance between their arclamps and our skull,
> Impose their shots, showing the nights away;
> We watch the show of shadows kiss or kill
> Flavoured of celluloid give love the lie.
>
> III
>
> Which is the world? Of our two sleepings, which
> Shall fall awake when cures and their itch
> Raise up this red-eyed earth?
> Pack off the shapes of daylight and their starch,
> The sunny gentlemen, the Welshing rich,
> Or drive the night-geared forth.
>
> The photograph is married to the eye,
> Grafts on its bride one-sided skins of truth;
> The dream has sucked the sleeper of his faith
> That shrouded men might marrow as they fly.
>
> IV
>
> This is the world; the lying likeness of
> Our strips of stuff that tatter as we move
> Loving and being loth;
> The dream that kicks the buried from their sack
> And lets their trash be honoured as the quick.
> This is the world. Have faith.
>
> For we shall be a shouter like the cock,
> Blowing the old dead back; our shots shall smack
> The image from the plates;
> And we shall be fit fellows for a life,
> And who remains shall flower as they love,
> Praise to our faring hearts.
>
> ---Dylan Thomas - Our Eunuch Dreams
|
|
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| Del Cecchi |
Bob Terwilliger wrote:
> Barb wrote:
>
>
>>First time (and only, I think) I had pan bagnat in Phoenix about 25
>>years ago, I loved it. Never made it.
>
>
> It's my idea of perfect picnic food; it actually gets BETTER when it sits
> for a while.
>
>
>
>>Indian Summer
>>
>>In youth it was the way I had
>>To do my best to please
>>To change with every passing lad
>>To suit his theories
>>
>>But now I know the things I do
>>And do the things I do
>>And if you do not like me so
>>To hell, my love, with you.
>>
>>-Dorothy Parker
>
>
>
> I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing
> than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance
> ---e. e. cummings
>
> Bob
>
>
Something is happening here but you don't know what it is, do you mr
Jones.
r. zimmerman
--
Del Cecchi
"This post is my own and doesn’t necessarily represent IBM’s positions,
strategies or opinions.”
|
|
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| Joseph Littleshoes |
Newsgroups: rec.food.cooking
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Melba's Jammin' wrote:
> In article <43537b58$0$9192$bb4e3ad8@newscene.com>,
> "Bob Terwilliger" <virtualgoth@die_spammer.biz> wrote:
> (snip)
> >
> > ObFood: Pan Bagnat
> (snip)
> > Bob
> To hell, my love, with you.
>
> -Dorothy Parker
> --
Tsk..that ol' Algonquin (algorithm?) round table is a thing i routinely
forget, along with 'further father' or 'father further'?
---
Littleshoes
|
|
|
| Dee Randall |
"Joseph Littleshoes" <jpstifel@pacbell.net> wrote in message
news:4355D215.3D4F3BD4@pacbell.net...
> Melba's Jammin' wrote:
>
>> In article <43537b58$0$9192$bb4e3ad8@newscene.com>,
>> "Bob Terwilliger" <virtualgoth@die_spammer.biz> wrote:
>> (snip)
>> >
>> > ObFood: Pan Bagnat
>> (snip)
>> > Bob
>> To hell, my love, with you.
>>
>> -Dorothy Parker
>> --
>
> Tsk..that ol' Algonquin (algorithm?) round table is a thing i routinely
> forget, along with 'further father' or 'father further'?
> ---
> Littleshoes
>
And pray tell, what is
'further father' or 'father further'?
I need a laff,
Dee Dee
|
|
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| Melba's Jammin' |
In article <4355D215.3D4F3BD4@pacbell.net>,
Joseph Littleshoes <jpstifel@pacbell.net> wrote:
> Tsk..that ol' Algonquin (algorithm?) round table is a thing i routinely
> forget, along with 'further father' or 'father further'?
> ---
> Littleshoes
LOL!
--
http://www.jamlady.eboard.com
|
|
|
| Joseph Littleshoes |
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Dee Randall wrote:
> "Joseph Littleshoes" <jpstifel@pacbell.net> wrote in message
> news:4355D215.3D4F3BD4@pacbell.net...
> > Melba's Jammin' wrote:
> >
> >> In article <43537b58$0$9192$bb4e3ad8@newscene.com>,
> >> "Bob Terwilliger" <virtualgoth@die_spammer.biz> wrote:
> >> (snip)
> >> >
> >> > ObFood: Pan Bagnat
> >> (snip)
> >> > Bob
> >> To hell, my love, with you.
> >>
> >> -Dorothy Parker
> >> --
> >
> > Tsk..that ol' Algonquin (algorithm?) round table is a thing i
> routinely
> > forget, along with 'further father' or 'father further'?
> > ---
> > Littleshoes
> >
> And pray tell, what is
> 'further father' or 'father further'?
> I need a laff,
> Dee Dee
Marx brothers movie, Grocho is lecturing his son about bad grades at
school and when finished son says 'will there be anything further,
father?" and Groucho replies "shouldnt that be farther further?"
---
JL
|
|
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| maxine in ri |
Pardon me boys, is this the lair of Great Cthulu?
On Mon, 17 Oct 2005 09:57:12 GMT, Joseph Littleshoes
<jpstifel@pacbell.net> connected the dots and wrote:
~Bob Terwilliger wrote:
~
~> Bob Terwilliger was obviously drunk when he posted:
~>
~> >> ----------------------
~> >> Liber XV sec. VII.
~> >> ----------------------
~> >>
~> >> The Anthem
~> >> --------------
~> <snip>
~> >> Aleister Crowley
~> >> Gnostic Mass.
~> >> The Office of the Anthem.
~> >> Liber ABA.
~>
~> I've always liked this better:
~
~Would you care to compare and discuss it? Stanza for stanza?
~
~You have made an obvious statement i have just not made up my mind
yet
~precisely what it is.
~
~As an invitation to discuss the relative merits of the poetry quoted
i
~could get a bit enthusiastic about but other wise, no. I mangled
the
~"One Star In Sight" sadly i could not find my text.
~
~And i have not yet even posted the Hymn to Pan
~---
~J (IO PAN IO PAN) L
~
~> The Hollow Men
~>
~> I
~>
~> We are the hollow men
~> We are the stuffed men
~> Leaning together
~> Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
~> Our dried voices, when
~> We whisper together
~> Are quiet and meaningless
~> As wind in dry grass
~> Or rats' feet over broken glass
~> In our dry cellar
~>
~> Shape without form, shade without colour,
~> Paralysed force, gesture without motion;
~>
~> Those who have crossed
~> With direct eyes, to death's other Kingdom
~> Remember us -- if at all -- not as lost
~> Violent souls, but only
~> As the hollow men
~> The stuffed men.
~>
~> II
~>
~> Eyes I dare not meet in dreams
~> In death's dream kingdom
~> These do not appear:
~> There, the eyes are
~> Sunlight on a broken column
~> There, is a tree swinging
~> And voices are
~> In the wind's singing
~> More distant and more solemn
~> Than a fading star.
~>
~> Let me be no nearer
~> In death's dream kingdom
~> Let me also wear
~> Such deliberate disguises
~> Rat's coat, crowskin, crossed staves
~> In a field
~> Behaving as the wind behaves
~> No nearer --
~>
~> Not that final meeting
~> In the twilight kingdom
~>
~> III
~>
~> This is the dead land
~> This is cactus land
~> Here the stone images
~> Are raised, here they receive
~> The supplication of a dead man's hand
~> Under the twinkle of a fading star.
~>
~> Is it like this
~> In death's other kingdom
~> Waking alone
~> At the hour when we are
~> Trembling with tenderness
~> Lips that would kiss
~> Form prayers to broken stone.
~>
~> IV
~>
~> The eyes are not here
~> There are no eyes here
~> In this valley of dying stars
~> In this hollow valley
~> This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms
~>
~> In this last of meeting places
~> We grope together
~> And avoid speech
~> Gathered on this beach of the tumid river
~>
~> Sightless, unless
~> The eyes reappear
~> As the perpetual star
~> Multifoliate rose
~> Of death's twilight kingdom
~> The hope only
~> Of empty men.
~>
~> V
~>
~> Here we go round the prickly pear
~> Prickly pear prickly pear
~> Here we go round the prickly pear
~> At five o'clock in the morning.
~>
~> Between the idea
~> And the reality
~> Between the motion
~> And the act
~> Falls the Shadow
~>
~> For Thine is the Kingdom
~>
~> Between the conception
~> And the creation
~> Between the emotion
~> And the response
~> Falls the Shadow
~>
~> Life is very long
~>
~> Between the desire
~> And the spasm
~> Between the potency
~> And the existence
~> Between the essence
~> And the descent
~> Falls the Shadow
~> For Thine is the Kingdom
~>
~> For Thine is
~> Life is
~> For Thine is the
~>
~> This is the way the world ends
~> This is the way the world ends
~> This is the way the world ends
~> Not with a bang but a whimper.
~>
~> ---T. S. Eliot (1925)
~
~
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| Bob Terwilliger |
Maxine wrote:
> Pardon me boys, is this the lair of Great Cthulu?
I think you meant to quote a different message, where I wrote:
| Heh...reminds me of "Iä! Iä! Yog-Sothoth!"
Bob
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