Songs are thoughts sung out with breath when people are moved by great forces and ordinary speech is no longer enough.
-- Orpingalik, recorded by Knud Rasmussen
Fray Luis de León, the great humanist scholar of the Spanish Golden Age, one of the sages of Salamanca University, was condemned by the Inquisition for translating the Song of Solomon and spent four years in prison before being allowed to return to his lectern, where he began his first lecture with the phrase, "Decíamos ayer": "As we were saying yesterday..."
Songs are thoughts sung out with breath when people are moved by great forces and ordinary speech is no longer enough.
Seeing the bags of meal passed hand to handIn close-up by the aid workers, and soldiersFiring over the mob, I was braced againWith a grip on two sack corners,Two packed wads of grain I'd worked to lugsTo give me purchase, ready for the heave --The eye-to-eye, one-two, one-two upswingOn to the trailer, then the stoop and drag and drainOf the next lift. Nothing surpassedThat quick unburdening, backbreak's truest payback;A letting go which will not come again.Or it will once. And for all.
to a Young ChildMargaret, are you grievingOver Goldengrove unleaving?Leaves, like the things of man, youWith your fresh thoughts care for, can you?Ah! as the heart grows olderIt will come to such sights colderBy and by, nor spare a sighThough worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;And yet you will weep and know why.Now no matter, child the name:Sorrow's springs are the same.Nor mouth had, no nor mind expressedWhat heart heard of, ghost guessed;It is the blight man was born for,It is Margaret you mourn for.
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There is a point beyond which philosophy, if it is not to lose face, must turn into something else: performance. It has to pass a test in a foreign land, a territory that's not its own. For the ultimate testing of our philosophy takes place not in the sphere of strictly rational procedures... but elsewhere: in the fierce confrontation with death of the animal that we are. The worthiness of one's philosophy reveals itself, if anywhere, in the live performance of one's encounter with one's own death; that's how we find out whether it is of some substance or it is all futility. Tell me how you deal with your fear of annihilation, and I will tell you about your philosophy.
Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved in our lifetime; therefore, we must be saved by hope... Nothing we do, however virtuous, can be accomplished alone; therefore we must be saved by love. No virtuous act is quite as virtuous from the standpoint of our friend or foe as it is from our standpoint. Therefore, we must be saved by the final form of love, which is forgiveness.
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