[Video/Written] For Whom the Bell Tolls

[fierybluebird]

[Marco's a little wearier than normal, his voice is composed and deadpan, but his overall amusement is clearly worn a little thin today.]

Thanks to everyone who joined in the dodgeball tournament, eh? It was a lot of fun, and if you missed out, keep an eye on the next S.O.S. Brigade event, I'm sure it'll be a blast. [ooc: It's still going on! Feel free to join in!]

My littlest brother's been taken by the Malnosso, so if anyone's still looking for New Feathers, keep an eye out for Sabo too please. Hopefully he'll be returned soon.

It got me thinking though, about a poem I found by John Donne.


For Whom the Bell Tolls
by John Donne

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.


The smartest woman I've ever known said once that we're all connected here. Friends, allies, or enemies, we do all have in common that we're trapped in this enclosure together, for better or worse. It's something to think about I guess.

It's nice having a lot of books from other worlds to read, eh. Does anyone else have a favorite poem they'd like to share?

[The following is filtered from Ace 75%:]
I have a favor to ask of all the cooks in the village. Or rather, of any of the cooks in the village, or anyone interested. Ace isn't alone in having a rough time here lately, so I'd like to do something to help cheer him and the others up. Sometime before Christmas if we could all throw a feast and come together, I think it'd be good for everyone, eh? We could have cooking contests for amateurs or try new recipes or anything. Anyways, if you think it's a good idea, and you're interested, let me know.

Comments

[Voice, filtered]

[complicatedliar]

A poet entirely. An example:

Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.

[fierybluebird]

Whoa... That is lovely. Does he have anymore involving birds and trickery thrush?

[complicatedliar]

One finds birds here and there. He has a wide and interesting range of imagery he employs.

[fierybluebird]

Sounds fun, I'll have to take a look.

Is that one your favorite of his?

[complicatedliar]

I have only begun to read him of late so I know not all of his work. But thus far I am rather partial to The Waste Land.

[fierybluebird]

Oh? Seems a little morbid for this place. Or do you prefer to embrace the wasteland aspect?

[complicatedliar]

'tis not quite what the title would suggest.

Or perhaps better to say, 'tis more.

[fierybluebird]

Oh? Got an excerpt kicking around?

[complicatedliar]

My favorite bit:

My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment’s surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed 405
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms

[fierybluebird]

[He's a little distant, remembering Vista's words right after Ace died. "For a moment's neglect, we suffer a lifetime's regret."]

That's your favorite?

[complicatedliar]

Thus far.

[fierybluebird]

May I ask why, or is that too personal?

[complicatedliar]

Nay, nothing personal. I like the shape of the words.

[It is something he has never done himself; he's always been far too calculated.

Though he did so when he was not himself, and that he will keep secret.]

[fierybluebird]

[Wry grin.]

It is rather lyrical. Mah, I suppose most poems are more focused on the darker sides of life. I wonder why. Maybe it's something to do with the poets themselves, eh.

[complicatedliar]

Oh, do you find that sentiment a dark one?

[fierybluebird]

The T.S. Eliot excerpt, aye. And I was trying to think of something lyrical, but less dark, only I seemed to hit a brief wall.

My girlfriend tends to have a morbid sense of humor though, so a lot of the books I was reading though were more in that vein. [Holds up a book of Edgar Allen Poe.]

There were a bunch of poems in a book a friend gave me recently: Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll.

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spread his claws,
And welcome little fishes in
With gently smiling jaws!

Ironically that one's less creepy than the supposedly correct version he's got in there. [Even if it does remind him of his enemy, Sir Crocodile.]

[complicatedliar]

How odd. I don't find it dark at all.

[Huh. Perspectives perhaps.]

It sounds like nonsense verse... which has its own charm I suppose.

[fierybluebird]

It is in a book well-known for nonsensical themes, but I'm not sure a crocodile cheerfully luring in fish is actually as lighthearted as it sounds.

[complicatedliar]

At the heart of all good mischief and nonsense lurks a gleeful sort of murder. I'm always amused that people seem to forget that.

[fierybluebird]

Gleeful murder, eh?

And just what would you say is usually murdered during most pranks among friends?

[complicatedliar]

At the very least, someone's dignity.

[fierybluebird]

[Laughs.] I like that.

But what if it's only temporary? Does that mean their dignities are like phoenixes and able to regenerate and resurrect?

[complicatedliar]

Dignity might be built anew, but is never quite the same again.

...well, unless the person in question just doesn't learn.

[fierybluebird]

Oh, I don't know about that.

If dignity can be so easily tarnished by just a mere prank, it was never there to begin with, eh.

Take me and my brother Ace. We've had an on-going prank war this whole year. He dyed my hair red, and I got him drunk and into dresses and high heels. We've been back and forth at it for awhile now. Of course it usually escalates, but we always get over it in a couple of weeks and eventually laugh about it.

[complicatedliar]

Sounds like a nice prank war, at the least.