More Good Words: The Literature Blog

  ON THE PLEASURE DERIVED FROM OBJECTS OF TERROR; WITH Sir  BERTRAN D, A FRAGMEN T. That  the exercise of our benevolent feelings, as called forth by the view of human afflictions, should be a source of pleasure, cannot appear wonderful to one who considers that relation between the moral and natural system of man, which has connected a degree of satisfaction with every action or emotion productive of the general welfare. The painful sensation immediately arising from a scene of misery, is so much softened and alleviated by the reflex sense of self-approbation attending virtuous sympathy, that we find, on the whole, a very exquisite and refined pleasure remaining, which makes us desirous of again being witnesses to such scenes, instead of flying from them with disgust and horror. It is obvious how greatly such a provision must conduce to the ends of mutual support and assistance. But the apparent delight with which we dwell upon objects of pure terror, where ...

                   -- Mary Robinson  RAPT in the visionary theme! SPIRIT DIVINE! with THEE I'll wander, Where the blue, wavy, lucid stream, 'Mid forest glooms, shall slow meander! With THEE I'll trace the circling bounds Of thy NEW PARADISE extended; And listen to the varying sounds Of winds, and foamy torrents blended.   Now by the source which lab'ring heaves The mystic fountain, bubbling, panting, While Gossamer its net-work weaves, Adown the blue lawn slanting! I'll mark thy sunny dome, and view Thy Caves of Ice, thy fields of dew! Thy ever-blooming mead, whose flow'r Waves to the cold breath of the moonlight hour! Or when the day-star, peering bright On the grey wing of parting night; While more than vegetating pow'r Throbs grateful to the burning hour, As summer's whisper'd sighs unfold Her million, million buds of gold; Then will I climb the breezy bounds, Of thy NEW PARADI...

  I realize that by doing so I'm debating Aristotle, or at least the common understanding of Aristotle in saying this, but I wish, again, to revisit the so-called "tragic flaw" of Oedipus, the King. The word translated as "flaw," is "hamartia." It's the same word the New Testament uses that we translate as "sin." It means "missing the mark." It comes from archery. The idea of constitutional flaw isn't essential to the idea of making a mistake. I can be a great basketball player and miss the hoop sometimes. It doesn't indicate anything but a lack of perfection. When Oedipus is impulsiveness, that doesn't serve part of his immediate need--to stay alive, to remain king, to protect his family. But it does serve the greater need of rescuing Thebes from a plague that would have destroyed it. So it is a flaw? I would argue it's a tragic necessity, that there's no flaw at all. The qualities that lead to his personal ...

Having reviewed all the old texts and all the translations I can find, it seems to me that the history of the dissemination of this hymn reveals both they typical path of mishearing and misunderstanding that any oral text will suffer (without that I can see any overt attempt to bend it to a new purpose) as well as, in this particular case, an attempt to reconstruct a meaning as effect of Caedmon's particularly odd use of "Midden-geard." In brief, my guess is that the poem was, in the original, must simpler than later rehearsings imagined. The structural paraphrase would be: Time to praise God almighty who made for men first heaven for  a roof, then the middle area, and then the firm ground.  But since "midden-geard" was generally understood as the earth, as the "firnum folden" between Heaven/sky and Hell/underground, Cademon's use of the term for the stuff between the ground and the roof was baffling. And this is what led to all sorts of variations...

Mr. Head awakened to discover that the room was full of moonlight. He sat up and stared at the floor boards—the color of silver—and then at the ticking on his pillow, which might have been brocade, and after a second, he saw half of the moon five feet away in his shaving mirror, paused as if it were waiting for his permission to enter. It rolled forward and cast a dignifying light on everything. The straight chair against the wall looked stiff and attentive as if it were awaiting an order and Mr. Heads trousers, hanging to the back of it, had an almost noble air, like the garment some great man had just flung to his servant; but the face on the moon was a grave one. It gazed across the room and out the window where it floated over the horse stall and appeared to contemplate itself with the look of a young man who sees his old age before him. Mr. Head could have said to it that age was a choice blessing and that only with years does a man enter into that calm understanding of lif...