Author Topic: Slow Travelling  (Read 4606 times)

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Offline theMerlin

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Slow Travelling
« on: February 21, 2008, 09:04 PM »
Death creeps in
where no magic can prevail.
As Atalanta ran,
so swiftly the darkness pursues.
Would that Bellerophon 
with mighty Pegasus, slew my Chimera.
At last I go where
my Alyssa traveled before me.
Her singular beauty
lost as Camelot’s brilliance.
And yet, the road pass slowly beneath.
What hearken to the magic
will occur whence Merlin pass the gate?

©  tM  2008

Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.

Offline theMerlin

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #1 on: February 27, 2008, 09:52 PM »
It bemuse and sadden that none will dissect this olde fool's clumsy efforts.

finding my self lacking, this mayhap not be the place for one so slothful of foot and insipid parochialism.
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.

Offline Allen

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #2 on: February 27, 2008, 11:32 PM »
My Lord Magician,

Me thinks, nay, me knoweth that these lands are a little slow in these days.

Take heart, my brave lord, for it is but temporary.
Allen

An action promulgated out of desperation will inevitably end in tragedy; for as its anagram so aptly foretells:  A rope ends it. �

Offline Allen

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #3 on: February 27, 2008, 11:46 PM »
Death creeps in
where no magic can prevail.

I am not so sure about that:-


Then murmur’d Arthur, “Place me in the barge,” 
And to the barge they came. There those three Queens         205
Put forth their hands, and took the King, and wept.
 
But she, that rose the tallest of them all 
And fairest, laid his head upon her lap, 
And loosed the shatter’d casque, and chafed his hands, 
And call’d him by his name, complaining loud,         210
And dropping bitter tears against his brow 
Striped with dark blood: for all his face was white 
And colourless, and like the wither’d moon 
Smote by the fresh beam of the springing east; 
And all his greaves and cuisses dash’d with drops         215
Of onset; and the light and lustrous curls— 
That made his forehead like a rising sun 
High from the däis-throne—were parch’d with dust; 
Or, clotted into points and hanging loose, 
Mixed with the knightly growth that fringed his lips.         220
So like a shatter’d column lay the King; 
Not like that Arthur who, with lance in rest, 
From spur to plume a star of tournament, 
Shot thro’ the lists at Camelot, and charged 
Before the eyes of ladies and of kings.         225
  Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere, 
“Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? 
Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? 
For now I see the true old times are dead, 
When every morning brought a noble chance,         230
And every chance brought out a noble knight. 
Such times have been not since the light that led 
The holy Elders with the gift of myrrh. 
But now the whole ROUND TABLE is dissolved 
Which was an image of the mighty world;         235
And I, the last, go forth companionless, 
And the days darken round me and the years, 
Among new men, strange faces, other minds.” 
  And slowly answer’d Arthur from the barge: 
“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,         240
And God fulfils Himself in many ways, 
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. 
Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? 
I have lived my life, and that which I have done 

May He within Himself make pure! but thou,         245
If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer 
Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice 
Rise like a fountain for me night and day. 
For what are men better than sheep or goats         250
That nourish a blind life within the brain, 
If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer 
Both for themselves and those who call them friend? 
For so the whole round earth is every way 
Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.         255
But now farewell. I am going a long way 
With these thou seëst—if indeed I go— 
(For all my mind is clouded with a doubt) 
To the island-valley of Avilion; 
Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow,         260
Nor ever wind blows loudly; but it lies 
Deep-meadow’d happy, fair with orchard-lawns 
And bowery hollows crown’d with summer sea, 
Where I will heal me of my grievous wound.” 

  So said he, and the barge with oar and sail         265
Moved from the brink, like some full-breasted swan 
That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, 
Ruffles her pure cold plume, and takes the flood 
With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere 
Revolving many memories, till the hull         270
Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn 
And on the mere the wailing died away.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Morte d’Arthur - End Extract
Allen

An action promulgated out of desperation will inevitably end in tragedy; for as its anagram so aptly foretells:  A rope ends it. �

witt

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #4 on: February 28, 2008, 06:50 AM »
Not so, dear Merlin. Maybe this old fool didn't see this post. Sometimes I get interrupted and can't find my way again.
What hearken to the magic
will occur whence Merlin pass the gate?
There will be magic indeed.

Offline Bill

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #5 on: February 28, 2008, 11:00 AM »
Merlin,

It is a matter of high regard for you as a bard and fear to speak ill of the nearly dead that makes most dread to dare to review your words. 
But I've whistled beside enough graves to know that there's a sense of respect and integrity in doing so.  Thus, for the sake of amusement and  joy, consider

1.)  the point of L1 & L2.  Is it that there is no magic that can prevail against death, or that there is a place where no magic can prevail and death is paying it a visit?  In other words, "Death creeps in; no magic shall prevail against its whims."  Or, "Death creeps in where none hath power to cast it out."  Hack suggestions, but they make the point of my question.

2.)  that classical references can serve as excellent metaphors, but this piece seems to be weighed down by too many of them.  I'd cut out the reference to Atalanta, leave in the line that follows, as an exclamation mark to L1 and L2.

3.)  that Allyssa's singular beauty is not lost, if so well remembered as to compare it to anything.  Is it not the memory of her singular beauty that shines brightly against or amidst the swiftly pursuing darkness?  Would her beauty be better served by noting how it still "with wondrous merit doth make all mirrors blush."

4.)  that hearkening to the magic is not so important as realizing that the magic exists, that it prevails, even after Merlin.  It is not what he created, but what he discovered that he exalts.  Might he not encourage others he respects to continue to hearken as he has, or seek the magic that he found?  Death might end Merlin, but not what he discovered and exalted with his words, because of those words.  Sorcerers come and go.  But the principals and powers of sorcery endure.  Turn at the gate, smile back, then turn to the fate, smile and step forward.
 
Having read this, if you are now laughing at how I smudged polished brass, well and good.  Better the laugh at my expense, than going hence bemused and saddened.

"I'm not gettin' older; the world is."  (Dixon Smith)

Offline theMerlin

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #6 on: February 28, 2008, 02:38 PM »
Hmm, extraordinary narrative, Bil (May I call you Bill?).  I am learning to highly respect thine opinion and suggestion.

On death creeping, no magic can repair the damage done by her slender, cold fingers.
Thus, not knowing of any magic that CAN prevail over death as it exhibits itself to me, the statement seems valid.

On Atalanta, she is a ship of incredulous speed.  Many the regatta she won for crew and master.  Comparatively, Death speed a course far moe imperative and true.

When my wife passed, I swore to never forget her beauty, but in this statement, as with Camelot, the many have long passed memory of her physical essence to the archives.  The inference if that memory of the EXISTENCE of her being can never be forgotten.

Mayhap the better change is to state WHO will wield the magic in Merlin's stead after he is gone.  Good pointe.  I especially resonate to the statement, "Sorcerers come and go."  Thank you.

Least of all that one would laugh at the serious and very competent opinion of one so thoughtful, insightful, and able to cleaning alliterate pointes of matter as well as thee, good and true friend.

My humble thanks.
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.

Offline theMerlin

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Re: Slow Travelling - Revised
« Reply #7 on: February 28, 2008, 03:34 PM »
Death creeps coldly in,
as the magic slowly falters.
Atalanta ran her steadfast course,
and swiftly doth darkness pursue the living.
Would that some spirit intercede
in this cataclysmic event.
At last I go where my Alyssa
sadly traveled before me.
Her singular beauty lost
as did bold Camelot’s brilliance fade.
Trust not to unknown tonics,
nor the soothsayer’s incantation.
Who now will invoke the magic
whence Merlin pass the gate?

©  tM  2008
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.

Offline Bill

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #8 on: February 28, 2008, 06:50 PM »
Merlin,

You may call me Bill.  That is my name.

And, you're welcome.

Offline theMerlin

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #9 on: February 29, 2008, 12:16 PM »
Thank you, Bill.

I apologize for the "May I call you Bill" line. It was in a movie I saw once, and it always stuck in my head.
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.

Offline WordFaery

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #10 on: February 29, 2008, 07:08 PM »
Merlin,

Line two remove the word "slowly".  It's unneeded.




WordFaery
"Come Fairies, take me out of this dull world for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame."      W.B. Yeats



Word Faery

Offline Bill

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Re: Slow Travelling
« Reply #11 on: February 29, 2008, 07:22 PM »
Merlin,

Your gentle manners are a rare characteristic in a rude world.   However, not you nor anyone else ever should apologize to me.  Apologize for me, maybe, but not to me.   

Offline theMerlin

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Re: Slow Travelling - Rev 2
« Reply #12 on: March 03, 2008, 06:33 AM »
Death creeps coldly in,
as the magic falters.
Atalanta ran her steadfast course,
and swiftly doth darkness pursue the living.
Would that some spirit intercede
in this cataclysmic event.
At last I go where my Alyssa
sadly traveled before me.
Her singular beauty lost
as did bold Camelot’s brilliance fade.
Trust not to unknown tonics,
nor the soothsayer’s incantation.
Who now will invoke the magic
whence Merlin pass the gate?

©  tM  2008



Thank You, a stor, My Fey One.

And Bill, kind sir....to apologize 'for' someone is to accede lack of 'worth and value'.  Here, on this Home, all have the 'worth and value' of the golden doors to Atlantis, or the high altar of Avalon.

This olde fool deem himself proud to call thee, a cara, or more appropriately...Deartha ir (Brother).
Chomh sean leis an cheo agus níos sine faoi dhó.