Therefore, Farewell

There is no reason that you should employ your time on so frivolous and vain a Tumblr.

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WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE INANIMATE OBJECT?

It is you, Tumblrbot.

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more like "the venerable bee translates john" by j.d. penrose, am i right folks.

(badly made image for Emi)

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Update: June 30, 2013

See, I told you it wouldn’t be a year before I updated again, fictitious person I’m writing this post to, who is oddly critical of my productivity and ability.

Happy Pride! Equality is literally the best thing.

The Poetry section has a category other than Sonnets, now, since Sonnets aren’t the only things I write! Things in there are still gonna be in Early Modern English, though, so hold on to your butts.

I’ve uploaded a new Sonnet, which takes place apparently after the girlfriend has abandoned the poet. It’s not something that happened to me, though. That would imply that I had a girlfriend, and that couldn’t be true, because this is real life. I’m pretty proud of the last stanza. Maybe read it if you’d like.

The fourth line in the second stanza is a quote from Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (Act I, Scene I, Line 3). In that play it’s said about music, and is here used to convey that being with poet’s girlfriend is like music to him.

One day, as happens, I was talking to my friend Emi (whose tumblr is amazing and you should really follow it, she’s a very talented artist). She loves bees, and so I wrote some silly verses about how she is a great bee. Here's a link to it.

The poem contains the word “apity," which I’ve made up. It’s as if from the Latin word apitas (-tatis, f.), which would mean “the quality of being a bee," and so that is its meaning in English, too.

Finally, you should go see Joss Whedon’s adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing. I wrote up some quick thoughts and also an extra verse to the song “Sigh No More" in this post.

Wouldn’t it be great if it took me less than 11 months to update things next time? Let’s hope that happens.

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To The Author's Readers From His Hubris

I saw Joss Whedon’s Much Ado About Nothing recently. 

I’ve been listening to the version of Sigh No More, whose music Joss wrote, that features in the film repeatedly (as should you. Maybe even exchange your money for this good via the Internet). In a fit of insomnia I wrote an extra verse, because that is exactly how highly I think of my talents. You can put it either after the first or third verse, and the chorus follows as regular.

Lyrics after the jump.

Speak no more weeping, speak no more

Cease now to seek you pity;

For men in guile make Love sore,

And thus themselves deem witty.

Then sigh not so, but let them go And be you blithe and bonny Converting all your sounds of woe Into Hey, nonny nonny.

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Fair Bumble, How Fair Thy Reason

O, fair Bumble, how fair thy reason

For thy reason makes thee fair, and thy apity thee bumble.

O Bumble, how thy reason stings my wit!

And how thy grace and apity do shine!

For alway dost thou in thy beeness hit

Away the dark; for buzzing might is thine!

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Sonnet 12

Yet when I try to write, my verses fail (The Muses do not come to one bereft). And so I sing without a song, and pale; Without thee and without my love I'm left.

For 'tis not in mine heart to write to thee But in thine arms I only long to lie, That I might fill myself of whom I see, 'Til appetite may sicken and so die. For thou art Love, and greater still to me, And how apart from thee a part I stay Of what a greater whole I long to be! For I am as the night without the day. I am a wretch, and turn in sleepless nights, And seek thy words to stay my spirits' flights.

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Update: July 10, 2012

There's a new sonnet up on the tumblr. It's addressed to a door, because ancient love poets used to write poems to the doors of their girlfriends' houses, and that's a thing I wanted to do, too. You can read it if you want.

It contains the word "peiratic," which means "having the qualities of, or made in, an attempt." It comes from the Ancient Greek word πειράω (peirao), which means "I try."

I'm working on a translation of a speech from Sophocles' play "Philoctetes." I wrote a paper on it once. 

Hopefully at some point a version of the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite will materialise, too. Like if elves put it here, like when they made shoes for that cobbler that one time. Then he had all those shoes and was like "how did I get all these shoes?" The look on his face was probably priceless.

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Sonnet 11, To Her Door

What juvenile pursuit of this is mine,

O idle, dumb, and deaf and constant door?

Why turn in dark and vain but for a sign

Of her affections? None; I knock thee more.

O, let me not perturb thy mistress' sleep,

And my peiratic knockings be her foe,

Whose face alone doth cause my heart to leap,

The world to break, and there a new to grow,

Where once the old had deigned to turn about

And men to strife. But hers is one of peace,

So turneth not, nor giveth fears or doubt.

So let her come to thee, with me this cease,

So two may stand in joy, though still two move

And so the world enjoy and face in love.

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Update: June 8, 2012

A handful of poems of varying quality I've written have been uploaded to the Tumblr, and filed under the "Poetry" section. They are written in Old Modern English. One of them contains the word "proscephalise," which means "to lie with your head on a pillow," and comes from the Ancient Greek word προσκεφάλαιον (proskephalaion), which means "pillow," and the verb suffix -ίζω (which gives us -ize in English). If I'm lucky people will use it in places. Another contains the word "Veneran," which means "like Venus." Technically the word should be "Venereal," but that word is gross now. EDIT: I realized that the word "Venerian" is already attested, so I've changed it from Veneran to Venerian. The I is pronounced consonantally, though.

I plan to make the Translations section less barren in the near future.

"About" and "Contact" pages have been created, which you should totally check out.

Is this how a blog works? I think this is how a blog works.

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Sonnet 10, On the Ocassion of a Friend's Birthday

Do you not see what sadness we endure,

O you who live in kind with friends alway?

For a New World doth her apart secure,

And salutations hind'reth me to say.

But still a natal day today is thine,

And so I call to task my humble pen;

And ere thy mind is heavy thick with wine,

Things better than what good is known by men

I bid to thee today. For thou art great,

And better than my words can say, who bear'st

To play the best of games, and Dragons slate,

And joy to us dost bring and in it shar'st.

'Tis true that thou art fair and kind, but more!

Thy many charms are why we thee adore!

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Sonnet 4

And now the world is quiet: here is she.

The light is drained and forces cease to act.

And to my shock, lo, here she seeth me,

And here I now recall those things I lack.

Her lips doth move, and, watch, for here I'm still,

And now my lady lifts her voice along,

But even then, when silence ears did fill,

With her to me the world was as a song.

For here we see a muse sit near a man,

And taken by her beauty I now speak.

I feel words fail, though hear, a laugh began,

And grow'th until its full; my knees grow weak.

Miserum me, no more in all the land!

I am a man who seek Venerian hand.

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Sonnet 6

O, when upon mine eyes the light doth break,

And from dear sleep's embrace I wrest my mind,

My body from the dark I drag and wake

It is thy sleeping's beauty that I find.

The sun now toucheth what the moon and I

At night time did caress; we see thee rest.

And unperturbed thou makest but a sigh:

A gentle rise and falling of thy breast.

As smiling softly we proscephalise,

And all around the rest begin to stir,

Thy light's the only one to fill mine eyes,

For I thy beauty to the sun's prefer.

Though sleeping's joy men do lament and miss,

O, gods, to me more pleasure's here in this!

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Sonnet 8

O, love, why dost thou now make up thy face?

Why dost thou now thy nat'ral self adorn?

Why alter thy by nature given grace?

Why temper what by Phoebus' hand was borne?

Dost thou not see to thee 'tis of no use?

Dost thou not know what light is in thine eyes?

Dost thou not feel thy face's nat'ral hues,

Which cause thee jealous muses to despise?

Perfection's not a thing to be improved,

But as it is it warmeth any heart.

It maketh it by all to be beloved:

Perfection is perfection, as thou art!

Have in thy mind 'tis nature maketh warm,

For, o, Love loveth not a painted form!

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Sonnet 1

You see the sun is jealous of her face,

And to its end runs all across the sky;

But ev'ry day the sun doth fall from grace,

And 'neath a shroud of darkness doth it lie.

My fool, the sun! Again thou dost entreat

To match my beauty's light. Behold thy fall,

And thy retreat: her face thy grand defeat.

Thy pride compels thee 'cross the sky to crawl

And pride alone. But 'round her neck I see

The "do not touch," and so I am to look

And look is all. But o, my love, to me

Thou art my light and hope; my heart is took.

Let sun and moon and all of nature sing:

To me more joy and light my love doth bring.

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Foreword to the Sonnets

The Sonnets are a collection of love poems I began to write in early 2010, and have been adding to sporadically since. Some of them are inspired by old love poems from Roman elegiasts, such as Propertius and Ovid. Sometimes I'll invent words to use in them.

They collectively are part of a work called the "Carmina De Amanda," and have been rejected by at least one major publication. I have in no way taken this to mean anything.