Записи пользователя: Dead Poets (список заголовков)


Dead Poets
To suck out all the marrow of life!


Dead Poets
To suck out all the marrow of life!
Однажды суфий, человек святой,
Увидел на гвозде мешок пустой.
Увидел суфий эту благодать,
И стал в слезах одежды рвать.
"Лишь в нем, - воскликнул суфий, - нет коварства!
В нем царство нищих и от бед лекарство!"
Кричали: "Вот спаситель наш от бед!" -
Другие суфии за ним вослед.
Они порой смеялись и рыдали,
Мешок пустой хваленьем восхваляли.
У простака вопрос сорвался с уст:
"Что прославлять мешок, который пуст?"
Ответили ему не без презренья:
"Ты здесь к чему, ты чужд воображенья?
Ступай отсюда, если ты такой,
Что зришь лишь то, что можно взять рукой.
В мечтах влюбленный видит днем и ночью
Предмет любви, невидимый воочью!"



[Summer times]

Dead Poets
To suck out all the marrow of life!
Думаю, зиме мало кто из нас обрадовался, так что предлагаю устроить небольшой челлендж:
В комментарии выкладывайте свои любимые стихи о лете (чем теплее, тем лучше) :)


Dead Poets
To suck out all the marrow of life!
Текст, выдержки из которого читали на открытии Общества.

Henry David Thoreau:

Walden - or Life in the Woods.
.... I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan- like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion. For most men, it appears to me, are in a strange uncertainty about it, whether it is of the devil or of God, and have somewhat hastily concluded that it is the chief end of man here to “glorify God and enjoy him forever.”
I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves. I had not lived there a week
before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is Eve or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear, that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the Highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and conformity! I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now.
I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and
solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.
It is a ridiculous demand which England and America make, that you shall speak so that they can understand you. Neither men nor toadstools grow so. As if that were important, and there were not enough to understand you without them. As if Nature could support but one order of understandings,
could not sustain birds as well as quadrupeds, flying as well as creeping things, and hush and whoa, which Bright can understand, were the best English. As if there were safety in stupidity alone. I fear chiefly lest my expression may not be extra-- vagant enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of which I have been convinced. Extra vagance! it depends on how you are yarded. The migrating buffalo, which seeks new pastures in another latitude, is not extravagant like the cow which kicks over the pail, leaps the cowyard fence, and runs after her calf, in milking time. I desire to speak somewhere without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking moments; for I am convinced that I cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundation of a true expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he should
speak extravagantly any more forever? In view of the future or possible, we should live quite laxly and undefined in front our outlines dim and misty on that side; as our shadows reveal an insensible perspiration toward the sun. The volatile truth of our words should continually betray the inadequacy of the residual statement. Their truth is instantly translated; its literal monument alone remains. The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like
frankincense to superior natures.
Why level downward to our dullest perception always, and
praise that as common sense? The commonest sense is the sense of men asleep, which they express by snoring. So metimes we are inclined to class those who are once-and-a-halfwitted with the half-witted, because we appreciate only a third part of their wit.

Thoreau, Henry David (1817-1862) - American writer, transcendentalist, and naturalist whose journal was the source of all his writings. Thoreau published only two books during his lifetime but has since grown to be regarded as an important literary figure. Walden or Life in the Woods (1854) - Thoreau’s most famous work describes his experiment in essential living in a cabin at Walden Pond. It sets forth his philosophies and urges that life should be lived more simply.


Dead Poets
To suck out all the marrow of life!
Dead Poets ~ J. Keating
to be read at the opening of D. P. S. meetings

I went to the woods because I
wanted to live deliberately...
I wanted to live deep and suck
out all the marrow of life!
To put to rout all that was not life...
And not, when I came to die, discover
that I had not lived...

Henry David Thoreau

Dead Poets Society