Tatami Tales
Just a place to think out aloud....
Saturday, March 29, 2025
Friday, March 28, 2025
I read an article recently in one the Sydney papers which described a relatively new phenomenon. Some folks in the younger (perhaps the youngest) were dispensing with capital letters and grammar in their writing. They claim that it's not only cool, but that it is subversive, flows better, is less authoritarian and better suited to their communication needs.
If this were some Joycean experiment in stream-of-consciousness writing, then I am all for it. But I doubt that neither Joyce nor his narrative techniques have anything do with it. So, could these youthful pens be onto something? Are we missing out on the joie-de-vivre of unfettered free communication by sticking to such arcane rules of writing, all of which were invented by dead, white fuddy-duddies.
No, not all. If this is your schtick, then please don't go into law or medicine or write any report in which word precision is critical. It fine, of course, for inane texting tasks. Not much else, really.
There are plenty of serious things you might want to be subversive about, though.
Thursday, March 27, 2025
Wednesday, March 26, 2025
In his poem 'The Flower That Smiles To-day', Shelley wrote,
Sunday, March 23, 2025
Christina Rossetti, one of my favourite poets, had a penchant for dwelling on the melancholic. A committed Christian, she seemed to ring an equal measure of joy and pain from her faith. I understand this, for we are always falling short, disappointing or repeating past errors. As Thomas a Kempis notes in his Imitation of Christ, no sooner have we risen from our knees having pledged to be better, stronger or more committed than we are letting God down. Such is the human condition.
Rossetti, like many Victorian poets, was drawn to the topic of death, doubtless by the many life-ending maladies that took lives before their time was due. In Rossetti's case, I cant help but feel that like Keats, she was 'half in love with easeful death.' It is a good topic for poets, after all.
Thou Sleepest Where The Lilies Fade
Thou sleepest where the lilies fade,
Thou dwellest
where the lilies fade not;
Sweet, when thine earthly part decayed
Thy
heavenly part decayed not.
Thou dwellest where the roses blow,
The crimson
roses bud and blossom;
While on thine eyes is heaped the snow,
The snow upon thy bosom.
Friday, March 21, 2025
Thursday, March 20, 2025
Autumn has entered the scene suddenly, as if summoned urgently by the stage director. I had wondered where all the turning leaves might been but today I see that they have burst upon us, as if by stealth, with a palette comprising, yellows, red and oranges (see next post).
Having a garden that is a little like a park, I am conscious of all the movement in the trees and bushes, the subtle and sudden changes, that occur over the four seasons. Being at a higher altitude than Sydney we do experience a greater clarity as one time of change blends into another.
Autumn, as I have said before, is my favourite season - one of richness and then decline, a prelude to the appearance of ever-thieving winter. It is a sweet yet mournful harmony to my own slight melancholy, but unlike the season, there is no chance of Spring's revival in me.
Never mind, winter is not yet upon me.