H. D. Thoreau - Still Poetry After All These Years

This from Greg's Henry David Thoreau Blog. Feel free to substitute you know what for "grammarian."
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Monday, January 02, 2006


Thoreau's Journal: 02-Jan-1859

Essentially your truest poetic sentence is as free and lawless as a lamb’s bleat. The grammarian is often one who can neither cry nor laugh, yet thinks that he can express human emotions. So the posture-masters tell you how you shall walk,—turning your toes out, perhaps, excessively,—but so the beautiful walkers are not made.


posted by Greg at 2:45 AM
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Posting this for one of my favorite beautiful walkers: Rebecca Louden. Here's hoping that in the coming year she bleats more and deletes less -- unless it's for a new book of her stunning and energetic poetry. It's like finding fresh powder snow every morning if you're planning to ski.
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And, another, closing of the year reflection:

Thursday, December 29, 2005


Thoreau's Journal: 29-Dec-1853

We survive, in one sense, in our posterity and in the continuance of our race, but when a race of men, of Indians for instance, becomes extinct, is that not the end of the world for them? Is not the world forever beginning and coming to an end, both to men and races? Suppose we were to foresee that the Saxon race to which we belong would become extinct the present winter,—disappear from the face of the earth,—would it not look to us like the end of the world? Such is the prospect of the Indians.


posted by Greg at 7:37 PM
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Dear Henry,

Been there. Done that. Have the hair shirt to prove it and a ribbon one to stitch. With all due respect: Still here. Still beginning. Still coming to an end, both women and races. Such is prospect. We survive

and continue to crush on you.

Sincerely,


Your Daughter of an "Extinct Tribe"