Comfort Before Revising

Captain, Shakespearean

Captain, helping: "Read your Shakespeare."

Note: I was in the laundry room to settle the unsettled washer again.  While I was sitting upon the washing machine, I had thought to do a little homework or a little pleasure reading.  Captain helped me to settle upon the classic.

Prepping for Class

Shakespeare's Macbeth, of course.

Dougie MacLean: "Ready For The Storm"

READY FOR THE STORM

The waves crash in and the tide pulls out

It's an angry sea but there is no doubt 

That the lighthouse will keep shining out to warn the lonely sailor

And the lightning strikes and the wind cuts cold through the sailor's bones, to the sailor's soul

Till there's nothing left that he can hold except the rolling ocean

CHORUS

But I am ready for the storm, yes sir, ready

I am ready for the storm, I'm ready for the storm

Oh give me mercy for my dreams

Cause every confrontation seems

To tell me what it really means to be this lonely sailor

But when the sky begins to clear and the sun it melts away my fear

I'll cry a silent weary tear for those that need to love me

CHORUS

The distance it is no real friend

And time will take its time

And you will find that in the end it brings you me, the lonely sailor

And when you take me by your side you love me warm, you love me and

I should have realized I had no reason to be frightened

CHORUS

--Dougie Maclean

A favorite song, like so many of the great Scotsman's creations.

Four Anchors: sculpture mix; jade glazing.

A Novel Mirror

"The Antiquary was, indeed, uncommonly delighted; for, like many other men who spend their lives in obscure literary research, he had a secret ambition to appear in print, which was checked by cold fits of diffidence, fear of criticism, and habits of indolence and procrastination."

--Sir Walter Scott, from his novel The Antiquary.

"A Jar of Pain": Lyrics By Jackie Leven

CLASSIC NORTHERN DIVERSIONS

I took a train out of leeds in the smear and stain

I saw the city pass by in the shuffling rain

I'm in huddersfield drinking in the slubber's arms

and i walked through slush by broken farms

where huddling sheep are turning grey

in the cold light of a nothing day

it took me fifty long years just to work out

that because i was angry didn't mean i was right

now i'm sitting in a bar alone

with the jukebox playing a terrible song

the bartender says I see it's you again

I been drinking deep from a jar of pain

Ch -- i remember once i went home like this

i had my mother in tears as i felt her kiss

now my mother is heavenbound

and her body lies in unmarked ground

in every heart in every home

there's a dying man who lives alone

he close the door and he turn away

and the tide rushes in on a fatal shore

i can never get too close to coal

with a glass in my hand and the ember's crack

but the fire's gone out and the chimney's closed

and there's a round jeer sticking on my back

ch --

I took a train out of leeds in the smear and stain

i saw the city pass by in the shuffling rain

and with chimneys leaning to the sea

i got the salt of sunderland creasing me

i took a jar of pain to the soaking field

and to the lonely seawall inn south shields

if i was a man which i am not

standing in the last of the rotten snow

i'd fall on my knees and cry out loud

to the snowy river and the icy flow

i took a train out of leeds in the smear and stain

i saw the city pass by in the shuffling rain

--Jackie Leven

from his CD Shining Brother Shining Sister

Ian Rankin and Jackie Leven

Ian Rankin is a funny, thoughtful, and gracious man. Approachable and genuine; very cool.  He works a room well, which he told me had to do with practice over time.

Here is a link with a few words from Ian Rankin on the newest Rebus novel and singer Jackie Leven, a welcome discovery for me.

William Dunbar's "Lament for the Makers"

LAMENT FOR THE MAKERS

I that in heill was and gladness
Am trublit now with great sickness
And feblit with infirmitie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Our plesance here is all vain glory,
This fals world is but transitory,
The flesh is bruckle, the Feynd is slee: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The state of man does change and vary,
Now sound. now sick, now blyth, now sary,
Now dansand mirry, now like to die: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

No state in Erd here standis sicker;
As with the wynd wavis the wicker
So wannis this world's vanitie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Unto the Death gods all Estatis,
Princis, Prelattis, and Potestatis,
Baith rich and poor of all degree: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the knichtis in to the field
Enarmit under helm and scheild;
Victor he is at all mellie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That strong unmerciful tyrand
Takis, on the motheris breast sowkand,
The babe full of benignitie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He takis the campion in the stour,
The captain closit in the tour,
The lady in bour full of bewtie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He spairis no lord for his piscence
Na clerk for his intelligence;
His awful straik may no man flee. --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Art-magicianis and astrologic,
Rethoris, logicianis, and theologis,
Them helpis no conclusionis slee: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In medecine the most practicianis,
Leechis, surrigianis and physicianis,
Themself from Death may nocht supplee: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

I see that makaris amang the lave
Playis is here their padyanis, syne gods to grave;
Sparit is nocht their facultie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has done petuously devour
The noble Chaucer, of makaris flour,
The Monk of Bury, and Gower, all three: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

The good Sir Hew of Eglintoun,
Ettrick, Heriot, and Wintoun,
He has tane out of this cuntrie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

That scorpion fell has done infeck
Maister John Clerk, and James Afflek,
Fra ballat-making and tragedie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Holland and Barbour he has berevit ;
Alas! that he not with us levit
Sir Mungo Lockart of the Lee: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Clerk of Tranent eke he has tane,
That made the aventeris of Gawaine;
Sir Gilbert Hay endit has he: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has Blind Harry and Sandy Traill
Slain with his schour of mortal hail,
Quhilk Patrick Johnstoun might nocht flee: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has reft Mersar his endite
That did in luve so lively write,
So short, so quick, of sentence hie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

He has tane Rowll of Aberdene,
And gentill Rowll of Cortorphine;
Two better fallowis did no man see: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

In Dunfermline he has tane Broun
With Maister Robert Henrysoun;
Sir John the Ross enbrasit has he: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

And he has now sane, last of a,
Good gentil Stobo and Quintin Shaw.
Of quhom all wichtis hes pitie: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Good Maister Walter Kennedy
In point of Dedth lies verily;
Great ruth it were that so suld be: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Sen he has all my brothers sane,
He will nocht let me live alane;
Of force I mon his next prey be: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

Since for the Death remeid is none,
Best is that we for Death dispone
After our death that live may we: --

Timor Mortis conturbat me.

 --William Dunbar (1460?-1520?)


From The Oxford Book of English Verse, 1250-1900,
edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch.
Oxford : Clarendon Press ; London.