All I have for Christmas Eve are nods to two formidable females, one lowbrow and fictional, the other highbrow and, once, very real.
My favorite post of the week is Providentia's concise review of the strange life and career of William Moulton Marston: psychologist, inventor of the polygraph, creator of Wonder Woman (in 1941), and, it must be said, distinctly unconventional family man. Thank you, Marston, but not for the polygraph, which hasn't stood up very well scientifically.
And today I can't resist this towering Emily Dickinson lyric, in a boreal and reverent mood:
My period had come for Prayer --
No other Art -- would do --
My Tactics missed a rudiment --
Creator -- Was it you?
God grows above -- so those who pray
Horizons -- must ascend --
And so I stepped upon the North
To see this Curious Friend --
His House was not -- no sign had He --
By Chimney -- nor by Door
Could I infer his Residence --
Vast Prairies of Air
Unbroken by a Settler --
Were all that I could see --
Infinitude -- Had'st Thou no Face
That I might look on Thee?
The Silence condescended --
Creation stopped -- for Me --
But awed beyond my errand --
I worshipped -- did not "pray" --
The rest is silence...until the next post.
Happy Holidays.
1 comment:
Lying is the last refuge when all truth seems to lie.
Post a Comment