to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow
Being very sleepy these days, I've been alternating between moments of amazing clarity and moments where my ability to be even remotely coherent leaves me altogether. Guess which kind of moment is more likely to happen when I'm sitting here in front of an "Update Journal" screen? Right, exactly. So I'll just take a moment to say that
James A. Wharton's book on Job
followed by
Patricia Evans' book Controlling People
and
this entire comment thread along with the articles that inspired it
makes pieces fall together with little clicks in my brain. Seriously, the clicking noises are very nearly audible.
Also, the very first poem MegaHAL ate this morning was the following:
The trial--Dannie Abse
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
I wanted to be myself, no more,
so I screwed off the face that I always wore,
I pulled out the nails one by one--
I'd have given that face to anyone.
For those vile features were hardly mine;
to wear another's face is a spiritual crime.
Why, imagine the night when I would wed
To kiss with wrong lips in the bridal bed...
But now the crowd screams loud in mockery:
oh string him up from the gallows tree.
Silence! the Judge commands, or I'll clear the Court,
to hang a man up is not a sport--
though some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
Prisoner, allow me once more to ask:
what did you do with your own pure mask?
I told you, your honour, I threw it away,
it was only made of skin-coloured clay.
A face is a man, a bald juryman cries,
for one face lost, another man dies.
Gentlemen, this citizen we daren't acquit
until we know what he did with it.
It was only a face, your honour, that I lost;
how much can such a sad thing cost?
A mask is a lifetime, my bad man,
to replace such a gift nobody can.
Consider the case of that jovial swan
who took a god's face off to put a bird's face on
and Leda swooning by the side of the sea
and the swan's eyes closed in lechery.
No! No! your honour, my aim was just--
I did what every true man must.
Quiet prisoner! Why, I remember a priest remark
that he picked up a dog's face in the dark,
then he got drunk as a man can be
and barked at God in blasphemy.
But it was a human face, sir, I cast away;
for that offence do I have to pay?
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
At the back of the courtroom quietly stand
his father and mother hand in hand.
They can't understand the point of this case
or why he discarded his own dear face.
But it's not my face, father, he had said,
I don't want to die in a strange wrong bed.
Look in the mirror, mother, stare in deep;
is that mask your own, yours to keep?
The mirror is oblong, the clock is round,
all our wax faces go underground.
Once I built a bridge right into myself
to ransack my soul for invisible wealth
and afterwards, I tore off my mask because
I found not the person I thought I was.
With the wrong mask, another man's life I live--
I must seek my own face, find my own grave.
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
I'll sum up, the severe Judge moans,
showing the white of his knucklebones.
What is a face but the thing that you see,
the symbol and fate of identity?
How would we recognize each from each:
a dog from a man--which face on a leash?
And when tears fall where no face is,
will the tears be mine or will they be his?
To select hot coal or gold no man is free--
each choice being determined by identity.
But exchange your face, then what you choose
is gained like love, by what you lose.
Now you twelve jurymen please retire,
put your right hands in ice and your left in fire.
A hole where the face was, frightens us
and a man who can choose is dangerous.
So what is your verdict going to be,
should he be hung from a gallows tree?
Oh some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
Speaking of masked creatures, I never get tired of looking out my bedroom window and seeing a raccoon stretched out atop the neighbor's chimney.
(Pandagon link via supergee. Other links via my own mental wanderings.)
James A. Wharton's book on Job
followed by
Patricia Evans' book Controlling People
and
this entire comment thread along with the articles that inspired it
makes pieces fall together with little clicks in my brain. Seriously, the clicking noises are very nearly audible.
Also, the very first poem MegaHAL ate this morning was the following:
The trial--Dannie Abse
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
I wanted to be myself, no more,
so I screwed off the face that I always wore,
I pulled out the nails one by one--
I'd have given that face to anyone.
For those vile features were hardly mine;
to wear another's face is a spiritual crime.
Why, imagine the night when I would wed
To kiss with wrong lips in the bridal bed...
But now the crowd screams loud in mockery:
oh string him up from the gallows tree.
Silence! the Judge commands, or I'll clear the Court,
to hang a man up is not a sport--
though some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
Prisoner, allow me once more to ask:
what did you do with your own pure mask?
I told you, your honour, I threw it away,
it was only made of skin-coloured clay.
A face is a man, a bald juryman cries,
for one face lost, another man dies.
Gentlemen, this citizen we daren't acquit
until we know what he did with it.
It was only a face, your honour, that I lost;
how much can such a sad thing cost?
A mask is a lifetime, my bad man,
to replace such a gift nobody can.
Consider the case of that jovial swan
who took a god's face off to put a bird's face on
and Leda swooning by the side of the sea
and the swan's eyes closed in lechery.
No! No! your honour, my aim was just--
I did what every true man must.
Quiet prisoner! Why, I remember a priest remark
that he picked up a dog's face in the dark,
then he got drunk as a man can be
and barked at God in blasphemy.
But it was a human face, sir, I cast away;
for that offence do I have to pay?
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
At the back of the courtroom quietly stand
his father and mother hand in hand.
They can't understand the point of this case
or why he discarded his own dear face.
But it's not my face, father, he had said,
I don't want to die in a strange wrong bed.
Look in the mirror, mother, stare in deep;
is that mask your own, yours to keep?
The mirror is oblong, the clock is round,
all our wax faces go underground.
Once I built a bridge right into myself
to ransack my soul for invisible wealth
and afterwards, I tore off my mask because
I found not the person I thought I was.
With the wrong mask, another man's life I live--
I must seek my own face, find my own grave.
The heads round the table disagree,
some say hang him from the gallows tree.
Some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
I'll sum up, the severe Judge moans,
showing the white of his knucklebones.
What is a face but the thing that you see,
the symbol and fate of identity?
How would we recognize each from each:
a dog from a man--which face on a leash?
And when tears fall where no face is,
will the tears be mine or will they be his?
To select hot coal or gold no man is free--
each choice being determined by identity.
But exchange your face, then what you choose
is gained like love, by what you lose.
Now you twelve jurymen please retire,
put your right hands in ice and your left in fire.
A hole where the face was, frightens us
and a man who can choose is dangerous.
So what is your verdict going to be,
should he be hung from a gallows tree?
Oh some say high and some say low
to swing, swing, swing, when the free winds blow.
Speaking of masked creatures, I never get tired of looking out my bedroom window and seeing a raccoon stretched out atop the neighbor's chimney.
(Pandagon link via supergee. Other links via my own mental wanderings.)