T P O

T   P   O
The Patient Ox (aka Hénock Gugsa)

G r e e t i n g s !

** TPO **
A personal blog with diverse topicality and multiple interests!


On the menu ... politics, music, poetry, and other good stuff.
There is humor, but there is blunt seriousness here as well!


Parfois, on parle français ici aussi. Je suis un francophile .... Bienvenue à tous!

* Your comments and evaluations are appreciated ! *

Tuesday, November 26, 2013

The Comforting Son - by Mary from Columbus


Inbred (in bread?) cat

The Comforting Son
~~~~~~~ // ~~~~~~~
by Mary from Columbus
BB, St. Paul Pioneer Press (11/25/2013)

Miss Barney's story ('Were you pretty when you were in high school?') in the November 22 PP reminded me of something my son once said to me when I was a young mother.

He was about 3 or 4 years old at the time. I had been quite sick with the flu -- and to add insult to injury, I was suffering from a particularly bad acne outbreak. I looked pretty rough, to put it nicely.

My little son, knowing I needed a little pick-me-up, took my face in his pudgy little hands, looked at me lovingly and declared: "Mommy, I love you, even though you do have a rotten face."

Thursday, November 21, 2013

"... a gentle man , a very fine poet ..." - by Allan Massie



Seamus Heaney: Greatest Irish Poet since Yeats
by
Allan Massie
(The Telegraph/Culture/August 30th, 2013)

---------- /~/----------

Seamus Heaney (1939-2013)Setting out on a tour of literary landmarks with Seamus Heaney and Karl Miller, Andrew O’Hagan remembered Miller mischievously saying, “let’s see if we can get Seamus to say something nasty about anyone”. They didn’t succeed, though in one hotel where the landlord or landlady – I forget which – made some distasteful remarks, Heaney quietly picked up his whisky, and perhaps the bottle too, and took it up to his bed. This little story, told affectionately, says a lot about him. Seamus Heaney was a gentle man, as well as a very fine poet, but one with a clear sense of what was right and wrong, fitting or unsuitable.

By common consent he was the greatest Irish poet since Yeats, and a nicer man than Yeats. The appeal of his poetry was both wide and deep. It was read and admired by fellow-poets, to whom he was by all accounts unfailingly helpful and encouraging, and academics, but also by schoolchildren and people who might have been surprised to find themselves liking poems. His work was both popular and subtle. His poems made sense at a first reading, and usually more and deeper sense at a second or third one. He was a deft and scrupulous craftsman, who thought hard about the technique of verse-making; yet his best poems give the impression of spontaneity.

He came from an Ulster farming family, and his roots were in the land. Like Thomas Hardy, whose work he admired and sometimes echoed, he wrote with deep sympathy of humble people leading a  hard life. Growing up a Catholic in County Derry he had a natural sympathy with the Civil Rights  movement of his youth, but he abhorred violence. Inasmuch as his work had any political message, its tendency was to promote reconciliation between the different strands of Irish nationality.

He became an international celebrity, courted by the Mighty, and wasn’t damaged by the experience, walking with Presidents and Prime Ministers, yet keeping the common touch. This was not the least remarkable thing about him.