Wednesday, January 18, 2006
It's Carnival Time!
The latest Carnival of the Feminists is up. There's a hearty section covering comics, with pointers to posts by Shelly, Ragnell, and kalinara. Many, many other themes and topics are represented, and the whole shebang is worth exploring. (I was directed to this by Ragnell.)
Before I rush off to my comic shop (and other adventures), I wanted to leave you with a late Elizabethan poem that deals with being an artist, intellectual, hobbyist, or lover with considerable insight.
Michael Drayton, Untitled, 1600
As other men, so I myself do muse
Why in this sort I wrest invention so,
And why these giddy metaphors I use,
Leaving the path the greater part do go.
I will resolve you: I am lunatic;
And ever this in madmen you shall find,
What they last thought of, when the brain grew sick,
In most destraction they keep that in mind:
Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,
Reason and I (you must conceive) are twain.
'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit;
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain.
With diet and correction, men distraught
(Not too far past) may to their wits be brought.
Before I rush off to my comic shop (and other adventures), I wanted to leave you with a late Elizabethan poem that deals with being an artist, intellectual, hobbyist, or lover with considerable insight.
Michael Drayton, Untitled, 1600
As other men, so I myself do muse
Why in this sort I wrest invention so,
And why these giddy metaphors I use,
Leaving the path the greater part do go.
I will resolve you: I am lunatic;
And ever this in madmen you shall find,
What they last thought of, when the brain grew sick,
In most destraction they keep that in mind:
Thus talking idly in this bedlam fit,
Reason and I (you must conceive) are twain.
'Tis nine years now since first I lost my wit;
Bear with me then, though troubled be my brain.
With diet and correction, men distraught
(Not too far past) may to their wits be brought.
