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Wednesday, 26 December 2012

Perch Fishing-Edmund Blunden (1896-1974)



Perch Fishing

On the far hill the cloud of thunder grew
And sunlight blurred below; but sultry blue
Burned yet on the valley water where it hoards
Behind the miller's elmen floodgate boards,
And there the wasps, that lodge them ill-concealed
In the vole's empty house, still drove afield
To plunder touchwood from old crippled trees
And build their young ones their hutched nurseries;
Still creaked the grasshoppers' rasping unison
Nor had the whisper through the tansies run
Nor weather-wisest bird gone home.
How then
Should wry eels in the pebbled shallows ken
Lightning coming? troubled up they stole
To the deep-shadowed sullen water-hole,
Among whose warty snags the quaint perch lair.
As cunning stole the boy to angle there,
Muffling least tread, with no noise balancing through
The hangdog alder-boughs his bright bamboo.
Down plumbed the shuttled ledger, and the quill
On the quicksilver water lay dead still.


A sharp snatch, swirling to-fro of the line,

He's lost, he's won, with splash and scuffling shine
Past the low-lapping brandy-flowers drawn in,
The ogling hunchback perch with needled fin.
And there beside him one as large as he,
Following his hooked mate, careless who shall see
Or what befall him, close and closer yet —
The startled boy might take him in his net
That folds the other.

Slow, while on the clay,

The other flounces, slow he sinks away.

What agony usurps that watery brain
For comradeship of twenty summers slain,
For such delights below the flashing weir
And up the sluice-cut, playing buccaneer
Among the minnows; lolling in hot sun
When bathing vagabonds had drest and done;
Rootling in salty flannel-weed for meal
And river shrimps, when hushed the trundling wheel;
Snapping the dapping moth, and with new wonder
Prowling through old drowned barges falling asunder.
And O a thousand things the whole year through
They did together, never more to do
--Edmund Blunden. 

The Survival Edmund Blunden (1896-1974)


The Survival
To-day’s house makes to-morrow’s road;
I knew these heaps of stone
When they were walls of grace and might,
The country’s honour, art’s delight
That over fountain’d silence show’d
Fame’s final bastion.
Inheritance has found fresh work,
Disunion union breeds;
Beauty the strong, its difference lost,
Has matter fit for flood and frost.
Here’s the true blood that will not shirk
Life’s new-commanding needs.
With curious costly zeal, O man,
Raise orrery and ode;
How shines your tower, the only one
Of that especial site and stone!
And even the dream’s confusion can
Sustain to-morrow’s road.
--Edmund Blunden

The Child's Grave-Edmund Blunden (1896-1974)


The Child's Grave
I came to the churchyard where pretty Joy lies
On a morning in April, a rare sunny day;
Such bloom rose around, and so many birds' cries
That I sang for delight as I followed the way.

I sang for delight in the ripening of spring,
For dandelions even were suns come to earth;
Not a moment went by but a new lark took wing
To wait on the season with melody's mirth.

Love-making birds were my mates all the road,
And who would wish surer delight for the eye
Than to see pairing goldfinches gleaming abroad
Or yellowhammers sunning on paling and sty?

And stocks in the almswomen's garden were blown,
With rich Easter roses each side of the door;
The lazy white owls in the glade cool and lone
Paid calls on their cousins in the elm's chambered core.

This peace, then, and happiness thronged me around.
Nor could I go burdened with grief, but made merry
Till I came to the gate of that overgrown ground
Where scarce once a year sees the priest come to bury.

Over the mounds stood the nettles in pride,
And, where no fine flowers, there kind weeds dared to wave;
It seemed but as yesterday she lay by my side,
And now my dog ate of the grass on her grave.

He licked my hand wondering to see me muse so,
And wished I would lead on the journey or home,
As though not a moment of spring were to go
In brooding; but I stood, if her spirit might come

And tell me her life, since we left her that day
In the white lilied coffin, and rained down our tears;
But the grave held no answer, though long I should stay;
How strange that this clay should mingle with hers!

So I called my good dog, and went on my way;
Joy's spirit shone then in each flower I went by,
And clear as the noon, in coppice and ley,
Her sweet dawning smile and her violet eye! 
--Edmund Blunden

Autumn-Stephen Vincent Benêt, (1898-1943)

Autumn
Autumn is filling his harvest-bins
With red and yellow grain,
Fire begins and frost begins.
And the floors are cold again.

Summer went when the crop was sold,
"Summer is piled away,
Dry as the faded marigold
In the dry, long-gathered hay.

It is time to walk to the cider-mill
Through air like apple wine
And watch the moon rise over the hill,
Stinging and hard and fine.

It is time to cover your seed-pods deep
And let them wait and be warm,
It is time to sleep the heavy sleep
That does not wake for the storm.

Winter walks from the green streaked West
With a bag of Northern Spies
The skins are red as a robins breast,
The honey chill as the skies.
--Stephen Vincent Benêt,

Sunday, 16 December 2012

About Robert W Service (1874-1958). Public Domain, No U.S. Copyright Control; Or Right to Object To Use.


Do you want some of us?

You want a piece of me? (Public domain)

"Popeye, Grey Owl, and Robert Service join the public domain."

While U.S., copyright law does in  some instances appear to protect creations longer-if they were done as works for hire and are dated-the works of Robert Service were not done for hire and although copy right can be bought and sold it is still the original copyright .

 As confirmed below,Bryant H. McGill has absolutely no rights to the works of Robert Service or many of the other works on which he is apparently still claiming such.

 

He is still being illegitimately and illegally linked to my blog site.



Published 2003/7/21 by webmaster-From Robert Service Home Page
"I administer the subsidiary rights to this poetry throughout the British Commonwealth based upon a British statute of 1911 which reverts copyright to estates 25 years after death. U.S. rights have a renewal provision for copyrights upon their 28th year but many are the Robert Service poems that are of an age from before 1923 wherein public domain sets in which means no U.S. copyright control or right to object to use. All other poems are subject to negotiation. All poems regardless of age are protected in British Commonwealth for 70 years from death ( Canada is still pending an extension from 50 years).
It is rare that a non English speaking request comes in. We inspect closely for keeping the integrity of the poems and also for avoiding any impersonations of the great poet by well meaning individuals who want to dress up as if they were Robert W. Service reciting his own poems. It is considered bad taste and we prefer other presentations. There are numerous requests for motion picture rights and this involves questions of nature of use, duration and form of use and whether non exclusive rights suffice.
My e mail address is bill@krasgrosslaw.com and my fax is 212 983 3228. Please be prepared if asking rights for inclusion in a book to identify publisher, number of intended print run, price and nature of use as well as total number of pages in total book so that we know what percent comes from the intended Service works.
51 East 42nd Street, 16th Floor
New York, NY 10017"--
http://www.robertwservice.com/modules/smartsection/item.php?itemid=837
Published 2003/7/21 by webmaster

Saturday, 11 August 2012

Quiet Work- Arnold Matthew (1822-1888)


Quiet Work
One lesson, Nature let me learn of thee,
One lesson, which in every wind is blown,
One lesson of two duties kept at one
Though the loud world proclaim their enmity—

Of toil unsever’d from tranquillity!
Of Labour, that in lasting fruit outgrows
Far noisier schemes, accomplished in repose,
Too great for haste, too high for rivalry!

Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring,
Man’s fitful uproar mingled with his toil,
Still do thy sleepless ministers move on,

Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting;
Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil,
Labours that shall not fail, when man is gone.

The Last Word-Arnold Matthew (1822-1888)


The Last Word
Creep into thy narrow bed,
Creep, and let no more be said!
Vain thy onset! all stands fast;
Thou thyself must break at last.

Let the long contention cease!
Geese are swans, and swans are geese.
Let them have it how they will!!
Thou art tired; best be still!

They out-talked thee, hiss’d thee, tore thee.
Better men fared thus before thee;
Fired their ringing shot and pass’d,
Hotly charg’d—and broke at last.
Charge once more, then be dumb!
Let the victors, when they come,
When the forts of folly fall,
Find thy body by the wall

Tuesday, 26 June 2012

Night in the Old Home-Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)


Night in the Old Home
When the wasting embers redden the chimney-breast,
And Life’s bare pathway looms like a desert track to
me,
And from hall and parlour the living have gone to
                their rest,
The perished people who housed them here come back
                to me.

They come and seat them around in their mouldy
                places,
Now and then bending towards me a glance of wist-
                fullness
A strange upbraiding smile upon all their faces,
And in the bearing of each a passive trustfulness.

“Do you uphold me, lingering and languishing here,
A pale late plant of your once strong stock?” I say to
                them;
“A thinker of crooked thoughts upon Life in the sere,
And on That which consigns men to night after show-
                ing the day to them?”

“—O let be the Wherefore! We fevered our years not
                thus:
Take of Life what it grants, without question!” they
                answer me seemingly.
“Enjoy, suffer wait: spread the table here freely like
                us,
And, satisfied, placid, unfretting, watch Time away
                beamingly!”

The Man He Killed-Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)---The Futility of War


“Had he and I but met
By some ole ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
Right many a nipperkin!

“But ranged as infantry,
And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because---
Because he was my foe,
Just so; my foe of course he was;
That’s clear enough, although

“He thought he’d ‘list perhaps,
Off-hand like---just as I---
Was out of work—had sold his traps—
No other reason why.

“Yes quaint and curious war is!
You shoot a fellow down
You’d treat, if met where any bar is,
Or help to half-a-crown.”


Thursday, 21 June 2012

A Mothers Song-Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)


A Mothers Song
Over fast-closed baby eyes
In the garden’s golden air
Blossom-white the butterflies
Hover, hurry, part and pair,
Sudden shinings, flown nowhere!
Blue, above, the unbounded skies!

Little one, O downy head,
O fingers clasping, shaped and small,
Laid in soft nest of your bed,
How the trees are Titan-tall
Over you that slumber, all
Ignorant of hope and dread!

O so small, and all around
Life so vast works wonders new.
Yet to you shall desire and do,
Find and fashion and hold true;
Deepens you hold no thought can sound:
You are sought by powers unknown;
On your trembling heart-strings play
Airs unheard, O little one! Whisperings of far away,
Music made of day and day—
Lands of promise, all your own!

Wide as heaven the secrecies
You enfold: ev’n now, ev’n here,
You presage infinities, While above in hope, in fear
My white wishes, far and near,
Hover like the butterflies.

For the Fallen- Remembering, Where it Came,From-Laurence Binyon (1869-1943


For the Fallen
With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
                England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
                Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal
                Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.
There is music in the midst of desolation
                And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
                Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
                They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
            Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
            We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
                They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England’s foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
                As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
                Moving in marches upon the starry plain,
As the stars are starry in the time of our darkness,
                To the end, to the end, they remain.

The Lion and the Cub-John Gay (1685-1732)


The Lion and the Cub
How fond are men of rule and place,
Who court it from the mean and base!
These cannot bear an equal nigh,
But from superior merit fly;
They love the cellar’s vulgar joke,
And lose their hours on ale and smoke;
There o’er some petty club preside,
So poor, so paltry is their pride!
Nay, ev’n with fools whole nights will sit,
In hopes to be supreme on wit.
If these can read, to these I write,
To set their worth in truest light.
A Lion-cub, of sordid mind,
Avoided all the lion kind;
Fond of applause, he sought the feasts
Of vulgar and ignoble beasts,
 With asses all his time he spent,
Their club’s perpetual president.
He caught their manners, looks and airs:
An ass in ev’ry thing, but ears!
If e’er his highness meant a joke,
They grinn’d applause before he spoke;
But at each word shat shouts of praise!
Good Gods! How natural he brays!
                Elate with flatt’ry and conceit
He seeks his royal sire’s retreat;
Forward, and fond to show his parts
His highness brays, the Lion starts.
                Puppy, that crust vociferation
Betrays thy life and conversation;
Coxcombs, an ever-noisy race,
Are trumpets of their own disgrace.
                Why so severe, the Cub replies?
Our senate always held me wise.
                How weak is pride, returns the Sire,
All fools are vain, when fools admire!
But know, what stupid asses prize,
Lions and noble beasts despise.

The Hare and Many Friends-John Gay (1685-1732)




You know my feet betray my flight;
To friendship every burden’s light.”
The Horse replied: “Poor honest Puss,
It grieves my heart to see thee thus;
Be comforted, relief is near;
For all your friends are in the rear.”
She next the stately Bull implored,
And thus replied the mighty Lord:
“Since every beast alive can tell
That I sincerely wish you well,
I may without offence pretend
To take the freedom of a friend.
Love calls me hence; a favourite cow
Expects me near yon barley-mow;
And when a lady’s in the case,
You know, all other things give place.
To leave you thus might seem unkind,
But see the Goat is just behind.”
The Goat remarked her pulse was high,
Her languid head, her heavy eye:
“My back,” says he, “may do you harm;
The sheep’s at hand, and wool is warm.”
The sheep was feeble, and complained
His sides a load of wool sustained;
Said he was slow, confessed his fears;
For hounds eat Sheep as well as Hares!
She now the trotting Calf addressed;
To save from death a friend distressed:
“Shall I,” says he, “of tender age,
In this important care engage?
Older and abler passed you by;
How strong are those! How weak am I!
Should I presume to bear you hence,
Those friends of mine may take offence.
Excuse me, then. You know my heart;
But dearest friends, alas must part;
How shall we all lament! Adieu,
For see the hounds are just in view.”
John Gay

THERE IS NO COPYRIGHT AND NO CONNECTION; THERE SHOULD BE NO LINK



But, did the disciples have a"Special" message? 

This man’s first name might be Alison, Austin, Bryant, Carol, Elizabeth, Emily, Jack, Jill, Jesus, Robert, William.
His last name might be, Burns, Carol, Campion, Christ, Dickinson, Gray, Greene, Gross, Keats, McGill, Service, Shakespeare, Wordsworth
He may be a celebrity—a great educator, poet, writer, wit (nit or otherwise). He may claim to be the son of God. He may even have collected, posted definitions, explanations, made notes on, framed watermarked, done most anything and he owns copyright on what HE may have done; but he cannot own copy rights to the songs, poems or quotations or verses of William Blake (1757-1827), Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861), Robert Browning (1806-1889), Robert Burns (1759 1796)Lord George Gordon Byron (1788-1824), Emily Dickinson (1830-1886, Thomas Gray (1716- 1771), Robert Greene (1560-1592), John Keats (1795- 1821), Robert Service (1874 1958), William Shakespeare (1564-1616), William Wordsworth (1770-1850) OR THE LORD'S PRAYER (which is probably why there are two versions of it in the bible, depending of course, which version of the bible you happen to have). Such works are public domain, there are no copyrights; except as I have already attributed, none of the poems, songs, or quotations that I have posted on my blog should be linked to anyone of anything else.

Saturday, 16 June 2012

True and Lasting, Love Defined


True Lasting Love and Understanding:

A closeness derived from learning to accept one-another as they were, and are; over a lifetime of shared experiences. Is this the definition of true love? Possibly, in part, but it does not cover all the aspects or types of love. It does not define many of the meanings intended or implied, when we use the word.

LOVE:

  • We can LOVE, another animal.
  • We can LOVE, the area in which we live.
  • We can LOVE, our children.
  • We can LOVE, equality.
  • We can LOVE, extended family.
  • We can LOVE, food or drink.
  • We can LOVE, freedom.
  • We can LOVE, our heritage.
  • We can LOVE, an object (art, car, country, clothing, fabric, etch).
  • We can LOVE, the people of our city or community.
  • We can LOVE, our nationality
  • We can LOVE, our intimate, physical mate.
  • We can LOVE, physical activity.
  • We can LOVE, sport.
  • We can LOVE, that which we believe, or think, is good and right.
  • We can LOVE, our work or way of life.
  • There is Love of Life.
  • There is maternal/paternal LOVE. 
  • There is Love of power
  • There is religious LOVE
  • There is physical LOVE.
  • There is LOVE for the sake of LOVE. 
  • There is universal LOVE.
The only thing all the many forms of love have in common is that; while there may be various feelings involved, they are all something we--DO. Love, then, is not a feeling.

Is love then an instinct or need? Part of the answer to this question just may be found in the noted psychologist Abraham Mallow's hierarchy of needs.

Maslow's hierarchy of needs is often portrayed in the shape of a pyramid, with the largest and most fundamental levels of needs at the bottom, and the need for self-actualization at the top.The most fundamental and basic four layers of the pyramid contain what Maslow called "deficiency needs" or "d-needs": esteem, friendship and love, security, and physical needs. With the exception of the most fundamental (physiological) needs, if these "deficiency needs" are not met, the body gives no physical indication but the individual feels anxious and tense. Maslow's theory suggests that the most basic level of needs must be met before the individual will strongly desire (or focus motivation upon) the secondary or higher level needs. Maslow also coined the term Metamotivation to describe the motivation of people who go beyond the scope of the basic needs and strive for constant betterment. Metamotivated people are driven by B-needs (Being Needs), instead of deficiency needs (D-Needs).

 Physiological NeedsFor the most part, psychological needs are obvious--they are the literal requirements for an organism's survival. If these requirements are not, the organism simply cannot continue to function. It dies. Air, water, and food are metabolic requirements for survival in all organisms, including the human animal. Clothing and shelter provide necessary protection from the elements. The intensity of the human sexual instinct (physical love) is shaped more by sexual competition than maintaining a birth rate adequate to survival of the species and may quite possibly lead to humanity's demise. Safety Needs When the physical needs are relatively satisfied, the animal, organism, or individuals safety needs take precedence and dominate behaviour. In the absence of physical safety--due to terrorist attack, war, natural disaster, or in cases of family violence, childhood abuse etch--people may experience post traumatic stress. In the absence of economic safety.. due to economic crises and lack of work opportunities-these safety needs may manifest themselves in such things as a preference for job security, grievance procedures for protecting the individual from unilateral authority, savings accounts, insurance policies, disability accommodation and the like. Safety and Security needs include: Personal security, Financial security, Health and well being, Safety net against accidents/illness and their adverse impacts.

Is love, then, simply part of a biological need for survival? In several instances, it well may be: maternal love, in most animals, lasts for only a short period of time,we do not need to love one particular other animal or person; but, another animal or person is necessary for regeneration, and hunting and food gathering become much more efficient, if the tasks are shared. In other instances, this is just not the case; we do not need to love the area in which we live, we do not need to love our country, we do not need to love material things, we do not need to love equality, we do not need to love freedom, etch, etch.

Love and Belonging: After physiological and safety needs are fulfilled, the third layer of animal needs are social and involve feelings of belonging. The need is especially strong in childhood and adolescence and can override the need for safety as witnessed in children who cling to abusive parents which is sometimes called Stockholm syndrome. The absence of this aspect of Maslow's hierarchy- due to hospitalization, neglect, rejection shunning, ostracism, etch- can impact on an individuals ability to form and maintain significant relationships in general, such as, Friendship, Intimacy, FamilyAll animals need to feel a sense of belonging and acceptance, whether it comes from a large social group, such as clubs, gangs, office, professional organizations, religious group, sports affiliations, or small social connections (family members, intimate partners, mentors, confidants. They need to love and be loved (sexually and non-sexually by others. In the absence of these elements, many people become susceptible to loneliness, social anxiety, and depression. This need for belonging can often overcome the physiological and security needs, depending on the strength of the peer pressure.

Esteem: All animals have a need to be respected and to have self- esteem and self respect. Surprisingly, these two traits are far more commonly found among the other animals than they are in the human animal. Many humans in fact, according to Maslow, never come close to reaching either. All animals have a need not only to be respected and held in esteem; but, to have self esteem  and self respect.  Esteem presents the normal desire of all animals to be accepted and valued by their peers and by others. All animals need to engage themselves to gain recognition and have activities that give a sense of contribution, to be valued, to be accepted. 

 Self-Esteem: The absolute, complete, acceptance of ones-self;  as they were, and are; without any NEED for change. According to Maslow, self-esteem is never a static thing; but you either have it or you do not. There is no such thing as low or high. Self esteem is, however, something you have to work on, constantly, in order to keep, once, and if ever, you have it. Lack of self esteem or an inferiority complex is a serious imbalance. People with no self-esteem grave the respect of others. They may seek control and power, fame and glory, which again depends on others. Note, however, that people lacking self-esteem will not be able to improve their view of themselves simply by receiving fame, respect, and glory externally, but must first accept themselves internally. Dependence on anyone or anything is not love. 

  Maslow was the first to note two versions of esteem--a lower and higher one. The lower one --derived from others--is the need for strength competence, confidence, freedom, independence, mastery,

  The second self-esteem ranks higher because it rests on inner acceptance-- competence won through experience, and self-knowledge. Deprivation of these needs always leads to an inferiority complex, weakness,helplessness and a NEED to change ones self-image. The need to change one's self or surroundings is not love

Obviously, we have a NEED to give and receive Love. But if love can overcome the other needs, then, it must be something more than just a need, method of survival, or instinct. Apparently, some animal species have a capacity for true lasting love, while others just do not-- and not all animals within a particular species seem to have this capacity.

Recent research  now shows that--
the average human "relationship" lasts less than 3 years,
Obviously, MAN is one of the animals least capable of:
 TRUE AND LASTING LOVE.

On the other hand, dogs, wolves, and geese, over and above most other animals seem to be capable of lasting love. Wolves and wild geese mate for life, and there have been reported cases of the survivor committing suicide, after their mate has been killed.


Then there is the story Greyfriars Bobby: 


Greyfriars Bobby was a Skye Terrier who became known in 19th-century Edinburgh for spending 14 years guarding the grave of his owner, John Gray (Old Jock), until he died himself on 14 January 1872 A year later, Lady Burdett-Coutts had a statue and fountain erected at the southern end of the George IV Bridge to commemorate him.

Bobby belonged to John Gray, who worked for the Edinburgh City Police as a night watchman, and the two were inseparable for approximately two years. On 8 February 1858, Gray died of tuberculosis. He was buried in Greyfriars Kirkyard, the graveyard surrounding Greyfriars Kirk in the Old Town of Edinburgh. Bobby, who survived Gray by fourteen years, is said to have spent the rest of his life sitting on his master's grave. Another account has it that he spent a great deal of time at Gray's grave, but that he left regularly for meals at a restaurant beside the graveyard, and may have spent colder winters in nearby houses.
In 1867, when it was argued that a dog without an owner should be destroyed, the Lord Provost of Edinburgh, Sir William Chambers—who was also a director of the Scottish Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals—paid for a renewal of Bobby's license, making him the responsibility of the city council.
Bobby died in 1872 and could not be buried within the cemetery itself, since it was and remains consecrated ground. He was buried instead just inside the gate of Greyfriars Kirkyard, not far from John Gray's grave.

The story of Bobby does not tell of a "NEED". In life, Bobby asked for nothing expected nothing, tried to change nothing, received nothing,  after his master's death(perhaps a little food and some shelter on an exceptionally cold winter's night) and had to work hard in order to express himself-but Bobby somehow managed define and demonstrate true, lasting, love, acceptance, gratitude, and understanding.

Perhaps, his is the best definition, of TRUE LOVE.
© Al (Alex, Alexander) D Girvan 2011

Sunday, 3 June 2012

Bryant McGill and His Blatant Highly Illegal Plagiarism


First of all, to start out, let me state categorically that I have absolutely no personal vendetta against Bryant McGill. I do not know the man and he, his publications, and his websites, are far from being the only “Celebrity” or “Government Sponsored” archives, collections, or re-writings that are guilty of the ILLEGAL ACTIVITIES that I am about to point out; it is just that his name is becoming more and more linked to my postings and this blog. Of course, I am not a “celebrity” and mine are just little; non-commercial, insignificant, hobby blogs that do not really matter—except to me—and-- my few international readers. For those of you that may not already know:

“Bryant McGill is an internationally renowned author, essayist, speaker and activist in the fields of self-development, personal freedom and human rights. He is an iconic personality and cultural critic, whose writings have reached millions of people and appeared in thousands of works by other authors, educators and social leaders. His writings on values have been featured alongside Mohandas Gandhi, Albert Einstein and Mother Teresa at the prestigious Foundation for a Better Life, who has called McGill one of “the brightest minds in human history.” In an official Congressional commendation, the nation’s leaders applauded McGill’s, “highly commendable life’s work,” as an Ambassador of Goodwill. His writings have been published in over 70 books and translated into 15 languages by publishers such as Cornell University, UNESCO, Simon and Schuster, Random House, HarperCollins, Writer's Digest and Walt Disney Company. McGill is a sought after workshop leader, and a speaker who has delivered speeches with diverse groups, from the Los Angeles Mayor’s Office and Chief of the LAPD, to the United Nations, with Dr. Gandhi, Grandson of Mahatma Gandhi, and the UN Secretary General for Disarmament Affairs.
--The above information can be found on several websites: including but not limited to bryantmcgill.com/about/ and wikipedia.com

So, since I have nothing personally against Mr McGill, just what is the purpose of this posting? What are my complaints? Why do I object to my name being linked to his? What are the illegal activities to which I refer?
1.       Any material that was first published before Sept of 1923 is by US of A copyright law PUBLICDOMAIN.
2.       Any material,( by the same laws), of which the original author or creator has been dead for over fifty years; is PUBLIC DOMAIN and cannot be re-copyrighted unless there have been “real and significant artistic contribution”. While it cannot be denied that the translation of poetry into a different language, or languages, while still maintaining the essence or the original poem, requires considerable artistic talent; most of these works were fully translated before Mr. McGill was born and in any case, rights apply to the modified version only—not to the original—or the original copyright, which also cannot REALLY be sold or taken over by anyone else. No matter what, it is still the original copyright.
3.       You cannot copyright an idea. Short quotes generally represent ideas and for this reason are not subject to copyrights; and, while quotes about common wisdom, creation, existence, family, love, life etch are often attributed to some well-known celebrity there is absolutely no positive infallible way of knowing when they were first said; or by whom. We do know that there is nothing that can be said today; that has not been expressed; as an idea, or as an opinion, by someone, somewhere, very much previously.
4.      Any claim to copyrights of material which is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN; especially when that material was translated into the various languages, published, and copyrighted, long before you were born, amounts to blatant plagiarism and is therefore illegal.
      Mr McGill  can not just decide that he is going to take over copyright of MY, OR ANYONE ELSE'S ORIGINAL, AND COPYRIGHTED WORKS; as he is apparently trying to do with my posting entitled TRUE AND LASTING LOVE DEFINED.
5.      It does not take very thorough examination of the poems and quotations--most of what is  now claimed by, or commonly attributed to, Mr McGill-- to realize that, at the very least, it is exactly that—BLATANT,  UNMITIGATED, PLAGIARISM. 

Sunday, 27 May 2012

The Younger Son by Robert William Service (1874-1958), the Ayrshire Poet


The Younger Son
If you leave the gloom of London and you seek a glowing land,
Where all except the flag is strange and new,
There's a bronzed and stalwart fellow who will grip you by the hand,
And greet you with a welcome warm and true;
For he's your younger brother, the one you sent away
Because there wasn't room for him at home;
And now he's quite contented, and he's glad he didn't stay,
And he's building Britain's greatness o'er the foam.

When the giant herd is moving at the rising of the sun,
And the prairie is lit with rose and gold,
And the camp is all abustle, and the busy day's begun,
He leaps into the saddle sure and bold.
Through the round of heat and hurry, through the racket and the rout,
He rattles at a pace that nothing mars;
And when the night-winds whisper and camp-fires flicker out,
He is sleeping like a child beneath the stars.

When the wattle-blooms are drooping in the sombre she-oak glade,
And the breathless land is lying in a swoon,
He leaves his work a moment, leaning lightly on his spade,
And he hears the bell-bird chime the Austral noon.
The parakeets are silent in the gum-tree by the creek;
The ferny grove is sunshine-steeped and still;
But the dew will gem the myrtle in the twilight ere he seek
His little lonely cabin on the hill.

Around the purple, vine-clad slope the argent river dreams;
The roses almost hide the house from view;
A snow-peak of the Winterberg in crimson splendour gleams;
The shadow deepens down on the Karroo.
He seeks the lily-scented dusk beneath the orange tree;
His pipe in silence glows and fades and glows;
And then two little maids come out and climb upon his knee,
And one is like the lily, one the rose.

He sees his white sheep dapple o'er the green New Zealand plain,
And where Vancouver's shaggy ramparts frown,
When the sunlight threads the pine-gloom he is fighting might and main
To clinch the rivets of an Empire down.
You will find him toiling, toiling, in the south or in the west,
A child of nature, fearless, frank, and free;
And the warmest heart that beats for you is beating in his breast,
And he sends you loyal greeting o'er the sea.

You've a brother in the army, you've another in the Church;
One of you is a diplomatic swell;
You've had the pick of everything and left him in the lurch,
And yet I think he's doing very well.
I'm sure his life is happy, and he doesn't envy yours;
I know he loves the land his pluck has won;
And I fancy in the years unborn, while England's fame endures,
She will come to bless with pride -- The Younger Son.