Heidegger

In a message dated 10/14/2008 9:00:10 PM Eastern Daylight Time,
GEVANS613 at aol.com writes:

All of the above is understandable, Jud, simply because “energy” literally
means en + ergon= WORK. It does not exist when you are on the eternal dole of
the hereafter, e.g., energeia=existence.
Bernard

Jud:
You might be right there Bernie-boy - I don’t know about the eternal dole of
the hereafter - *Its been ergon, egon, ergon all the time look-you
Myfanwy.* (Dylan Thomas)

I’ve never been on the dole in this life yet - its nice to have something to
look forward to.

Pa ham mae dicter, O Myfanwy,
Yn llenwi’th lygaid duon ddi?
A’th ruddiau tirion, O Myfanwy,
Heb wrido wrth fy ngweled i?
Pa le mae’r wen oedd ar dy wefus
Fu’n cynnau ‘nghariad ffyddlon ffol?
Pa le mae sain dy eiriau melys,
Fu’n denu’n nghalon ar dy ôl?
2. Pa beth a wneuthym, O Myfanwy,
I haeddu gwg dy ddwyrudd hardd?
Ai chwarae oeddit, O Myfanwy
 thanau euraidd serch dy fardd?
Wyt eiddo im drwy gywir amod
Ai gormod cadw’th air i mi?
Ni cheisiaf fyth mo’th law, Myfanwy,
Heb gael dy galon gyda hi.
3. Myfanwy boed yr holl o’th fywyd
Dan heulwen disglair canol dydd.
A boed i rosyn gwridog ienctid
I ddawnsio ganmlwydd ar dy rudd.
Aug hofiar oll o’th add ewidion
A wnest i rywun, ‘ngeneth ddel,
A rho dy law, Myfanwy dirion
I ddim ond dweud y gair “Ffarwel”.

Why is it anger, O Myfanwy,
That fills your eyes so dark and clear?
Your gentle cheeks, O sweet Myfanwy,
Why blush they not when I draw near?
Where is the smile that once most tender
Kindled my love so fond, so true?
Where is the sound of your sweet words,
That drew my heart to follow you?
2. What have I done, O my Myfanwy,
To earn your frown? What is my blame?
Was it just play, my sweet Myfanwy,
To set your poet’s love aflame?
You truly once to me were promised,
Is it too much to keep your part?
I wish no more your hand, Myfanwy,
If I no longer have your heart.
3. Myfanwy, may you spend your lifetime
Beneath the midday sunshine’s glow,
And on your cheeks O may the roses
Dance for a hundred years or so.
Forget now all the words of promise
You made to one who loved you well,
Give me your hand, my sweet Myfanwy,
But one last time, to say “farewell”.

Nos da,

Jud
Thanks, Jud, for that poem by Dylan Thomas, my favorite poet. It is his
reading style that I try to emulate when I read my own poetry to an audience..
Unfortunately my accent is Brooklynese rather than Welsh but my American public
would hardly know the difference. I used to hang out at the White Horse Tavern
on Hudson Street in the West Village. At the time I lived around the corner on
Greenwhich Street across the street from the Custom House where Herman
Melville used to work. Thomas also frequented the White Horse where he got properly
tanked. One night walking in a drunken stupor he was attacked by a gang of
neighborhood Irish Toughs, no doubt unemployed longshoremen, and kicked to death.
What a pity.
Sincerely;
Bernard
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Posted on Sunday, October 19th, 2008 at 6:01 am
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