Oh, Victory Unworthy

O, Victory you are a bony faithful lass,
Waiting for me of meager peasant class.
Though for my capacity do not loom,
But forego me now, come to me soon.

Victory you're sweet, and I may just not bear,
To be with noble blood in thy extensive lair.
So I will pursue myself, to make more room,
So forego me now, come to me soon.

I desire you Victory, humbly and terribly so,
Though the wall of foolery makes the battle slow.
Discipline of wisdom will be my tribune,
And forego me now, come to me soon.

The primary lesson I have now learned well,
That you dwelleth in Heaven, farthest from Hell.
And since you abide by the Living God true,
Forego me now, come to me soon.

I have prayed to God and found his strength,
And resume my studies of wisdom at length.
So to sin I say and it's vile, wretched tune,
"Forego me now, and please die soon!"

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The "Apology"

This was a panic poem that I wrote for Hill Abbey. It is not very good. In fact, it is very bad, but I figured I would post it anyway for your laughing pleasure. Enjoy.

"How shall I be apologize now,
When I'd rather die by the vow.
What was it I didn't bring home;
Beautiful language wrote in a poem.

"Wes, forgive me. I plead with you,
To let the incompetence try again.
But sooth I think, I'll swindle you,
Having me write is terribly vain.

"Caleb, I slander your person with so much pride,
But to call you effeminate I have certainly lied.
Robert, I regret to trample over your words,
Your voice is so sweet like chirping birds.

"Molly, how could I criticize the lyric you wrote,
And justify this very one; a miserable moke.
And Joy, to be sorry I don't think I needs must be,
I can't recall being so mean. I hope that you agree."

I'll never be such a man, for arrogance made me far too cool.
What I do as a gentleman, make contracts free, being not a fool.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

Why Caleb Is Wrong About Art

Caleb states, if I am not mistaken, that the emotions, sentiments and feelings provoked in a work of art makes it beautiful. Also he does not think it is necessary that emotions be present for art to be beautiful. In other words the craft and emotion can exist separately from each other and compliment each other when both utilized.

I implore you reader or listener to forgive Caleb for his folly, for he knows not what he says. As we all know it is a practice of the female gender to have all parts of their life connected in one way or another. They find themselves, if stuck in that rut of thinking long enough, unable to separate two parts of their lives. What Caleb has done is much like that. He took two of the largest parts of his life and connected them as though they belonged with each other. He did not want them apart for fear of having to back up why he likes terrible art (bless his heart).

Enough with the bulverisms as I am aware that I have not yet proven him wrong about his beliefs. Perhaps the female of the species is the more deadly and thus more correct for this mode of thought. It starts at Caleb's admittance that good art can function as such with evoking the emotions of the mind. All it is that I provide to the table is the proverbial "simplest explanation". Caleb complicates it with his precious connections that he so loves seeing in the Divine Comedy. Attributing emotion of truth as inherently beautiful creates problems or plot holes, if this were a story being told. It is unnecessary to beauty. Example: Premise. This human has hair. Conclusion. Therefore, anything with hair is a human. In our context it goes like this: Premise. This great art has evoked truthful emotion. Conclusion. Therefore, any art that has truthful emotion is great art. With reasoning it does not follow.

This idea of truthful emotion invites subjectivism with welcoming arms and a friendly hug. If one person holds a view and another the opposite view, which of them is correct in saying that their views of truth are beautiful? It may not make truth relative but it does make art relative. Both parties of opposite views are having emotional reactions to songs that support their beliefs; so how are they to decide which of them is not actually having an emotion evoked. One of them has to be wrong even though both of them claimed to "tear up" at the opposite truths. Again, Caleb has complicated a perfectly good definition to the point of relativism.

The definition I provide removes that problem. If you argue that high beauty equals complexity then we have no issues. It makes it a black and white problem. A man cannot argue that something simple is actually complex without sounding insane. The emotion is the mere bye- product of the high art. And I shall provide one last example.

Average Joe writes, "I have written a devotional poem!"

Average Joe's Devotional

God is good. God loves me.
He is very very great.
Jesus lived. I am free.
Me, he never will hate.

Compare this very truthful poem to the very truthful poem of Sir Walter Raleigh, of whom I am a fan.

The Passionate Man's Pilgrimage

No cause deferred, nor vain-spent journey ;
For there Christ is the King's Attorney,
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.
And when the grand twelve-million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury,
'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.

Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder !
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms ;
Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.
And this is my eternal plea
To him that made heaven, earth, and sea,
That, since my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine next noon,

A conversation between a Dark Man and a Futilitarian

The meter was unattended and I apologize. Stream of consciousness here. Be nice.

A Dark Man

Oh wretched me! A gloom made capture,
The dark draws near, though teasing conclusion.
And how I long for a coming rapture,
If not, I would have it assume illusion.

So now I am pale, cold and perfidious,
And proceed to lay to waste my members.
Told that darkness was not so vicious,
I cleaved to the bleak since December.

I believed there was the greatest insight,
To view life in pessimism, becoming sage.
But now I find a sad, frightening height,
Seeing the world as hope's only true gage.

My friend, a futilitarian brute,
Haunts me saying I surely rust.
I refuse to assent, not recruit,
By that, his life is not just.

The Futilitarian Optimist

You child, you supposed you might find,
Happiness and joy by insipid pathes.
Though your life you may not rewind,
But re-think it all, a route you hath.

Quit that now, and know you are,
A wicked sinful pile of dust.
And so your God will not be far,
For He shall raise you up I trust.

A wise man (Solomon) once well vainly said,
"By sadness of countenance the heart is made glad."
So to work, do thy duty and contently tread,
Joy in thy gifts though their eternity is not had.

'Tis a fad! This dark behavior expressed in arts,
Invariably sucked it by the mysterious ploy.
"De Morte" the screen play and all its parts,
Futility's fine though she be a bit coy.

The Tragedy of Sir Walter Raleigh excerpt, By Evan Gunn Wilson

Act III, scene I

Dramatis personae: William Shakespeare
Ben Jonson

Scene: Mermaid Pub

Jonson: Ay! Will, fancy meeting you here at the Mermaid! In my line of profession this is one of the few joys I may cling to without concern of excess.

Shakespeare: Ben, you are grabbing unnecessary attention . . . again. Although, it is a pleasure to see a friend at this hour; the succession of James is near, and I feel ill.

Jonson: I believe, Will, you are crediting yourself with more enemies than you deserve. Amongst my friends with whom you are unacquainted, you are known as sort of the Town Suck-up. I, on the other hand, have much more weight on my dealings than you. James is a passionate man which could result in my fleeing the country or at least an early retirement. Count your blessings, Will.

Shakespeare: Could you be any thicker? You think I am concerned about my repute? If I am pray that I receive a severe punishment of shame. It is not myself that I am sick about, but our friend Raleigh. Oh, and how undeserving he is malicious ill favor! And Raleigh, the free spirited man that he is, wont change his charity or generosity to gain graces with the King. He is too right to change and I imagine James is too selfish to see that.

Jonson: Raleigh? You are concerned for Raleigh? I do think there is an air of overreaction in you. Snuff that out as best you can, otherwise it will eat at you and there is no where to go but down into melancholy. No, Walter is a capable man and has enough allies in the citizenry to have an army, or even flee to America and be his own King. Hell, I believe if poked and prodded enough he will run the king through next chance he gets.

Shakespeare: You vile bastard! You know so little of him! Your mere suggestion of Raleigh conspiring to assassinate our potentate is libelous towards him and could be his undoing. No, Walter is loyal to his friends, but before that he is loyal to his authorities; no matter his condition. And that is the very reason I worry for him. If James wants him dead, Raleigh will be dead. I know this as he is no coward.

Jonson: Will, had I known your passions, I would think your actions were allusions. [sarcastically] Perhaps, I do not see you before me now, and you are really petitioning the king as I become a loon.

Shakespeare: [returning the sarcasm] Oh, and I'll see you stand for Raleigh in his time of need? You know your problem, but you choose to ignore it; at least I observe mine, and you can see my sorrow.

Jonson: Ay, but thereis no point in us ruffling each others feathers when we both agree we would like to see Walter living here in England, free of persecution. All we know is that it is a tough task; the man is a devout protestant and I have a sure notion of what James thinks of that, bloody Stuart.

Shakespeare: Please let us speak no more of it. I take no pleasure in hearing this tragedy.

Jonson: Listen Will, I only ask that you get in the right mind; become a realist. Take a healthy portion of the stoics why don't you. You are a good friend, Will, and I rather not see you go into a spiraling depression. I'd prefer you remain among the living.

Shakespeare: I see your reasoning. You may be my foil, Ben, but I would do very well to keep you around.

Jonson: Now that I have you back, indulge me a little with your true heart felt ideas of James!

Shakespeare: Imprudence, Thy name is Jonson!

Jonson: Well, not what I was looking for, but your manner has changed. Come, say what do you think of how he dresses? How about his pretense, or no his self-righteousness! I can think of hundreds of insults: James has a big head, slobbering mouth, codfish eyes, spindle shanks, drunk, coward.

Shakespeare: Despite your best efforts to resolve mt mind, thoughts are still there. Besides, I worry less about James; it is that reptile Cecil. You may call me double minded but Cecil is a snake that makes a friend and instantly throws them away for higher position.

Jonson: Secretary Cecil? Why I was sure that he liked Raleigh.

Shakespeare: And perhaps he did, but only before James was the suggested successor to the throne.

Jonson: Strange, but I suppose I should not take surprise at this. James has a very imposing will since you and I both lie low in one fashion or another.

Shakespeare: Ben, I have resolved that next I see Raleigh that I warn him of Cecil. I do not know what I want him to do with the information, but it is an itch that I cannot help scratch.

Jonson: I make no objections.

Shakespeare: Very well, but now I must leave your presence to attend a meeting with Marlowe.

Jonson: Bah! I would say that you not waste your time with Kit. Man's an amateur.

Shakespeare: Hold your tongue, Ben.

[exit Shakespeare]

Scripture Reading, 3/6/11

15 O LORD, thou knowest;
remember me and visit me,
and take vengeance for me on my persecutors.
In thy forbearance take me not away;
know that for thy sake I bear reproach.
16 Thy words were found, and I ate them,
and thy words became to me a joy
and the delight of my heart;
for I am called by thy name,
O LORD, God of hosts.
17 I did not sit in the company of merrymakers,
nor did I rejoice;
I sat alone, because thy hand was upon me,
for thou hadst filled me with indignation.
18 Why is my pain unceasing,
my wound incurable,
refusing to be healed?
Wilt thou be to me like a deceitful brook,
like waters that fail?
19 Therefore thus says the LORD:
"If you return, I will restore you,
and you shall stand before me.
If you utter what is precious, and not what is worthless,
you shall be as my mouth.
They shall turn to you,
but you shall not turn to them.
20 And I will make you to this people
a fortified wall of bronze;
they will fight against you,
but they shall not prevail over you,
for I am with you
to save you and deliver you, says the LORD.
21 I will deliver you out of the hand of the wicked,
and redeem you from the grasp of the ruthless."

Jeremiah 15

Let Us Hear It For the North!

The luxury of sand and water; bathed in sun,
Is pleasant for a time, and well to have.
But to live in the North, the luxury is shun,
Even if only for death, there will be my grave.

To constantly indulge these sensual desires,
In our minds to this we may allude.
But to keep farthest away from dangerous fires,
Our flesh becomes unwittingly crude.

To be called "of the North" a compliment sure,
Negative implications cannot be found.
For the North and Her perils encourage the pure,
To cultivate and use the hard brittle ground.

Dost thou prefer ecstasy om earth?
Free of duty, having relaxed pride.
You will become soft, losing your worth,
As wit and muscle un-becomingly fried.

We are assured the North is that great,
For the promised gain is pursued there.
Securing this danger is hard to relate,
As futility she maketh it wholly unfair.

But Futility! That is a different story,
For later I'll speak of all it's glory.

By Evan Gunn Wilson

The Artist

The Artist and his Luckless Wife
They lead a horrid haunted life,
Surrounded by the things he's made
That are not wanted by the trade.

The world is very fair to see;
The Artist will not let it be;
He fiddles with the works of God,
And makes them look uncommon odd.

The Artist is an awful man,
He does not do the things he can;
He does the things he cannot do,
And we attend the private view.

The Artist uses honest paint
To represent things as they ain't,
He then asks money for the time
It took to perpetrate the crime.

By Sir Walter Raleigh

An Informal Proof on Beauty

Beauty = Complexity
Complexity does not always equal beauty.

- What must be added to complexity to achieve beauty is a sensual order; the ordered complexity reaches the ear and the sounds alone must be pleasing.

Beauty does not equal Content.

-If beauty in art was the mere content we lose objectivity and adopt relativity unknowingly. In this scenario we must regard scribblings on paper interpreted as King David equal in beauty to that of the statue of David.

-The content of art is only what we attempt to communicate, and it is up to us as artisans to make it beautiful.

-As Demetrius says in his "On Style": It is possible to rob a subject of its dignity.

Beauty does not equal "evocation of emotion".

-We run into the same problem as we did with content, since emotion is brought on by the content. Emotion is a bye-product of the initial beauty; it is only a bonus.

-If a Christian listens to a theologian talk of God and his systematic he will not weep. But upon hearing a four part harmony choir sing "Eternal Father" they are much more susceptible to their emotions. Why is that? The composer of "Eternal Father" had the correct choice of poetry in the lyrics and the complexity of the music was a apparently beautiful in its own right. They made it devotional so they had something to communicate as a musician and so they may praise God as a Christian.

A Conversation Between God and the "Christian" Soul

Soul

Father, I pray that wisdom I may obtain,
To be of good thought, my mind be clear.
Let it be known this request I do not feign,
And so from my god, I hope to soon hear.

Father, I pray you will answer me now!
My faith is weakened to deny your love.
Tho', I'll wait once more to find; and how,
Shall thee prove to me, my thoughts to move.

Oh God! A fool I have blatantly been,
To believe in thy goodness, a folly.
I demand thee no more, singing no hymn,
I know there's no god that's holy.

God

You wicked soul, have you been so blind?
Why are you deserving my reply?
I see no faith, so leave you behind,
Your many words do not answers buy.

There was only faith to find in thy mind,
Any logician can make this claim.
But heart faith is the necessary kind,
You treated this as a mere game.

To you I say, and hope for answer,
That double mind may be single later.
And My grace to you that I will transfer,
By this you'll know, you're Judas, a traitor.

By Evan Gunn Wilson