There is an astonishing imagination, even in the science of mathematics... We repeat, there was far more imagination in the head of Archimedes than in that of Homer.
quote by Voltaire
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On First Looking - Parody John KEATS – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
On First Looking
Much have I rummaged, bartered books for gold,
and many goodly states of Shakespeare seen,
round many stalls and book fairs have I been
which frauds in fealty to their runners hold.
Oft of some sharp expense had I been told
that Maggs or Quaritch made their pet demesne,
yet never did I seethe with rage so keen
till once a chap-book saw I still unsold.
Then wished I Evoe was, who in disguise,
the superman of planet fame, I ken,
skinned over catalogues with eagle eyes
to stare at price lists with a skill few men
can e’er attain unearthing bargains. Vain
‘twas, a dream, I sink, to sleep again...
[c] Jonathan Robin parody written 2 August 1991
Parody John KEATS 1795_1821 – On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer
________
On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer
Much have I travelled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne:
Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific, and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise -
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Love Science
Ive been around the world, Im going around again
I got a new word up, gonna lay it on my friends
Im still too young, Ive got these emotions in my blood
But when I grow up, gonna be a scientist of love
Working on, love science
Got to know, love science
Show the world, love science
How to be a scientist of love
Tell my friends, love science
Take a chance, love science
Give it up, love science
Im a scientist of love
Feel the power, love science
Study hard, love science
Know the truth, love science
Be a scientist of love
Choose a plan, love science
Pick em up, put em down, love science
Bring it on home, love science
Got to be a scientist of love
Hey you!
Sometimes you get screwed up, and youre looking for a cure
But you dont want to see just another amateur
I know the kind of expert you must be thinking of
Go out and find yourself a scientist of love
Some say that loves a game, a random circumstance
Im not the type to leave that kind of thing to chance
You might sit back and wait, but Im taking off the gloves
Im gonna crack this case like a scientist of love
1, 2, 3!
If loves what we want, if loves what we need
Why cant we make love from suspicion and greed?
If loves what we want, if loves what we need
Why cant we make love?
Ive got no time to waste just waiting for the bus
This is the place, the space to get down and serious
School is in, the lab is open for research
I do declare that love is a walking, talking church
Ive got to quell the beast, be a credit to my sex
Ive got to give at least as much as I expect
Cant get no rest til I discover what I need
Gotta start somewhere, that why I believe, believe, believe
Believe the word, love science
Party down, love science
Thinking hard, love science
How to be a scientist of love
Place to place, love science
Hour to hour, love science
Cant hold back, love science
Got to be a scientist of love
[...] Read more
song performed by Todd Rundgren
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Voyage around the Square Root of Minus One
I often heard
that while the sciences concern themselves
with objective truths
the arts deal with subjective phenomena.
Many years ago I held the same view,
but later came to the conclusion
that this is just a well-combed popular myth.
It is an untenable credo
because the sharp separation
of the arts and sciences is a rigid
and arbitrary mandate, full of holes.
Although all subjects have their specificities,
at the same time they also share
many common traits with each other.
There is art in science and science in art.
Artists, for example,
apply geometry to represent
a three dimensional scene in a painting,
which is a two dimensional surface.
By using ‘objective' geometrical perspective,
Renaissance artists, among them Alberti,
Brunelleschi, Uccello, Leonardo and Dürer,
developed in Europe the ‘subjective' illusion
of perceptual realism.
Later, in the Dutch Republic of the 17th century,
Johannes Vermeer applied expensive pigments
to the canvas and conducted
pioneering research in optics that enhanced
the supreme quality of his work,
imbuing his paintings with sublime,
otherworldly light.
In the 19th century
the Romantic painter John Constable
prepared detailed studies
of the landscape and weather conditions
of England, before transcribing them
into images of stunning accuracy and grace.
Following the closing of the Weimar Bauhaus
by the Nazis in 1933, the artist Josef Albers
moved to the USA, where he worked at
Black Mountain College and at Yale University.
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Hartal
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An Essay on Criticism
Part I
INTRODUCTION. That it is as great a fault to judge ill as to write ill, and a more dangerous one to the public. That a true Taste is as rare to be found as a true Genius. That most men are born with some Taste, but spoiled by false education. The multitude of Critics, and causes of them. That we are to study our own Taste, and know the limits of it. Nature the best guide of judgment. Improved by Art and rules, which are but methodized Nature. Rules derived from the practice of the ancient poets. That therefore the ancients are necessary to be studied by a Critic, particularly Homer and Virgil. Of licenses, and the use of them by the ancients. Reverence due to the ancients, and praise of them.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill
Appear in writing or in judging ill;
But of the two less dangerous is th'offence
To tire our patience than mislead our sense:
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss;
A fool might once himself alone expose;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share;
Both must alike from Heav'n derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
And censure freely who have written well;
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true,
But are not Critics to their judgment too?
Yet if we look more closely, we shall find
Most have the seeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn right:
But as the slightest sketch, if justly traced,
Is by ill col'ring but the more disgraced,
So by false learning is good sense defaced:
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fools:
In search of wit these lose their common sense,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a rival's or an eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing side.
If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite,
There are who judge still worse than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pass'd;
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at last.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass,
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Those half-learn'd witlings, numerous in our isle,
As half-form'd insects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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A poem, on the rising glory of America
LEANDER.
No more of Memphis and her mighty kings,
Or Alexandria, where the Ptolomies.
Taught golden commerce to unfurl her falls,
And bid fair science smile: No more of Greece
Where learning next her early visit paid,
And spread her glories to illume the world,
No more of Athens, where she flourished,
And saw her sons of mighty genius rise
Smooth flowing Plato, Socrates and him
Who with resistless eloquence reviv'd
The Spir't of Liberty, and shook the thrones
Of Macedon and Persia's haughty king.
No more of Rome enlighten'd by her beams,
Fresh kindling there the fire of eloquence,
And poesy divine; imperial Rome!
Whose wide dominion reach'd o'er half the globe;
Whose eagle flew o'er Ganges to the East,
And in the West far to the British isles.
No more of Britain, and her kings renown'd,
Edward's and Henry's thunderbolts of war;
Her chiefs victorious o'er the Gallic foe;
Illustrious senators, immortal bards,
And wise philosophers, of these no more.
A Theme more new, tho' not less noble claims
Our ev'ry thought on this auspicious day
The rising glory of this western world,
Where now the dawning light of science spreads
Her orient ray, and wakes the muse's song;
Where freedom holds her sacred standard high,
And commerce rolls her golden tides profuse
Of elegance and ev'ry joy of life.
ACASTO.
Since then Leander you attempt a strain
So new, so noble and so full of fame;
And since a friendly concourse centers here
America's own sons, begin O muse!
Now thro' the veil of ancient days review
The period fam'd when first Columbus touch'd
The shore so long unknown, thro' various toils,
Famine and death, the hero made his way,
Thro' oceans bestowing with eternal storms.
But why, thus hap'ly found, should we resume
The tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordain'd
With Indian blood to dye the sands, and choak
Fam'd Amazonia's stream with dead! Or why,
Once more revive the story old in fame,
[...] Read more
poem by Hugh Henry Brackenridge
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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society
Epigraph
Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.
I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.
You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Alive By Science
Respirators ventilators
High and holy legislators
Give me agony
Pure agony
Vegetation indignation
Endless one-way conversation
Aint living to me
And when I lose all my self-reliance
Dont keep me hooked up to no appliance
Dont keep me (if you love me)
Yeah dont keep me
Alive by science
I hear an angel banging on my door
Big daddy on the top floor
Shouting free
You gotta be free
This is my life cest mon affiare
Fat ladys singing
I dont stand a prayer
Now be a love and pull the plug on me
Now babe if you be true to our aliance
Please dont pump my lungs without my compliance
Dont keep me
Yeah dont keep me
Alive by science
And when I lose all my self-reliance
Dont keep me hooked up to no appliance
Dont keep me
Yeah dont keep me
Alive by science
I beg you bady dont keep me (alive by science)
Yeah baby dont keep me (alive by science)
Oh baby dont keep me (alive by science)
Aw baby dont keep me (alive by science)
Oh dont keep me (alive by science)
Shoo bop oh bo de oh yeah (alive by science) family members mortgage lenders give me agony (alive by science)
Im stuck in bed seeing red (alive by science)
Blood flows but my brian is dead (alive by science)
To be or not to be (alive by science)
Baby dont keep me (alive by science)
Dont you dare keep me (alive by science)
song performed by Gino Vanelli
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Columbiad: Book IX
The Argument
Vision suspended. Night scene, as contemplated from the mount of vision. Columbus inquires the reason of the slow progress of science, and its frequent interruptions. Hesper answers, that all things in the physical as well as the moral and intellectual world are progressive in like manner. He traces their progress from the birth of the universe to the present state of the earth and its inhabitants; asserts the future advancement of society, till perpetual peace shall be established. Columbus proposes his doubts; alleges in support of them the successive rise and downfal of ancient nations; and infers future and periodical convulsions. Hesper, in answer, exhibits the great distinction between the ancient and modern state of the arts and of society. Crusades. Commerce. Hanseatic League. Copernicus. Kepler. Newton, Galileo. Herschel. Descartes. Bacon. Printing Press. Magnetic Needle. Geographical discoveries. Federal system in America. A similar system to be extended over the whole earth. Columbus desires a view of this.
But now had Hesper from the Hero's sight
Veil'd the vast world with sudden shades of night.
Earth, sea and heaven, where'er he turns his eye,
Arch out immense, like one surrounding sky
Lamp'd with reverberant fires. The starry train
Paint their fresh forms beneath the placid main;
Fair Cynthia here her face reflected laves,
Bright Venus gilds again her natal waves,
The Bear redoubling foams with fiery joles,
And two dire dragons twine two arctic poles.
Lights o'er the land, from cities lost in shade,
New constellations, new galaxies spread,
And each high pharos double flames provides,
One from its fires, one fainter from the tides.
Centred sublime in this bivaulted sphere,
On all sides void, unbounded, calm and clear,
Soft o'er the Pair a lambent lustre plays,
Their seat still cheering with concentred rays;
To converse grave the soothing shades invite.
And on his Guide Columbus fixt his sight:
Kind messenger of heaven, he thus began,
Why this progressive laboring search of man?
If men by slow degrees have power to reach
These opening truths that long dim ages teach,
If, school'd in woes and tortured on to thought,
Passion absorbing what experience taught,
Still thro the devious painful paths they wind,
And to sound wisdom lead at last the mind,
Why did not bounteous nature, at their birth,
Give all their science to these sons of earth,
Pour on their reasoning powers pellucid day,
Their arts, their interests clear as light display?
That error, madness and sectarian strife
Might find no place to havock human life.
To whom the guardian Power: To thee is given
To hold high converse and inquire of heaven,
To mark untraversed ages, and to trace
Whate'er improves and what impedes thy race.
Know then, progressive are the paths we go
In worlds above thee, as in thine below
Nature herself (whose grasp of time and place
Deals out duration and impalms all space)
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Homer And Laertes
Laertes: Gods help thee! and restore to thee thy sight!
My good old guest, I am more old than thou,
Yet have outlived by many years my son
Odysseus and the chaste Penelope.
Homer: Hither I come to visit thee and sing
His wanderings and his wisdom, tho my voice
Be not the voice it was.
Laertes: First let us taste
My old sound wine, and break my bread less old,
But old enough for teeth like thine and mine.
Homer: So be it! I sing best when such good cheer
Refreshes me, and such a friend as thou.
Laertes: Far hast thou wandered since we met, and told
Strange stories. Wert thou not afraid some God
Or Goddess should have siez'd upon thy ear
For talking what thou toldest of their pranks.
Homer: They often came about me while I slept
And brought me dreams, none painful, none profane;
They loved thy son, and for his sake loved me.
Laertes: Apollo, I well know, was much thy friend.
Homer: He did not treat me quite as Marsyas
Was treated by him: lest he should, I sang
His praise in my best chaunt: for Gods love praise.
Laertes: Have they enricht thee? for I see thy cloak is ragged.
Homer: Ragged cloak is poet's garb.
Laertes: I have two better; one of them for thee.
Penelope, who died five years ago,
Spun it; her husband wore it only once
And but one year, the anniversary
Of their espousal.
Homer: Wear it will I not,
But I will hang it on the brightest nail
Of the first temple where Apollo sits,
Golden-hair'd, in his glory.
Laertes: So thou shalt
If so it please thee: yet we first will quaff
The gift of Bakkos, for methinks his gifts
Are quite as welcome to the sons of song
[...] Read more
poem by Walter Savage Landor
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Collision
Collision, my mission,
When the dawn breaks
With a handshake
Relaxed and feelin great
Screeching head on, head on, head on
Im needing a head on, head on, head on
Screeching, head on, head on, head on
Im needing a head on, head on, head on
All the days plans
All the shaken hands
Beepers and suntans
Screeching, head on, head on, head on
Im needing a head on, head on, head on
Screeching, head on, head on, head on
Im needing a head on, head on, head on
Collision, my mission
Head on, head on, head on, head on
(sample of people talking)
When the dawn breaks
With a handshake
Relaxed and feelin great
Collision, my mission
Head on, head on, head on,
Head on, head on, head on,
Head on,
Head on,
Head on
song performed by Faith No More
Added by Lucian Velea
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Vision Of Columbus - Book 8
And now the Angel, from the trembling sight,
Veil'd the wide world–when sudden shades of night
Move o'er the ethereal vault; the starry train
Paint their dim forms beneath the placid main;
While earth and heaven, around the hero's eye,
Seem arch'd immense, like one surrounding sky.
Still, from the Power superior splendors shone,
The height emblazing like a radiant throne;
To converse sweet the soothing shades invite,
And on the guide the hero fix'd his sight.
Kind messenger of Heaven, he thus began,
Why this progressive labouring search of man?
If man by wisdom form'd hath power to reach
These opening truths that following ages teach,
Step after step, thro' devious mazes, wind,
And fill at last the measure of the mind,
Why did not Heaven, with one unclouded ray,
All human arts and reason's powers display?
That mad opinions, sects and party strife
Might find no place t'imbitter human life.
To whom the Angelic Power; to thee 'tis given,
To hold high converse, and enquire of heaven,
To mark uncircled ages and to trace
The unfolding truths that wait thy kindred race.
Know then, the counsels of th'unchanging Mind,
Thro' nature's range, progressive paths design'd,
Unfinish'd works th'harmonious system grace,
Thro' all duration and around all space;
Thus beauty, wisdom, power, their parts unroll,
Till full perfection joins the accordant whole.
So the first week, beheld the progress rise,
Which form'd the earth and arch'd th'incumbant skies.
Dark and imperfect first, the unbeauteous frame,
From vacant night, to crude existence came;
Light starr'd the heavens and suns were taught their bound,
Winds woke their force, and floods their centre found;
Earth's kindred elements, in joyous strife,
Warm'd the glad glebe to vegetable life,
Till sense and power and action claim'd their place,
And godlike reason crown'd the imperial race.
Progressive thus, from that great source above,
Flows the fair fountain of redeeming love.
Dark harbingers of hope, at first bestow'd,
Taught early faith to feel her path to God:
Down the prophetic, brightening train of years,
Consenting voices rose of different seers,
In shadowy types display'd the accomplish'd plan,
When filial Godhead should assume the man,
When the pure Church should stretch her arms abroad,
Fair as a bride and liberal as her God;
[...] Read more
poem by Joel Barlow
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Open The Door, Homer
Now, theres a certain thing
That I learned from jim
That hed always make sure Id understand
And that is that theres a certain way
That a man must swim
If he expects to live off
Of the fat of the land.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
Now, theres a certain thing
That I learned from my friend, mouse
A fella who always blushes
And that is that evryone
Must always flush out his house
If he dont expect to be
Goin round housing flushes.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
Take care of all your memories
Said my friend, mick
For you cannot relive them
And remember when youre out there
Tryin to heal the sick
That you must always
First forgive them.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before.
Open the door, homer,
Ive heard it said before
But I aint gonna hear it said no more.
song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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Open The Door, Homer (1)
by Bob Dylan
Now, there's a certain thing
That I learned from Jim
That he'd always make sure I'd understand
And that is that there's a certain way
That a man must swim
If he expects to live off
Of the fat of the land.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
Now, there's a certain thing
That I learned from my friend, Mouse
A fella who always blushes
And that is that ev'ryone
Must always flush out his house
If he don't expect to be
Goin' 'round housing flushes.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
"Take care of all your memories"
Said my friend, Mick
"For you cannot relive them
And remember when you're out there
Tryin' to heal the sick
That you must always
First forgive them."
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before.
Open the door, Homer,
I've heard it said before
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.
song performed by Bob Dylan
Added by Lucian Velea
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On a Close-up of Louis Esterhuizen, on His Poem “Winnie”
So tell me Louis, you allege:
“I went to look at the remarks
found in his biographical sketch:
“I love the work of various poets
and my favourites are AG Visser, Eugene Marais,
Ingrid Jonker, D.J. Opperman, N.P. Van Wyk Louw,
William Shakespeare, Dylan Thomas, John Keats,
Robert Frost, W.B. Yeats, Yahuda Amichai,
Hannah Szenes, Stevie Smith, Dorothy Parker
and even Homer.””
Further you say: “With the exception of a few names
under the English favourites, all the Afrikaans poets are experts
whom he probably encountered at school,
if a person looks at the verses on his page
you realise that Mr. X has never grown past the incidental
school-contact...In this he is alas not unique.”
Still you are the great master
where it comes to the works of Homer,
as you make a comparison
in your poem “Winnie” between Me. Winnie Mandela
and Homer’s character Penelope,
where there are in reality flagrant contrasts
and the masters canonise this poem
in the “Great Verse Book”
without even being aware of the contrasts?
Let me as just a unfolding poet
who “has never grown past
the incidental school-contact, ”
point out the contrasts clearly:
The story of Penelope comes
out of Homer’s Odyssey where the title
indicates a long historical journey or adventure
or some wanderings
that the main character Odysseus / Ulysses
undertakes before again arriving
at the island Ithaca
where he rules as the king.
For only a very short while
Odysseus / Ulysses is with the nymph Circe
on a island, but the greatest part of the book
is about his wanderings.
In flagrant contrast you write:
”And Penelope comes forward, impatient
and rude as Ulysses is only moving rocks
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Genius - Book II.
I.
Of chance or change O let not man complain,
Else shall he never never cease to wail:
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale;
Art, empire, earth itself to change are doom'd;
Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale,
And gulphs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd,
And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloom'd.
II.
But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:
But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
Whate'er of fancy's ray, of friendship's flame is mine.
III.
So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command,
Shall here without reluctance change my lay,
And smile to the Gothic lyre with harsher hand;
Now when I leave that flowery path for aye
Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;
Where every face was innocent and gay,
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,
Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.
IV.
'Perish the lore that deadens young desire,'
Is the soft tenor of my song no more.
Edwin, though loved of Heaven, must not aspire
To bliss, which mortals never knew before.
On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,
Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy;
But now and then the shades of life explore;
Though many a sound and sight of wo annoy,
And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.
V.
Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly bosom, warm in summer bower,
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;
But soon it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oak. Superior to the power
[...] Read more
poem by James Beattie
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I Am A Scientist
Hehehe
Hihihihihihihiii
I got it
Woohoowoo
Woohoowoo
Got it got it
Woohoowoo
In me the scientist
Always get stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
I got it Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
We've gotta live on science alone
Religiously I'm speaking on the science 'cause
We've gotta live on science alone
I'll tell you what mathematically I'm having it
I want to live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
We've gotta live on science alone
In me the scientist
Always stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
'Cause I can live on science alone
We've gotta live on science alone
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
song performed by Dandy Warhols
Added by Lucian Velea
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Scientist
Hehehe
Hihihihihihihiii
I got it
Woohoowoo
Woohoowoo
Got it got it
Woohoowoo
In me the scientist
Always get stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
I got it Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
We've gotta live on science alone
Religiously I'm speaking on the science 'cause
We've gotta live on science alone
I'll tell you what mathematically I'm having it
I want to live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
We've gotta live on science alone
In me the scientist
Always stuck on always trying this
I try to live on science alone
Analysis and freaky sensitivity
We've gotta live on science alone
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Woohoowoo
Yeah uh I am a scientist
'Cause I can live on science alone
We've gotta live on science alone
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
Yeah uh I am a scientist
song performed by Dandy Warhols
Added by Lucian Velea
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Science is Unscientific
The Professor rose from his chair.
He moved the book to the middle
Of the table as he stood up.
"Now, listen! " he said in an amicable voice.
"Science prides itself in being factual,
objective, precise, unbiased, detached
and verifiable, free from introversion,
a way of knowing things without added colours
and portraying accurately the physical world
in its own light".
The Turtle was sipping his ginger ale.
"Oh, this description of science is nothing
but a myth", he said. "As I see it,
even the most magnificent accomplishments
of science involve emotions,
an individual sense of wonder and curiosity,
the psychological experience of the rapturous
and the mystical. Consequently,
a paradoxical and built in property
of science concerns
its own unscientific disposition.
And therefore, in my opinion,
science is thoroughly unscientific."
"Nonsense", the professor objected.
"If science were really unscientific,
as you claim, it could not produce
nuclear energy, airplanes, or computers.
And it could not put
astronauts on the moon".
"Well, I indeed never stop to wonder,
How is it possible that with so little knowledge
humans can accomplish so much? "
the Turtle said.
And then he added:
"But, you should not
confuse science with technology".
"I don't get your point", the Professor said,
"because you still did not provide me with
a good justification of your negative view
of science".
"Look! Science stands on very shaky
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Hartal
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XI. Guido
You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Dunciad: Book IV
Yet, yet a moment, one dim ray of light
Indulge, dread Chaos, and eternal Night!
Of darkness visible so much be lent,
As half to show, half veil, the deep intent.
Ye pow'rs! whose mysteries restor'd I sing,
To whom time bears me on his rapid wing,
Suspend a while your force inertly strong,
Then take at once the poet and the song.
Now flam'd the Dog Star's unpropitious ray,
Smote ev'ry brain, and wither'd every bay;
Sick was the sun, the owl forsook his bow'r.
The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour:
Then rose the seed of Chaos, and of Night,
To blot out order, and extinguish light,
Of dull and venal a new world to mould,
And bring Saturnian days of lead and gold.
She mounts the throne: her head a cloud conceal'd,
In broad effulgence all below reveal'd;
('Tis thus aspiring Dulness ever shines)
Soft on her lap her laureate son reclines.
Beneath her footstool, Science groans in chains,
And Wit dreads exile, penalties, and pains.
There foam'd rebellious Logic , gagg'd and bound,
There, stripp'd, fair Rhet'ric languish'd on the ground;
His blunted arms by Sophistry are borne,
And shameless Billingsgate her robes adorn.
Morality , by her false guardians drawn,
Chicane in furs, and Casuistry in lawn,
Gasps, as they straighten at each end the cord,
And dies, when Dulness gives her page the word.
Mad Mathesis alone was unconfin'd,
Too mad for mere material chains to bind,
Now to pure space lifts her ecstatic stare,
Now running round the circle finds it square.
But held in tenfold bonds the Muses lie,
Watch'd both by Envy's and by Flatt'ry's eye:
There to her heart sad Tragedy addres'd
The dagger wont to pierce the tyrant's breast;
But sober History restrain'd her rage,
And promised vengeance on a barb'rous age.
There sunk Thalia, nerveless, cold, and dead,
Had not her sister Satire held her head:
Nor couldst thou, Chesterfield! a tear refuse,
Thou weptst, and with thee wept each gentle Muse.
When lo! a harlot form soft sliding by,
With mincing step, small voice, and languid eye;
[...] Read more
poem by Alexander Pope
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