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The Princess (part 2)

At break of day the College Portress came:
She brought us Academic silks, in hue
The lilac, with a silken hood to each,
And zoned with gold; and now when these were on,
And we as rich as moths from dusk cocoons,
She, curtseying her obeisance, let us know
The Princess Ida waited: out we paced,
I first, and following through the porch that sang
All round with laurel, issued in a court
Compact of lucid marbles, bossed with lengths
Of classic frieze, with ample awnings gay
Betwixt the pillars, and with great urns of flowers.
The Muses and the Graces, grouped in threes,
Enringed a billowing fountain in the midst;
And here and there on lattice edges lay
Or book or lute; but hastily we past,
And up a flight of stairs into the hall.

There at a board by tome and paper sat,
With two tame leopards couched beside her throne,

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Black And White Movement

in the academe
i see faces and
bodies which are
either black or
white

in a sense
what political
monotony is
this?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Academe, n.: An ancient school where morality and philosophy were taught. Academy, n.: A modern school where football is taught.

quote by Ambrose Bierce
Added by Lucian Velea
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It was a myth that's often perpetuated at commencement that holds that only hope and promise lie beyond the halls of academe. Don't worry, be happy. Everything is fine.

quote by Paul Tsongas
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For many decades now - and certainly during my adult life in academe - the Western intellectual world has not been convinced that theology is a pursuit that can be engaged in with intellectual honesty and integrity.

quote by Arthur Peacocke
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A serious problem in America is the gap between academe and the mass media, which is our culture. Professors of humanities, with all their leftist fantasies, have little direct knowledge of American life and no impact whatever on public policy.

quote by Camille Paglia
Added by Lucian Velea
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0289 Bacchus, god of poetry and wine

The famous Poet Laureate
of North Dakota State
has been suspended on full pay
just because one merry day
attending a writers' conference
at a restaurant, under the influence
of the Bacchic nectar he'd imbibed
there were incidents, yet undescribed.
But his students have Larry Woiwode's promise
to deal with their theses on Dylan Thomas
and other poets. Ironic, it must seem
to all those drunk with poetry, in Academe?

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Theses, faeces, syntheses

O the language of the thesis!
O the octopus of Academe!

‘As I argued in my previous book,
‘Some definitions of ‘definition’ in contemporary philosophy’ –
an argument which I hope to pursue
in a following volume, (and I quote) :
‘to define what we mean by ‘definition’
we must first consider
the nature of definition:
can it be itself defined? Is
its definition itself a retreat
from what definition defines? …’

and the wood of academic chairs
creaking as a lecture ends,
from which once the young sap rose
like the hope of definition
dries, decays and dessicates.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Majestic Halls Of Silence

years and years tradition marked these halls
with the power of its own silence, not a dropp of needle is heard here.

there is this black robe with velvet ropes
there is this hat of the academe
there is this discipline that outlasts lives of men

suddenly, all these are engulfed by the conspiracy of the minds
in protecting the house with a clean and white fainted facade
the interiors have not become well tended

a faulty wiring that may cause the fire soon
infested walls, termite territory this has become
no one, no one, expects the crumpling of the structure

one day all will be gone
who fiddles when the fire begins?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Phedre

(To Sarah Bernhardt)

How vain and dull this common world must seem
To such a One as thou, who should'st have talked
At Florence with Mirandola, or walked
Through the cool olives of the Academe:
Thou should'st have gathered reeds from a green stream
For Goat-foot Pan's shrill piping, and have played
With the white girls in that Phaeacian glade
Where grave Odysseus wakened from his dream.

Ah! surely once some urn of Attic clay
Held thy wan dust, and thou hast come again
Back to this common world so dull and vain,
For thou wert weary of the sunless day,
The heavy fields of scentless asphodel,
The loveless lips with which men kiss in Hell.

poem by Oscar Wilde
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