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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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The conspicuously wealthy turn up urging the character-building value of privation for the poor.

quote by John Kenneth Galbraith
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The conspicuously wealthy turn up urging the character building values of the privation of the poor.

quote by John Kenneth Galbraith
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The real scientist is ready to bear privation and, if need be, starvation rather than let anyone dictate to him which direction his work must take.

quote by Albert Szent Gyorgyi
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Rather than allow themselves to be separated from the love of Christ, they submitted cheerfully to every privation, to contumely and disgrace, and to death itself.

quote by John Strachan
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His Brother’s Keeper

By his paths through the parched desolation,
Hot rides and the terrible tramps;
By the hunger, the thirst, the privation
Of his work in the further most camps.

By his worth in the light that shall search men
And prove – ay! And justify each –
I place him in front of all churchmen
Who feel not, who know not – but preach!

poem by Henry Lawson
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And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has been awarded us. Life asks for rewards back because it has favored us with animation. So while our art cannot, as we wish it could, save us from wars, privation, envy, greed, old age, or death, it can revitalize us amidst it all.

quote by Ray Bradbury
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Dawn of the Headland

Dawn - and a magical stillness: on earth, quiescence profound;
On the waters a vast Content, as of hunger appeased and stayed;
In the heavens a silence that seems not mere privation of sound,
But a thing with form and body, a thing to be touched and weighed!
Yet I know that I dwell in the midst of the roar of the cosmic wheel,
In the hot collision of Forces, and clangor of boundless Strife,
Mid the sound of the speed of the worlds, the rushing worlds, and the peal
Of the thunder of Life.

poem by William Watson
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Mania

Hyperactive elation and hot rapture,
Excited clench of hands, rubbed over psyche,
Does depressively and belatedly capture,
Desired object in framed mentality,
Motivated by day notion of happy magic,
Brainwave bouncing along to cheered neuron,
Such minds wasteful of productive plus pragmatic,
Maniacal brainstorm is calamity cast from,
Counteractive serotonin privation,
Accelerating synaptic syndrome,
Body shuddering in horripilation,
As maximum overdrive spins up and kicks home,
Twist of mortal glee, altering reality,
For the hearts of men are held by fantasy.

poem by Dale Mullock
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Brunch in Tampa

Let's let the waiters have their say. Let's let
The ones who took the bus to set the silver
As you drove, who crossed the desert
Overnight, describe their versions of
Privation as you stuff your bloated face.
Let's let them ask how much you need.
Your hair is perfect, and your teeth.
Your house is large. You make a lot
Of money from your leather chair,
But you complain they're not enough.
You want for nothing, but for this:
Some proof that you and yours are
Grand, and all these others, unlike
You, are wretched, and always will be.
You cast about for confirmation.
Let the waiters say.

poem by Lawrence Beck
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