The Penseroso Place

I'd better begin with a short introduction to Milton's poem "Il Penseroso." It's kind of unpromising on the face of it, 'specially in my anthology, which has the opening lines, "Hence vain deluding joyes/ The brood of folly without father bred," the invocation to the goddess Melancholy, and a description of her parents on the first page of the poem. There's interesting stuff in there, but at first read, thirty lines of it are a lot to stomach.

Perseverance, however, is rewarded. The speaker starts revealing more and more of his personality. First, he wants Melancholy to bring her buddy Contemplation along. And Silence can come along too, unless Philomel (a nightingale) will sing. But if Philomel won't show up, he wants to go for a walk:

And missing thee, I walk unseen

On the dry smooth-shaven Green,

To behold the wandring Moon (65-67)

I don't know about you, but I like this guy. Where's he want to go? Walking outside at night to look at the Moon. Good on! And he's equally okay with some dimly lit cottage, or a "lonely Towr."

The best thing about this poem is the spatial imagery. If the Penseroso represents a focused stance - one that eyes mirth, happiness and Joy suspiciously (like an old man might squint at a iPhone toting teen), then it isn't surprising that all of the places he mentions are framed and enclosed in some way. He mentions later that sometimes he stays up overnight til morning, but when the Sun starts chucking sunbeams around, he retreats to "arched walks of twilight groves." I think part of the reason for this is that thick groves of trees are protective. They sort of shrink the physical world (as in, you can't see as far as you could in a field) into a more manageable place. And then there's the dark, which works in the same way. When your light source is quite small, what you can see is suddenly intense and obvious, because all of the competing sensory input that was crowding in at your peripherals is replaced with black.

I know this smacks of literary analysis - in fact, I'm writing a paper on it right now - but I still find it an extremely interesting way of looking at things. We can examine spatial preferences in the imagery of other poems (Milton's "L'Allegro" and Tennyson's "Lady of Shalott" and "The Poet's Mind" are great ones) and even in ourselves. What kind of places and spaces do you want to be in? What does that say about you? 

Midterms? Close Not the Curtains of Your Countenance

Exams bring people together.

Is't not so? When it is that time of year, when some sit, some slump, some slouch, in rows of chairs, when some cling to coffee cups like drowning men, and some arrange and rearrange assorted pens, and the thundering clock
is ticking ticking, and white bright lights are harsh and buzzing,

then, and then most of all,

will we listen with sympathetic ear to the weird chap in the front row, who turns now with knitted brow. Says he, with a shake of his head, "Aw man...I'm so screwed."

At which admission our weary hearts remember warmth. "My brother!" cry we, and we perceive that in sooth, this fellow's habit of asking hard questions just before the end of each class is but a trivial fault - of no consequence next to his obvious strength of character. What a guy! What depth of feeling and noble sentiment express themselves in that heretofore unpleasant countenance! Surely we are kin - surely he is a distant cousin, thrice-removed offspring of some fair uncle. Let the jocund rebecks sound! The ice is broken - nay! melted, and ere the examinations begin, find we not new strength in pleasant conversation?

Math, I Salute You

I thought I was going to have stand around with some kind of idea-conductive version of the lightning rod, but at last, inspiration has struck. And from the most unlikely of places: Math. Specifically, the math in A Beautiful Mind, and the math in Randall Munroe's xkcd blag (even more specifically, from the post about his study on colour.)

I've been a staunch math-hater for years, but I may come to change my stance on certain aspects of the issue. For example, I no longer despise math when it means 'the written expression of some extremely complex concept.' I can't express it here with the right symbols, but trapezoidal derivatives for discovering the y-coordinates of any given stoichiometric Eidenbacher's function regarding the polyasymptotic parabola of the famous Gondlemann Log-Cosine Proof where x is unknowable are awesome.

Seriously though - some equations look intriguing. Greek letters, super/subscripts and loads of brackets. Tremendous. I merely speculate, but it seems that having a working knowledge of high level math would be analogous to the ostensible awesomeness of knowing Hebrew, Ancient Greek and Old English. And the fact that you can actually do things with those equations is even cooler.

I know, we do things with math all the time. To clarify, when I say 'things,' I mean interesting things. Like building trebuchets, complicated graphs, maps and underwater robots. Math, in the immortal words of one of my old teachers, "I salute you."