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Moby Dick by Herman Melville

Moby Dick is a leviathan of a novel equal in measure to the leviathan of the sea and its own namesake.  Employing every literary device including grand symbolism and allegory, Moby Dick can claim to be not just the great American Novel, but a formidable force in the canon of world literature.

“Call me Ishmael” is one of the most recognizable opening lines in the English-language literature.  And what a story does Ishmael the whale-ship sailor give us!  Setting sail on the Pequod, Ishmael is bound for a journey of a lifetime.  A journey he needs to undertake in order to understand himself. Starting right from making seemingly-simple distinctions in the sensations of cold and warmth.  Ishmael says, “… truly to enjoy bodily warmth, some small part of you must be cold, for there is no quality in this world that is not what it is merely by contrast. Nothing exists in itself. If you flatter yourself that you are all over comfortable, and have been so a long time, then you cannot be said to be comfortable any more.”

And if Ishmael resides in each of us, there’s also much of Captain Ahab in each of us.  Despite all our best intentions, who amongst us has not become obsessed to a degree in seeking out something that eludes us?  And like Captain Ahab do we pursue it despite all reason?  Captain Ahab actually believes that he is destined in his pursuit.  He says, `Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled. Fool! I am the Fates’ lieutenant; I act under orders. Look thou, underling! that thou obeyest mine.”

But the intensity of the pursuit no matter how passionate does not determine if it is a noble one.  It might have all the passion of the ocean and still be a misguided pursuit. Like Ahab’s.  Like the ill-fated Pequod, the thirst for vengeance is one that will turn upon itself and serve nothing and no one in the end.

Magnificent in every metaphorical construct, and spanning every complex theme of the human condition, Moby Dick is a whale of an epic story about the pursuit of a big fish, nay, about life itself.

Moby-dick

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Sailing to Byzantium

First published in my private blog on Friday, August 29, 2008

Vellore

Byzantium is this mythical place in Yeats’ poems that is like a crossroads of the mortal and the immortal; the old and the young; the now and the there.  I was reminded of this recently, and looked up the poem in its entirety.  What a beautiful poem it is!  The imagery of sailing to this mythical place on the wings of youth and strength are vivid, but so also is the concession of youth and even nature itself being temporal and transient. 

But true immortality rests with the soul.  And speaking of youth – and the notion of invincibility and vanity that sometimes go with it – here are some images from last month.  I’m sailing to Byzantium via Vellore in the great state of Tamilnadu in the southern part of India.  The magnolia tree in the background, I believe, is sure to outlast me!


 

Sailing to Byzantium

 

W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)


 

THAT is no country for old men. The young

In one another’s arms, birds in the trees

– Those dying generations – at their song,

The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,

Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long

Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.

Caught in that sensual music all neglect

Monuments of unageing intellect.

 

An aged man is but a paltry thing,

A tattered coat upon a stick, unless

Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing

For every tatter in its mortal dress,

Nor is there singing school but studying

Monuments of its own magnificence;

And therefore I have sailed the seas and come

To the holy city of Byzantium.

 

O sages standing in God’s holy fire

As in the gold mosaic of a wall,

Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,

And be the singing-masters of my soul.

Consume my heart away; sick with desire

And fastened to a dying animal

It knows not what it is; and gather me

Into the artifice of eternity.

 

Once out of nature I shall never take

My bodily form from any natural thing,

But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make

Of hammered gold and gold enamelling

To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;

Or set upon a golden bough to sing

To lords and ladies of Byzantium

Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

Cormack-byzantium-bar450

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10 Things The Best Leaders Believe

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Click on the link below the picture to go to the article.