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I’ve hiked alongside a black bear, who was fishing for salmon in a stream, in Alaska.  Maybe it was because I was with a group of people, but the bear didn’t scare me.  Put me in the same room as an insect and I am no longer fearless.  In fact, if my husband is near [...]

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All that talk of the Greek and Roman gods yesterday in the post about "The Garden" by Andrew Marvell called to mind one of the most famous of famous Keats poems, which I've not yet posted here. It seemed high time to remedy that situation, and so it is that today's selection is one of the five famous Odes written by Keats in 1819: "Ode on a Grecian Urn". The title doesn't mean that he physically wrote the poem on an urn, but that he was inspired by the frieze around the outside of a Grecian urn.

The poem closes with a maxim based on the works of Sir Joshua Reynolds, whose works on the nature of art were well-known and respected by Keats and many of his readers: "'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all/Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

Ode on a Grecian Urn
by John Keats

Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
  Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
  A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf-fring'd legend haunt about thy shape
  Of deities or mortals, or of both,
    In Tempe or the dales of Arcady*?
  What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
  What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
  Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
  Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
  Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
    Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
    She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
  For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!

Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
  Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
And, happy melodist, unwearied,
  For ever piping songs for ever new;
More happy love! more happy, happy love!
  For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
    For ever panting, and for ever young;
All breathing human passion far above,
  That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
    A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.

Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
  To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
  And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
What little town by river or sea shore,
  Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
    Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
And, little town, thy streets for evermore
  Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
    Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.

O Attic** shape! Fair attitude! with brede***
  Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
With forest branches and the trodden weed;
  Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
  When old age shall this generation waste,
    Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
  Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"'Beauty is truth, truth beauty,' - that is all
    Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."

*Tempe or the dales of Arcady: Tempe and Arcadia are beautiful locations in Greece, representing here a form of idealized rural or pastoral beauty

**Attic: of, relating to, or having the characteristics of Athens or its ancient civilization; marked by simplicity, purity or refinement (per

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A founding member of the Geological Society of London, George Bellas Greenough also held the highest office in the Royal Geographical Society for two years in the mid-nineteenth century. In his presidential address to the professional body in May 1840, he offered his thoughts on the indispensability of maps. Given my own fondness for atlases, I’m posting an excerpt from his speech today:

Of all the contrivances hitherto devised for the benefit of geography, this [the map] is the most effective. In the extent and variety of its resources, in rapidity of utterance, in the copiousness and completeness of the information it communicates, in precision, conciseness, perspicuity, in the hold it has upon the memory, in vividness of imagery and power of expression, in convenience of reference, in portability, in the happy combination of so many and such useful qualities, a map has no rival. Everything we say or do has reference to place: and wherever place is concerned a map deserves welcome. There is scarcely one department of knowledge; physical or moral, beyond the sphere of its usefulness.

Honestly, I couldn’t agree more.

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Ben Keene is the editor of Oxford Atlas of the World. Check out some of his previous places of the week.

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I liked the photo I attached to yesterday’s SOLSC Post so much that I tried to replicate it with another photograph of my crystal-like brads (aka: fasteners). Since it’s Poetry Friday, I decided to take another stab at writing an ode, which I haven’t tried since July. An Ode to the Crystal-Like Brads on My [...]

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Sure, we laugh at Dopey. But sometimes we wish we were Grumpy. At least I do. There are some bloggers who do grumpy so well.

They get angry at the real bad stuff in this world:

"Cancer murdered my father; I'm still waiting for the country to take notice." (Colleen Mondor at Chasing Ray)

They plan whole books about the art of the Nag:

"I could cover the rewards of nagging (it works), my connection to a long line of honorable naggers through my maternal line, nagging's place in the greater society, how nagging has been perceived throughout history, turning points in history that were influenced by nagging, nagging as the foundation of the American family..." (Gail Gauthier at Original Content)

They title their posts Britney = Elvis and Big Stinky Review Fun:

"So many trees, giving up their lives so valiantly in the name of books that should never have been published." (David Elzey at fomagrams)

It's not that I don't get grumpy. Yes, I'm often irritated, furious, beaked, mildly annoyed and plain pissed off. It's just that I can't channel those feelings into good, biting prose. My version of Howl would be called Mewl, or perhaps Fret.

So I really, really enjoy it when someone lets loose. Not with a flame, or a small-minded rant, or a hurtful personal attack. But righteous anger, unapologetic grumpiness, a passionate, utterly devastating take-down of greed? That can make me smile for days. (Yes, it's Jimmy Stewart. I never tire of watching him.)

So if you're grumpy and you know it, raise your hand. Or better yet, write about it and let me read it. Submit your favorite bouts of grumpiness in the comments.

P.S. I'm SO sorry to do this to you, but you have to check out Grumpy's Bail Bonds. Their motto is: You ring. We spring. And the owner has written a book.

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Below Evan Schnittman shares his personal opinions on royalties and advances. This isn’t Oxford University Press’s official stance - but represents just one of the many opinions floating around our office on this very tricky subject. We hope that by sharing his views an open dialog can be initiated.

In his blog post Royalties Macmillan CEO Richard Charkin, posits that trade publishers and authors/agents would be well served if the standard for paying authors switched from a percentage of retail price to a percentage of gross earnings. He writes, “How about agreeing new equitable royalty rates based on real money not a notional recommended retail price?

Charkin also points out that, “The percentage is linked to a price which applies in only a minority of cases. It doesn’t apply to all sales overseas; it doesn’t apply to nearly all sales made in supermarkets, Internet bookshops and many bookshop chains.” In other words, paying on the percentage of a price that isn’t applicable to the majority of income isn’t logical or easy – which may lead to wildly confusing royalty statements.

As expected, within hours a series of rebuttals hit the comments field by individuals and groups rejecting Charkin’s notion as folly; stating the view that the retail price is the only thing that is transparent on publishers’ royalty statements, which are notoriously mysterious and murky at best.

While the debate will continue, it misses a far more important problem. (more…)

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