OLD QUOTES:

"I can't gain weight... my anxiety acts as aerobics"
~Woody Allen (Scoop, 2006)

"Ver Erat"/"It Was Springtime"
[for which he took 1st prize in Latin Composition]

It was springtime; a malady immobilized Orbilius
In Rome; the weapons of a terrible teacher were stilled.
The sound of slaps no longer reached my ears;
The whipping-stick no longer kept me in continual pain.
I took my advantage, sought the smiling countryside,
Forgetting all; free from studies and free from care,
Sweet blandishments restored my wearied mind.
A certain flood rapture seized my breast;
Boring classes, the teacher's harsh lectures
Were blotted out of mind; I rejoiced in the fields afar,
In the florid wonders of the burgeoning earth.
Nor did I, childishly, seek empty rural idleness:
I was filled with feelings greater than my small breast;
An unknown intent more divine added wings
To these exalted feelings: I watched what I saw,
Marveling silently, and in my breast was born
A love for the warm countryside: like an iron
Ring the Magnesian rock by some mysterious force
Attracts, and silently binds itself with invisible hooks.

Meanwhile my limbs were fatigued from my long wanderings,
And I lay down on the green-growing bank of a stream;
Lulled by its languishing murmur, I lay and took my ease,
Charmed by the songs of birds and the breath of the Western wind.
And lo, through the airy valley doves approached,
White flock that bore in their beaks fragrant crowns,
Flowers that Venus had gathered in her Cyprian gardens.
The swarm approached the grassy ground I lay upon
With a soft beating of wings, and hovering above me
Thereupon they bound my head and my hands
With green-growing garlands, and with sweet myrtle
Crowning my temples, they bore me, delicate weight,

Through the empty air.... The flock through lofty clouds
Conveyed me, drowsing beneath a branch of roses: the wind
With its breath caressed my gently swaying bed.
When the doves in rapid flight had reached their habitat
Beneath a lofty cliff, and gained their hanging
Homes, they set me down and left me there, awake.
O ineffable nest! ... A light gleaming with brightness
Poured round my shoulders, wrapping my body in its rays:
Nor was this light at all like the dim light
Mixed with darkness that obscures our eyes:
Its heavenly origin bears no trace of earthly light!
And within my breast rose something celestial, godlike
Power, that flows forever like a stream in flood.

Meanwhile the doves returned; in their beaks they bore
A crown, a laurel garland: crowned thus, Apollo
Delights to strike with his finger the sounding strings.
And when they had bound my brows with the laurel crown,
Lo, the heavens opened before me and suddenly
To my astonished eyes, hovering on a golden cloud,
Phoebus! His divine hand offered me the sounding lyre,
And with fire from heaven he traced these words on my brow:
YOU WILL BE A POET.... Through all my veins, then,
Heavenly warmth flowed, just as a fountain,
Pure shining crystal, flames in the light of the sun.
And then the doves their former shapes dissolved:
The Muses in chorus appear, singing sweet songs
With melodious voices; in their caressing arms
They caught me up and carried me away,
Three times uttering omens, three times crowning me with laurel.

~Nov. 6, 1868, age 14 (!)



----------------------------------------
And, from "Credo In Unam" c.1860s

"...
Bring back those ancient days when all was young;
Days of lascivious satyrs, animal fauns,
Of Gods whose love-bites broke the bark of trees,
Who kissed blond nymphs among the waterflowers!
Bring back the days when the world's sweet sap--
Rivers and streams, the pink blood of young trees,
Poured through the universal veins of Pan!
When the green earth beat beneath his goat-feet,
When his breath, in shining Syrinx' soft embrace,
Brought forth beneath the sky the hymn of love;
When standing in the plain, he heard about him
Living Nature answer to his call;
When the silent trees cradling the singing birds,
The great earth cradling man, the azure Ocean,
And animals all, still loved the power of God!
Bring back the days of almighty Cybele--
Gigantically beautiful, once she rode
A chariot of bronze through the glittering cities,
Her great breasts pouring through the universe
The streaming purity of boundless life.
..."

John Donne

(1572-1631)