In Egypt they had a pharaoh and slaves, so a series of wiggy pharaohs with many thousands of free laborers goes a long way toward explaining the pyramids and other mega-items (though it doesn't answer the question that kick-started this ramble). But in the case of Stonehenge, all you've got is a bunch of farmers, herders and warriors - there weren't many career alternatives available in those days - doing their farming, herding and warring, when suddenly one of their number jumps up and says: I've got a fantastic idea, let's do more than just dig a huge circular ditch for a thousand years—why don't a bunch of us just drop whatever it is we're doing and trek as far as 240 miles, to what will one day be called Wales, chip out a four-ton slab of rock over X number of years, using our stone tools - or your bronze tools, if you want to ruin them - then for a few more years roll the big rock slab back here, all at no salary. Waddaya think: sound like fun, or what?Read Robert's full posting here.
From Robert Fulghum writing at his blog comes this gem on what we call home:
“Where’s home for you?”
An innocent enough question. Often asked in the early stages of a new acquaintance, especially when traveling. Usual meanings: Where do you live now? Where did you grow up? Where do you come from?
In an age of nomadic existence when many of us have moved often, the answer is usually not what’s in the place on an official form for “Place of Birth.” Shift the question to “Where would you go if you were required to go home?” Or ask, “Where do you feel most at home?” Sometimes an answer lies in “Where do you want to be buried when you die?” A final home.
There are many ways of being home. One is never to leave it. I think of those people I grew up with who still live in the same town I left long ago.
Read Robert's full posting here.
From Robert Peake writing at Reputation in Poetry talks about attention and exposure:
Poetry is a profoundly intimate art. We demand the full attention of our listeners on something as complex and undecorated as words. No backing music, no other channel to flip to while the commercials are on. We make every word tell because it has to - because with a captive audience comes a lot of responsibility. Just calling a piece of writing a poem ups the ante considerably on both sides.Read Robert's full posting here.
When a poet I really trust and whose work I really admire starts reading their poems, I take off my skin. I turn up my antennae. And if in that fully exposed state they take advantage of me or worse just let words fall flat, I go away almost wounded. The dial drops a notch on how much I can trust them with my most vulnerable self, the rare and precious commodity of my full attention. This constant unconscious fiddling with rating knobs in our psyche is reputation.
Just because we have been bob, bob, bobbing along doesn't mean we have spring on our minds does it?