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The tensions of thought

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  • shadowed_statue
    Jim, Whilst attempting to gather together a few threads for the sake of making replies to your recent posts, I went in search of a poem by Rudyard Kipling,
    Message 1 of 4 , Sep 6, 2009
      Jim, Whilst attempting to gather together a few threads for the sake of making replies to your recent posts, I went in search of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, which seems well worth reproducing here. Louise


      The Beginnings
      1914-18

      It was not part of their blood,
      It came to them very late
      With long arrears to make good,
      When the English began to hate.

      They were not easily moved,
      They were icy-willing to wait
      Till every count should be proved,
      Ere the English began to hate.

      Their voices were even and low,
      Their eyes were level and straight,
      There was neither sign nor show,
      When the English began to hate.

      It was not preached to the crowd,
      It was not taught by the State,
      No man spoke it aloud,
      When the English began to hate.

      It was not suddenly bred,
      It will not swiftly abate,
      Through the chill years ahead,
      When Time shall count from the date
      That the English began to hate.
    • shadowed_statue
      ... As a response to Jim s questions (48953), I do find it easier to approach the subject by looking at the poem, which I only encountered for the first time
      Message 2 of 4 , Sep 8, 2009
        --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "shadowed_statue" <hecubatoher@...> wrote:
        >
        > Jim, Whilst attempting to gather together a few threads for the sake of making replies to your recent posts, I went in search of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, which seems well worth reproducing here. Louise
        >
        >
        > The Beginnings
        > 1914-18
        >
        > It was not part of their blood,
        > It came to them very late
        > With long arrears to make good,
        > When the English began to hate.
        >
        > They were not easily moved,
        > They were icy-willing to wait
        > Till every count should be proved,
        > Ere the English began to hate.
        >
        > Their voices were even and low,
        > Their eyes were level and straight,
        > There was neither sign nor show,
        > When the English began to hate.
        >
        > It was not preached to the crowd,
        > It was not taught by the State,
        > No man spoke it aloud,
        > When the English began to hate.
        >
        > It was not suddenly bred,
        > It will not swiftly abate,
        > Through the chill years ahead,
        > When Time shall count from the date
        > That the English began to hate.
        >

        As a response to Jim's questions (48953), I do find it easier to approach the subject by looking at the poem, which I only encountered for the first time about a year ago, and have never read any critical comment about it. So my impressions are purely my own. This does seem to me like a poem, that is, not merely patriotic verses, but a kind of music that speaks of what is universal to human beings. This seems to be the implication, that hatred is some mysterious part of the experience of being here, but for the English it came late, and it came in a form very specific to the English. Frankly, I find it strikes me dumb, because the memories tied up with my own encounter with this hatred are parcelled away somewhere, although I have some record in my personal journal for recent years. What to make of it is a riddle, I find. Jim has asked, do the English hate themselves, or other people? Well, it is a very general question, possibly only to be answered in some creative venture, by living through the experience. I feel that hatred has in some manner paralysed my will.

        Louise
      • jimstuart51
        Louise, Like you I looked to no avail for a commentary on Kipling s poem. I note he wrote the poem about the First World War times, so I wonder if that gives a
        Message 3 of 4 , Sep 8, 2009
          Louise,

          Like you I looked to no avail for a commentary on Kipling's poem.

          I note he wrote the poem about the First World War times, so I wonder if that gives a clue what it was that the English came to hate at about that time.

          Did they hate the Germans? Or did they hate the war itself with all its pointless waste of good life?

          I also noticed that some far right and racist groups displayed the poem on their web sites arguing that Kipling's poem was prophetic.

          But was it? I still find this hate that Kipling speaks of, and you speak of as quite outside my own experience.

          But thank you for your attempts to point towards the phenomenon you experience.

          Jim




          --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "shadowed_statue" <hecubatoher@...> wrote:
          >
          > --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "shadowed_statue" <hecubatoher@> wrote:
          > >
          > > Jim, Whilst attempting to gather together a few threads for the sake of making replies to your recent posts, I went in search of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, which seems well worth reproducing here. Louise
          > >
          > >
          > > The Beginnings
          > > 1914-18
          > >
          > > It was not part of their blood,
          > > It came to them very late
          > > With long arrears to make good,
          > > When the English began to hate.
          > >
          > > They were not easily moved,
          > > They were icy-willing to wait
          > > Till every count should be proved,
          > > Ere the English began to hate.
          > >
          > > Their voices were even and low,
          > > Their eyes were level and straight,
          > > There was neither sign nor show,
          > > When the English began to hate.
          > >
          > > It was not preached to the crowd,
          > > It was not taught by the State,
          > > No man spoke it aloud,
          > > When the English began to hate.
          > >
          > > It was not suddenly bred,
          > > It will not swiftly abate,
          > > Through the chill years ahead,
          > > When Time shall count from the date
          > > That the English began to hate.
          > >
          >
          > As a response to Jim's questions (48953), I do find it easier to approach the subject by looking at the poem, which I only encountered for the first time about a year ago, and have never read any critical comment about it. So my impressions are purely my own. This does seem to me like a poem, that is, not merely patriotic verses, but a kind of music that speaks of what is universal to human beings. This seems to be the implication, that hatred is some mysterious part of the experience of being here, but for the English it came late, and it came in a form very specific to the English. Frankly, I find it strikes me dumb, because the memories tied up with my own encounter with this hatred are parcelled away somewhere, although I have some record in my personal journal for recent years. What to make of it is a riddle, I find. Jim has asked, do the English hate themselves, or other people? Well, it is a very general question, possibly only to be answered in some creative venture, by living through the experience. I feel that hatred has in some manner paralysed my will.
          >
          > Louise
          >
        • shadowed_statue
          Message 4 of 4 , Sep 16, 2009
            --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "shadowed_statue" <hecubatoher@...> wrote:
            >
            > --- In existlist@yahoogroups.com, "shadowed_statue" <hecubatoher@> wrote:
            > >
            > > Jim, Whilst attempting to gather together a few threads for the sake of making replies to your recent posts, I went in search of a poem by Rudyard Kipling, which seems well worth reproducing here. Louise
            > >
            > >
            > > The Beginnings
            > > 1914-18
            > >
            > > It was not part of their blood,
            > > It came to them very late
            > > With long arrears to make good,
            > > When the English began to hate.
            > >
            > > They were not easily moved,
            > > They were icy-willing to wait
            > > Till every count should be proved,
            > > Ere the English began to hate.
            > >
            > > Their voices were even and low,
            > > Their eyes were level and straight,
            > > There was neither sign nor show,
            > > When the English began to hate.
            > >
            > > It was not preached to the crowd,
            > > It was not taught by the State,
            > > No man spoke it aloud,
            > > When the English began to hate.
            > >
            > > It was not suddenly bred,
            > > It will not swiftly abate,
            > > Through the chill years ahead,
            > > When Time shall count from the date
            > > That the English began to hate.
            > >
            >
            > As a response to Jim's questions (48953), I do find it easier to approach the subject by looking at the poem, which I only encountered for the first time about a year ago, and have never read any critical comment about it. So my impressions are purely my own. This does seem to me like a poem, that is, not merely patriotic verses, but a kind of music that speaks of what is universal to human beings. This seems to be the implication, that hatred is some mysterious part of the experience of being here, but for the English it came late, and it came in a form very specific to the English. Frankly, I find it strikes me dumb, because the memories tied up with my own encounter with this hatred are parcelled away somewhere, although I have some record in my personal journal for recent years. What to make of it is a riddle, I find. Jim has asked, do the English hate themselves, or other people? Well, it is a very general question, possibly only to be answered in some creative venture, by living through the experience. I feel that hatred has in some manner paralysed my will.
            >
            > Louise
            > Just returning to make a very brief point. The depth of my depression results in all manner of comments alienated from my true feelings. In reference to Kipling's poem, above, I should have written, "not purely patriotic verses", rather than "not merely...". This is only one indication of how far I have been tormented by people who do not understand the nature of my confusions - nor, frequently, their own. Patriotism, for me, has never been anything less than a passion. It was not stirred into life, however, until some years after I left the academy, and accordingly, in my case, the mainstream of social life. I am urging myself on to make this further comment, which I hate to do, really, hate to add anything to this sorry mess of misreadings and misunderstandings that my existence has attracted. Does the lady protest too much, or is it her Protestant instincts that are assailed? L.
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