All posts by Eric Robert Nolan

Eric Robert Nolan graduated from Mary Washington College in 1994 with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology. He spent several years a news reporter and editorial writer for the Culpeper Star Exponent in Culpeper, Virginia. His work has also appeared on the front pages of numerous newspapers in Virginia, including The Free Lance – Star and The Daily Progress. Eric entered the field of philanthropy in 1996, as a grant writer for nonprofit healthcare organizations. Eric’s poetry has been featured by Dead Beats Literary Blog, Dagda Publishing, The International War Veterans’ Poetry Archive, and elsewhere. His poetry will also be published by Illumen Magazine in its Spring 2014 issue.
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“Evening by the Lake,” Max Nonnenbruch, 1901

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Oil on canvas.

Max_Nonnenbruch_-_Evening_by_the_Lake

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“Brunnhild,” Gaston Bussière, 1897

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Postcard.

Brunhild_(Postkarte),_G._Bussiere,_1897

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Last night I watched a colorized version of “Night of the Living Dead.”

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There are actually several colorized versions of George A. Romero’s 1968 classic floating around out there — the one I watched was the quite decent 2004 revision by Legend Films.  (I believe it’s the truly crude 1986 Hal Roach colorized version that is so widely reviled by fans — and with good reason.  Those green-skinned zombies looked awful in that one clip I watched.)

I had a blast with the Legend Films outing.  I cheerfully recommend it.  The colorization isn’t perfect, and it’s a little strange seeing the start of the zombie apocalypse rendered in occasionally pastel hues.  But this was a fun way to revisit a beloved film I’ve seen so often before, but only in black and white.  You can also finally fully appreciate how beautiful Judith O’Dea was.  (And, in my opinion, she and Duane Jones were damned terrific in this movie.)

Check out the clip below.

 

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We should have a National Donald J. Trump Day.

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We should have a National Donald J. Trump Day, in which we all lie, contradict ourselves, falsely accuse others, insult one another and ramble incoherently. We could do all of the above on Twitter, complete with the expected errors in spelling and grammar.

If anyone calls us on our bullshit, tradition wold require us to blame an educated black guy.

AND MEXICO WOULD PAY FOR IT.

 

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“Drummer Hodge,” by Thomas Hardy

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I

They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined—just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around;
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.

II

Young Hodge the Drummer never knew—
Fresh from his Wessex home—
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.

III

Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow up a Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.

 

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“Loch Lomond,” Gustave Dore, 1875

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Oil on canvas.

Gustave_Doré_-_Loch_Lomond

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“Shiloh: A Requiem,” by Herman Melville

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Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh—
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh—
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there—
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve—
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.

 

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Remembering the Fallen on Memorial Day 2018

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From Wikimedia Commons: [“This picture is more than 40 years old and was taken at Arlington National Cemetery. There are similar grave yards around the USA and throughout Europe and the Pacific. Many of these people died in their 2nd decade of life, never to know another Christmas gathering with their loved ones. They did so that we might have our freedom and celebrations. Remember them on December 25.”  (Taken from a slide)]

 

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Photo credit: By inkknife_2000 (7.5 million views +) [CC BY-SA 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons.

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Excerpt from “The Cave of Making,” by W. H. Auden

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You hope, yes,
your books will excuse you,
save you from hell;
nevertheless,
without looking sad,
without in any way
seeming to blame
(He doesn’t need to,
knowing well
what a lover of art
like yourself pays heed to),
God may reduce you
on Judgment Day
to tears of shame,
reciting by heart
the poems you would
have written, had
your life been good.

 

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