Tag Archives: Mary Washington College

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“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan

October 2, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan Leave a comment

“Graceless Ravens Envy You,” by Eric Robert Nolan

Revel in apostasy.
You are the black dove, hovering
High in an inklike arc.

Blacker, even, than
coal-colored wolves in onyx lines seeking
quarry at starless midnight.

More ebon, even, than
narrow sable blacksnakes staying
cravenly in shade at noon.

Darker, even, than
murders of crows, newly legion at Autumn, amassing
among saw-wing martins at dusk.

You’re blacker, even, then the rooks.
Graceless ravens envy you.

Remember your rebirth?
The sun rose,
Your birdsong changed and then
the questions flew from your beak
faster even than the wrens?
Faster than you could fly?
For a moment, they rendered
all the world obsidian.

Remember your feathers burning?
Sunlight striking your wings and then
all the slow alabaster there
singing, quickening into
aerodynamic black?
Remember the flock’s suspicion?

Remember your siblings, the nest?
Remember when
all their pearl heads turned
their backlit crowns in morning sun
ringed so thinly in shining ivory?

Their song was interrupted,
Yours was made a query —
empiricism’s aria.
Flustered, they fluttered
at all the low notes.
They were all immaculate;
you were the color of night.

Now you arc alone —
soar and sin and sing,
the unrepentant one.

Somewhere an ordinary dog,
awakening from shadow,
howls at the sun.

Photo credit: “Indian Crow vs” by Venkatx5 – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons.

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“Annabel Lee,” by Edgar Allan Poe

September 29, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan Leave a comment

Halloween season is almost upon us. (I’m the kind of purist who thinks it begins on October 1. My neighbors have shown surprising restraint; I’ve only seen one decorated house.) And Halloween is the season for Edgar Allan Poe.

I’m running “Annabel Lee” today, however, because I was chatting with a Mary Washington College Alumna the other day who named her daughter “Annabelle.” The conversation came up after my review of last year’s surprisingly good horror movie of the same name. (My New Hall friend arrived at “Annabelle” after researching the name, but not after this poem. That would be weird.)

“Annabel Lee,” by Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;

For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.

Photo credit: By Edgar Allan Poe, “Annabel Lee”, 1849 fair copy. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

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When I was in college, I couldn’t afford a haircut!!

September 23, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan Leave a comment

Or even a proper razor.

Hey! Comic books and Milwaukee’s Best cost a lot of money, people!!

Thanks to Mary Washington College Alumnus Rick Slagle for sending this along. (The nice young lady beside me was my girlfriend at the time. She’s a lovely person, so I’ll spare her the ignominy of naming her here.)

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“Not of Byzantium,” by Eric Robert Nolan

September 23, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan 5 Comments

“Not of Byzantium”

Awakening at one AM after dreaming
not of Byzantium,
not of Babylon, but better —
Not Shangri-La, but shaded limb —
The pine I climbed when I was nine.

No Acropolis, only
fallow farm and rising sun.
Across, a distant treeline
ascends to render Athens’
Parthenon prosaic.

Exceeding empires, exceeding
even Elysium, is
This slumber’s ordinary boyhood field.

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Visit the Bill of Rights Institute.

September 19, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan Leave a comment

Blog correspondent Len Ornstein can always be relied upon for an understanding of constitutional principles, as well as a little historical context for a lot of the debates we see in the headlines and in our Facebook feeds.

He’s advised me more than once to peruse the website of the Bill of Rights Institute. I’m glad he did. It’s an outstanding resource for all things constitutional — divided into online and downloadable resources for students and teachers. To me, it seems like a great educational resource for anybody, though — not just those in a school setting. If nothing else, it will inform your position the next time you are arguing with that darn liberal or that darn conservative.

Visit the Bill of Rights Institute right here:

http://www.billofrightsinstitute.org/

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As of today, this blog has 100 followers!!!

September 16, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan 4 Comments

Yeah, okay, that pales in comparison to my friends who have 400 or more. But I feel like David Koresh! Except … nonviolent. And nonreligious. And I’m only a BORDERLINE sociopath instead of the full shebang. Whenever I feel my worse half coming on, I warn those near me with the Taco Bell slogan, lest they be affected when I MAKE A RUN FOR THE BORDER.

Seriously, though, THANKS for reading, guys! Given that at least 100 people are now “following,” I feel like I should express some sort of coherent ideology here, instead of just horror movie reviews, tips on which comics to read, and my own misguided attempts at portraying myself as among the literati.

So I have resolved to produce a manifesto. Don’t hold your breath; it might take a while. But I’ll write it and place it here. I promise.

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“All Our Faults Are Fallen Leaves,” by Eric Robert Nolan

September 16, 2015 Eric Robert Nolan Leave a comment

You guys know I struggle with writing “happy poems.” When I sat down to write this, I intended it as a kind of “Happy Autumn” poem to all my friends.

I wound up using the fires of Hell as its central motif. Oh well. It actually does have a positive message. Really! Give it a glance! So, Happy Autumn, guys!! And … y’know … go to hell?

“All Our Faults Are Fallen Leaves”

Again an annual angled auburn hand

announces advancing Autumn —

fingers aflame, the first Fallen leaf,

As slow in its descent, and as red,

as flailing Lucifer.

Hell in our sylvan vision

begins with a single spark.

The sting of the prior winter

subsided in July,

eroded at August.

Now, as at every September,

let new and cooler winds

fan a temperate flame.

May this nascent season only

bring brick-tinted perdition

and carmine Abaddon.

Where flames should burn, may there be

only rose tones on wide wine canvasses,

tormentless florid scarlets,

griefs eased in garnet trees.

What I hold in my heart to be true

is Edict at every Autumn:

Magentas may not make

forgetful a distracted God,

unless we ourselves forget

or burn to overlook.

Auden told us “One Evening”

to “Stand, stand at the window,”

and that we would love our neighbor,

but he didn’t counsel at all

about how we should smolder there.

Outside my window, and yours,

if the Conflagration itself

acquits us all by claiming only

the trees upon the hill,

the Commonwealth a hearth,

Virginia an Inferno,

Then you and I

should burn in our hearts to absolve

ourselves and one another,

standing before the glass,

our curtains catching,

our beds combusting,

our bureaus each a pyre.

Take my hand, my friend, and smile,

there on the scorching floor,

beneath the searing ceiling and

beside the blackening mirror

that troubles us no longer,

for, about it, Auden was wrong.

God’s wrathful eye

will find you and I

incandescent. The damned

are yet consigned to kindness.

All our faults are Fallen leaves.

Forgive where God will not.

Out of our purgatory

of injury’s daily indifference,

let our Lake of Fire

be but blush squadrons of oaks,

cerise seas of cedar, fed

running ruby by sycamore rivers,

their shores reassured

by calm copper sequoias,

all their banks ablaze

in yellowing eucalyptus.

Let the demons we hold

harden into bark

holding up Inferno.

All their hands are branches now;

all their palms are burning.

There, then, softly burning, you and I,

may our Autumn find

judgmentless russets,

vermilion for our sins,

dahlia forgiveness,

a red for every error,

every man a love,

every love infernal,

and friends where devils would reign.

— Author’s note: the poem to which I’ve responded above, with its images of standing at the window and the mirror, is W. H. Auden’s “As I Walked Out One Evening.”

Photo credit: “Orange in Middletown,” by AgnosticPreachersKid (Own work) [CC BY-SA 4.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons.