by Saturn » Sun Aug 08, 2004 9:19 pm
I'm not sure that I deserve to be called a typical bloke - I'm not one of those neanderthal, knuckle - dragging morons, nor am I one of the lentile-eating hippy types.
I thought the idea that you can't be a proper man if you are any way intelligent was a bit old-fashioned. I though people were more tolerant than that.
Keats certainly appreciated fine looking laydeez, and Byron; a man of incredibly high intellect, was voracious in his appetite for women - he could no more not look at a beautiful woman than breathe.
What's wrong with the appreciation of a beautiful woman?
Without it, no man would ever have written poetry - discuss.
Here's the immortal Shakespeare's thoughts:
“…when would you, my liege, or you, or you,
In leaden contemplation have found out
Such fiery numbers as the prompting eyes
Of beauty’s tutors have enriched you with?
Other slow arts entirely keep the brain,
And therefore, finding barren practisers,
Scarce show a harvest of their heavy toil.
But love, first learned in a lady’s eyes,
Lives not alone immured in the brain,
But with the motion of al elements
Courses as swift s as thought in every power,
And gives to every power a double power,
Above their function and their offices.
It adds a precious seeing to the eye –
A lover’s eyes will gaze an eagle blind.
A lover’s ear will hear the lowest sound
When the suspicious head of theft is stopped.
Love’s feeling is more soft and sensible
Than are the tender horns of cockled snails.
Love’s tongue proves dainty Bacchus gross in taste.
For valour, is not love a Hercules,
Still climbing trees in the Hesperides?
Subtle as Sphinx, as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo’s lute strung with his hair;
And when love speaks, the voice of all the gods
Make heaven drowsy with the harmony.
Never durst poet touch a pen to write
Until his ink were tempered with love’s sighs.
O, then his lines would ravish savage ears,
And plant in tyrants mild humility.
From women’s eyes this doctrine I derive.
They sparkle still the right Promethean fire.
They are the books, the arts, the academes,
That show, contain, and nourish all the world.
Else none at all in aught proves excellent.”
Love’s Labour’s Lost IV, iii
Nuff said, I think?
"Oh what a misery it is to have an intellect in splints".