ART

Some find their voices late in life. I learned late that art plays best when authentic and fearless.

The problem for artists like me is humiliation. It sulks in corners—the nasty spirit-clown who plots to pounce whenever someone dares delirium-dance with luminant dervishes of light and truth.

Malevolent forces slash folks like us with scalpels. One person wrote to inform me I was a “moron.” A girl wrote, “You’re a Narcissist!”  after other readers engaged with clever and affirming words. Her hiss rings in my ears where it’s echoed for days. It drives me mad. Who knows except her why words, my words, offend?

She won’t say. Towers of wonderful words written by lovers to lift us higher collapse to ruins. Adulation falls hard.

Bad words.

Moron. 

Narcissist.

Zingers, that’s sure. Controversial persons speaking their minds are morons and narcissists, it seems.

The word that cut deepest during my most sensitive time was “Incompetent”. A teen, I cringed to hear the word or see it in print. Of course I knew in my heart it was true.

I couldn’t do anything right. Dad made plain I lacked common sense. He marveled aloud how an intelligent son could be so damned dumb about the simplest things.

I wasted years learning how automobiles and packaging machinery worked so that no fool would ever again accuse me of incompetence. I designed tooling to make run-flat wheels for military vehicles, developed the first tear-spout coffee lids, designed machines to scour the lumen areas of laparoscopic medical instruments, invented machinery to place seal-caps on orange-juice cartons to keep people safe from tampering lunatics….

None of it mattered. I fought to bring life to every idea I had. It seems now like millions (billions?) around the world have used derivatives of my designs. Is the world a better place? 

The people I worked with never stopped calling me incompetent. Dull designers second-guessed the details of daring ideas. My strategy collapsed. Dad was right all along—no common sense. 

I learned life-changing lessons from therapists. A woman named Jane taught me that humiliation destroys authenticity. It forces victims to submit to hostiles. It damages souls by changing the way life is experienced. Humiliation is cruelty cast by cretins to crush the craft of those they hate.

Artists who endure humiliation are ripped apart. The choice is to embrace the uniqueness humiliation imposes or be made miserable by it forever. It’s a bad choice but survivors must choose. 

Fear of humiliation drives people to suppress self-discovery and throw away authenticity. To fight back degrades art. Resistance is futile, isn’t it? The damage is done, right?  It’s better to rescue ruined souls by rendering art that crawls however wretchedly toward redemption as best it can.  

According to Jane, fear of humiliation traps sensitive souls in bubble-prisons of fear where some choose to meet life’s challenges with magical thinking divorced from whatever resonates with who they really are.  

Besides crippling humiliation, artists sometimes stumble because they are confused about the difference between who and what they are. Confusion leads some to critical crossroads where they choose the one path that leads to the unraveling of their art and the artistry of others.

It’s true.



What is Who?  

Who is the soulful essence of anything that lives. It’s an emotional place where feelings run free. It circulates inside the stomach, the heart, and under the skin where no one can see.  

The who-self, Jane explained, doesn’t change except slowly—pushed along and shape-shifted by experience and suffering (especially suffering), but also by peak experiences, which empower the happy memories humans hold for hope in hard times.

What is What?

What is a little word that stands for the big things others use to judge us, right?

What is your job? What do you do? What clothes do you wear? What cars do you drive? What people do you hang out with?

CEOs of corporations are defined by others according to their role; what they do; by their title. Any CEO who looks into a mirror and sees a CEO staring back is looking at their what-self, right?

Everyone kind of knows what they are and what they do. If not, others will tell them. It’s not hard.

Knowing what they are is not going to help artists who want to know who they are. It is difficult to know who one is. It requires self-knowledge to create art that is true to oneself. I don’t know how anyone accomplishes it without counselors to guide them. 

Creating authentic art that flows from the hidden, inner places of the heart happens when people understand who they are and are able to love enough to embrace without shame the emotions they feel at their core about anything at all.

It’s amazing to discover how many artists are miserable because they tie themselves into knots to believe and behave and feel whatever is the way they think others will accept. Some fight for money and power to enhance what they are—perhaps to elevate their status relative to others.

Only slaves, cynics, the brainwashed, and politicians say and do every stupid thing pushed on them by churches, schools, governments, families, focus groups, and voters.

Art manufactured by business-people who don’t know who they are is a blight on culture, especially American culture. Music, movies, and books published in the USA are sometimes formula-pieces designed to comfort, not challenge, as many paying customers as possible. Art can be inauthentic and mind-blurring—created by cynics. 

Art, much of it, is created for money and what it can buy. Whatever it is, commercial art seems to rob many Americans of their intelligence, their judgement, their history, culture, and soul. It plays the public for suckers. Fake art seems powerful enough to destroy, at least right now, people’s ability to understand and value life as it is lived, especially in the faraway places where strangers wander. 

Has wicked art wrecked desire for something better? Does it gall good judgement? Extinguishing love and the sensuality of living diminishes creativity and the craving that pushes explorers forward into uncharted waters where floating terrors hide beneath the waves. 

Commercial art separates some from God. It kills the thrill of running at the edge of what we know—away from safe places where boredom rots everyone from within. Sometimes it masquerades as avant-garde but delivers diversions from authenticity because no one who understands gives it birth. 



What is my art?

Well, I think people know by now.

I’m a pontificator.


(The canvasses in this essay are paintings by Bevy Mae, my love, life; wife of 30 years who crafted them during classes by the late, great, gentle painter Bob Ross who died on 4 July 1995 at age 52—before he became famous—just so readers know.)

Billy Lee


For me, pontificating is an art form that frees me to say things, important things, that would otherwise go unsaid. I create compelling explanations for phenomena and subjects, which experts might say I know almost nothing about.

Credentialed people say I write about subjects I know nothing about.

My question to skeptics: What does anyone really know?

We hear experts implore the ignorant to follow the science.

It’s kind of self-serving, is it not?

Scientists are Guilds of Gods & Goddesses of the Universe. Atheism is the price of admission to an exclusive club—a cabal of proud, hard-driven, group-thinking science-idolaters, who risk Hell if mythologies of the ignorant turn true.

Science is populated by elites who speak the language of mathematics—an impossible way to reason for 95% of the 7.8 billion people alive today.

How will any disadvantaged person be heard? What chance is there that wisdom buried deep inside the mud-pile of humanity will catch the attention of anyone able to amplify it? 

Who can express anything they know at their core if the price of being heard is a PhD in physics, mathematics, economics, history, or military science? —accolades beyond the reach of nearly every person alive no matter how intelligent.

What chance do the acolytes of Donald Trump have against the “Evil Empire,” which occupied for 20 years an Afghanistan some Americans assumed was forever lost inside a simulation of 9th century A.D.?


22 August 2021: Taliban fighters raise their flag in a scene reminiscent of Iwo Jima. Equipment, weapons, and uniforms are captured American property.  Planners with PhDs are flying commercial jets, helicopters, and cargo planes into Kabul Airfield today, as I write, to evacuate eggheads who war-planned in vain to prevent imaginations floating inside the Dark Ages from outwitting them on the far side of the moon—Afghanistan. 

Everyone has heard of at least a few people in history who lived and spoke at the edges of their cultures—Galileo, Jesus, Spartacus, Geronimo, Che Guevara, et.al.— who endured torture and execution, right? Before arrest, legends from the ancient past were pursued, taunted, and slimed by close-minded, biased people who misunderstood most everything they stood for.

Some warriors, like Che Guevara, were themselves writers and poets. Even the Greek warrior Homer wrote epic poems like the Iliad and the Odyssey. It was 750 BC, nearly 3,000 years ago. People continue to read Homer to this day. 

Who disagrees?

What is it like for social media writers when random persons confront them with insults, threats, and obscenities? What do unpaid writers and artists on social media go through to express their truth; their vision of right and wrong?

What does WRITING FREE feel like? 

I can speak only for myself.

Although trained by the USA, I am not a warrior. I don’t believe in war. I hate everything about it except the thrill of the kill, which first experienced is not easily shaken and sometimes grows to become the living nightmare PTSD.

The video game industry thrives on role-playing kill games. Hunters keep their consciences clear by killing animals. They like it. 

I shot a rabbit once. I was nine. Grandpa slipped a deer-slug into the chamber. When the rabbit ran I raised my rifle without thinking and blew the bunny in half, head to tail. Dad hung the remains from the branch of a tree. To this day I don’t know why they did it.  

It makes me sick to think about. I haven’t hunted since and never will. 

I’ve had the experience of watching people die. It’s a horror no person should experience but nearly everyone who has family is forced to live through at least once. Bevy Mae sopped with towels blood where her father dropped when his heart stopped. Why God put her through it is something I don’t yet understand. 

Since my public profile has risen, some have made efforts to insult and intimidate me—presumably to shut me down by making me afraid to publish. I really don’t know why some do what they do.

The USA is a free country with protected speech. On Quora, the rule is BNBR (Be Nice Be Respectful). Many people are not able to restrain themselves to the confines of civility. I am always shocked to learn that some who are educated enough to put sentences together become ignorant, rude, and profane when responding to unfamiliar points of view. It’s a jolt I never get used to.  

For me, working toward truth means drilling down into caverns of thought sometimes strange and unfamiliar. 

Happily, Quora permits writers to block intimidators and stalkers—necessary sometimes to keep readers from being disturbed by profanities and lies. 

I know that some who harass are professional provocateurs. But others might be lunatics with guns. It’s impossible to know for sure. It makes posting on controversial issues a little scary.

I’m timid but being harassed daily by bullies has strengthened me. I’m less afraid now than ever. Maybe it’s because I’m desensitized. I can no longer distinguish serious threats from crazy-talk.

Anyway, for the record, a few comments which disturbed me in the past follow this essay. People who don’t write on public forums like Quora might like to know what folks who do write endure daily.

I took the time to abbreviate obscenities to assuage sensitive eyes. Some comments are edited. The identities of commenters are vaporized to protect them from uninvited embarrassment. 

Billy Lee


Note from the Editors: The edited comments listed below are examples of aggressive speech that our leader Billy Lee reads everyday and sometimes deletes to maintain normalcy beneath his Quora posts. 

Happily, most people post positive comments. 

As readers work their way through this sample of insanities, please keep in mind that nothing in them is true. Some commenters seem to misunderstand what they read in Billy Lee’s posts; others are unwilling or unable to write truthfully when they get worked up by ideas they dislike. 

TheBillyLeePontificator Editorial Board


Here we go:


For guys with no parallels you sure use a lot of plurals. Maybe see a shrink and get back to us? 


You are one dumb S. O. B. Wrong on all points except one.  You sound like you like the Taliban and dislike Israel.  Hiroshima is what turned the war for our benefit. To say Israel’s defense experts are no match to ours shows your stupidity. Especially those in charge under the Biden administration. You have no knowledge of history and perhaps should shut your pie-hole. Do you think Biden’s cut and run will be better than Obama’s?


What universe are you in? Have you ever been in any conflict? Not acknowledging a disaster tells everyone your bias. 


Literally, Fox News is doing a segment on UAPs and how they violate the laws of physics. While you think you understand the real physics of this simulation. You don’t or you’d understand how the crafts do work. 


You are incoherent. Coward.


You support Communism and radical Islamism? Why does socialist Cuba need the big Satan of Communism to thrive?


Afghanistan is similar to Benghazi. Biden ordered US flags at our embassy burned. Some think Biden was on vacation at Camp David. Poppy fields will end up in Chinese hands where it will be sent to America as illicit drugs. America’s days as a freedom loving nation are drawing to a close.


You’re celebrating slaughter and enslavement. Afghanistan is heading back to the 7th century. Al Qaeda will reestablish itself under the protection of Taliban fanatics. 


Your answer is fairly ignorant. Afghanistan was taken over by the f***k**g Taliban. The Taliban are terrorists  who tried to genocide all Christians and Jews from the middle east during Obama’s campaign. 


Your post is about the worst rationalization for the greatest foreign policy debacle in 50 years. The blood of any Americans who fail to get out will hang solely on this administration. 


Your response was ridiculous… you never answered the question but instead stated a bunch of crap nonsense that wouldn’t reach anyone. Go ahead and continue spreading crap ideas on here. You suck Billy… truely


People of all walks of life HAVE A RIGHT TO STAY AWAY FROM GROUPS THEY DO NOT WANT TO ASSOCIATE WITH. People with good wages should have gated communities. Your writing shows great naivety. PEOPLE DECIDE WHO THEY ASSOCIATE WITH. THANKFULLY ITS NOT YOU. ALL THIS TALK OF PEOPLE LIVING TOGETHER IN HARMONY THROWS PERSONAL RIGHTS OUT THE DOOR!  LOOKS LIKE YOU SPEND A LOT OF TIME IN HAIGHT-ASHBURY. GET SOME SOPHISTICATION  Your talk of everyone living together and loving each other SHOWS YOUR BIGOTRY!


The US biggest mistake was being too nice, AND of course electing Biden was a mistake. We should have wiped out the Taliban before we exited. The world is full of people if they went missing the world would be a better for everyone. The Taliban are like Covid.


How many groups are you going to spam today? I get that you’re lonely, but imaginary internet points are not the solution. 


No one gives two sheets about Crapistan. 


Give me a break! What an asinine answer. That’s the dimmest first line of an answer I’ve read in a while. Laughable really. 


The problem are the Generals. They do not take responsibility. Fix the problem or resign. 


Seriously, after reading your covid article — you are too far gone.  you are not a deep thinker you are a programmed ideologue. You should not pretend to be something you are not. 


You are a joke. Now you deflect to gun violence and mysogyny  while 12 YEAR OLD GIRLS ARE BEING GANG RAPED.  Seriously, what is wrong with you?

You are the typical America hating, big government will solve all your problems, irrational progressive. You have lost all perspective. 


Bullshit. You use history to justify gang rapes of 12 year olds. Keep an open mind? Are you serious? We have girls being raped and you want to justify that? we are not going to get everyone out and our ill conceived withdrawal is going to result in the untold suffering of every woman in that country. You have lost all perspective due to political bias. 

Are you even reading the links I sent you? 


Under this administration America is no more. You should be mourning the country. 


You should really rethink your position and delete that utterly ridiculous post. 


You are being deliberately blind and obtuse. You are blinded by ideology with your head in the sand. 


WTF? Seriously you are going to argue in nonsense hypotheticals? For someone who considers themselves a deep thinker this should be well beneath you. 


We are seeing the killing of Christians for having Bible apps on their phones. Allies suffer fates worse than death. 


Comon now Donny Downer…


I dare say a refresher in economics is in order. Bezos being rich doesn’t make others poor. If you understood money at all you’d know that. 


Your whole screed is a vengeance fantasy. What you call for is a return to mass extreme poverty, just so “the rich” can be thrown in jail. 


Constant churning out of spike protein in your organs. You will start to sicken and die and it will be blamed on non-jabbers or some other fairy tale crap by the psychopaths making $$$$. Nuremburg trials are coming to the monsters who have perpetuated this hoax. Congratulations, fearful chumps it has only ever been a Flu (a coronavirus).


Gods Book of Revelation describes how he will level out everything on this planet at the next Great World War. 


barbaric? how about we stop cutting the ends of babies penis’s…


The person who wrote the above lines is a deluded paranoid. He/she states that this virus might even eradicate humanity, i.e. in his/her opinion this virus should be worse than both cholera and black plague, as they didn’t eradicate humanity. I could write much more to ridicule this feeble mind, but he/she isn’t worth my time. 


Hysterical nonsense. We co-evolve with viruses. What will really happen is that parts of the viral genome will be incorporated into ours, we will develop mass (herd) immunity with and without vaccines, and life goes on. 

How do I stop getting “Answers” from this guy?


So really, I don’t understand your point.


This is totally political, not only is it political, but it’s your opinion on politics, not historical in any way either, just your opinion.

I suggest reading our guidelines page before posting again, thanks. 


It’s staggering that anyone could believe socialism is an effective system after the death and destruction that it’s caused.

It sounds  like you need to learn more about it. 


Nothing personal, and I agree with you in principle, but buddy, you are nuts. 


New double-blind study from Israel. Ivermectin works. Why are they keeping an effective, cheap and SAFE drug from us? Oh yeah, Big Pharma needs to make billions while we’re dying. Got it. 


Amazing but unsurprising that you managed to highlight the Trump administration as guilty of “warping democracies” as you related your idealistic Socialist, cultural-Marxist treatise. Trump was nominated for a Nobel Prize after proctoring multiple peace treaties. Your vision reads like a laundry list of 5th grade desires for equity vs. equality, the idealism tainted by equal doses Greta Thunberg angst and SJW woke preening.

Lord, mercy.


I think that me flapping my arms so fast that I fly is more likely than even half of what you described becoming reality. 


Not as prescient as calling yourself a pontificator


I understand your point and can even relate with it. 

I, too, have suffered greatly with this feeling of absolute terror, an irrational fear of anything that seems menacing, a paralyzing scare that impedes advancements in life. 

Lucky for me, I overcame it when I was a child, about eight years old. Until then, I would spend days in bed, fearing death and even more horrifying destines than death. 

May you overcome it soon!

All the best!


OK… I think readers get the idea. Thank you to everyone for reading and commenting.

Billy Lee

Q & A BY THE BOOK

All writers know the column, By the Book, published every Sunday in the New York Times Book Review section.  Each week the editors pick a popular writer and ask him or her a fairly standard set of questions that would be impossible for normal people to answer off the top of their heads.

The authors rattle off the names of all kinds of titles and writers and say smart things designed to dazzle the little people who are always starved for an entertaining read.

I’m a pontificator who has never sold a book and never will, most likely. Authors sell their souls to write for money; they do exhausting tours where they answer stupid questions asked by stupid people day after stupid day. From these gatherings of stupidity they hope to sell a few books. It’s stupid.

Through books and other media, the public is exposed to a version of truth filtered by the most powerful people on Earth — to paraphrase Pulitzer Prize winner, Ronan Farrow.

Yes, it’s sickening. People are reading crap; they are immersed literarily in fibs and fabrications, which are shaped to make the world seem less evil, more friendly.

The truth that no wants to hear — I’m screaming it from cell towers to swarming people who seem to lack ears — billionaires have enslaved us. We are living in a gilded prison.

Totalitarianism has already won — not through governments but by supremely advantaged individuals who have no limits on the money they can make and keep — no limits on their power or their reach.

It’s true.

The rest of this essay is a parody of By the Book. The imagined interviewee is Billy Lee, the Pontificator. That’s me.


Billy Lee, the Pontificator

What books are on your nightstand?

I honestly don’t know. Can you give me a minute to run upstairs and look on the floor and my wife’s dresser? I keep current reads close to bed where I do most of my reading. It won’t take long… …

Ok. Thanks for waiting.

“The Periodic Table in Minutes,” by Dan Green; “Genetics in Minutes,” by Tom Jackson; “The Making of the Atomic Bomb,” by Richard Rhodes.

What kind of reader were you as a child? Any favorites?

“The Poky Little Puppy,” by Janette Sebring Lowrey and Gustaf Tenggren was my all time favorite. Mother read it hundreds of times.

I remember being amazed to learn that anyone can dig a hole under a fence to open a world of naughty possibilities. It cost a serving of strawberry shortcake to get caught; it seemed worth it to my little mind.

Your nightstand doesn’t seem to include fiction.  What genres do you avoid and which are you drawn to?

I’ve read a lot of good fiction, but most are classics like “War and Peace” by Leo Tolstoy and “Crime and Punishment” by Fyodor Dostoevsky. I would say that Fyodor ruined my interest in fiction. His book was a nightmare that threw me into depression.

War and Peace was different; it taught me how the world works; Leo laid bare the fallacy of the great man theory of history.

But yes, I avoid fiction. As a teenager I read “Atlas Shrugged” by Ayn Rand a couple times. The book ruined my life more than any other work of fiction, because it claimed to be truth. Living life proved it wrong, but its view of the nature of humans derailed me for decades.

I am drawn to books about science and math. Enough said, I hope.

I enjoy history.

“Retribution” by Max Hastings is a block buster about World War II — as is “Devil’s Voyage” by Jack L. Chalker.  “This Kind of War” by T. R. Ferenbach is a history of the Korean War that knocked my socks off.

You like history. Is there any history you learned from reading that isn’t taught in school? Anything you learned that’s shocking?

During the 150 years before America became a constitutional republic, two-thirds of all white people immigrated as slaves, who in those former times were called indentured servants. Amazing, right?

They came unchained on boats voluntarily, because life was brutal in Europe for poor people. Their term of slavery lasted seven years and ended with emancipation.

Africans came in chains. They served until they became too frail to work; they were set free to die of starvation. The term used was manumission. Ten percent of African slaves were set free this way by the time America became a republic in the late 1700s.

From before the beginning, America was a slave state. The privileges of freedom were extended to white men who owned property. Only they could vote, but not for Senators. State legislators with approval from their Governors appointed Senators.

The founders enshrined slavery in the constitution. Eighty-five years after its signing, half of all Americans went to war against the other half to preserve slavery, but they lost.

After the Civil War, it took the Confederates twenty-five years to terrorize blacks back into submission. At the same time, northern whites committed a genocide against the native peoples they called redskins.

In the 1900s, slavery was renamed capitalism by industry titans to help them make a more appealing counter argument against a system that was catching fire in Europe called communism.

Communists believed wealth should be produced cooperatively and then shared. The idea of sharing was anathema to slave holders (business owners) who referred to their slaves as workers.

Owners abrogated their obligation to care for their slaves by forcing them to provide for their own food, housing, and medical care out of a tiny stipend they bestowed, which today people refer to as a minimum wage. The owners somewhat derisively called the new rules freedom.

After WWII, the wealthy created what they liked to call a middle class (which included about ten percent of the population) to reward the mostly poor farm boys who had risked their lives to protect them.

After 1980, the entitled kids and grandkids of the aristocracy began to disassemble the system their fathers and grandfathers had built, because they felt that the little people weren’t grateful enough. They called it the Reagan Revolution.

Today, leaders promise to make America great again. No more Negro presidents. No more subsidized health care. No more regulations to protect the disadvantaged. Everyone will stand on their own two feet or perish.

It’s the way it’s always been. The escape to America, it turned out, was an escape from freedom.

The USA is now the most merciless police state in world history. The country is demoralized by a military occupation punctuated by non-judicial executions and excessive displays of military force against civilians.

The occupation of America is undergirded by a nightmarish penal system that locks up millions in high-tech prisons where tens-of-thousands are tortured with solitary confinement.

What is the worst part? The USA is building a wall to lock people in. Soon everyone in the USA will be a prisoner unable to leave. That’s the future.

America is going to create a society that reflects the values of its billionaires and the cartel of foreign oligarchs they call friends.

Guess what? There’s nothing anyone can do about it. Take the pills they give you and pretend life is great.

Try hard to cope, and you just might.

Wow, Billy Lee. Glad you got that off your chest. If you could require the president to read one book, what would it be?

The Bible.

Does he have time? It’s close to 800,000 words —  twenty novels.  It’s a lot of reading for a man in his seventies who golfs and is known for not reading much.

Who knows how much time any of us have?  I don’t.

What book are you embarrassed not to have read yet?

Moby-Dick” by Herman Melville. I own the book and have read through the first half at least twice. It’s going to sound strange, but I honestly think the book is about homosexuality. There is a scene in one of the first chapters where two men sleep together in the bowels of a boat. They seem to have an affection for each other that, frankly, I find touching.

The title is a little suspicious. Try screaming it three times in a church without offending anyone.  Moby-Dick!  Moby-Dick!  Moby-Dick!  It’s hard. It’s a bit of a tongue-twister to boot.

You’re organizing a literary dinner party. Which of three writers, dead or alive, do you invite?

Well, first, I have to get a buy-in from my wife, Bevy Mae. Beverly isn’t going to throw a dinner party just because I say so. But assuming she agrees, I’d invite Michael Faraday, Albert Einstein, and Richard Rhodes.

All three lived on the edge of knowledge where uncertainty rages; where fear can overwhelm the unprepared. Faraday’s The Chemical History of a Candle is one of the best science books about candle flames that I’ve ever read. Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity is a joy that anyone can imbibe in a few short hours if they skip the math and physics. And Richard Rhodes proves in his tomes that any idiot can build and store thermonuclear bombs in their basement.

If you would be gracious enough to permit me a fourth invitee, it would be Che Guevara — probably the best read and most informed writer of all time according to declassified CIA assessments. John Kennedy organized the original Green Berets based on one of his books. 

Much of Che’s work is unpublished. His published work is under a suppression protocol inside the USA. Expect releases now that new leadership has risen in Cuba and the United States.

Who would you want to write your life story?

Jesus of Nazareth. People say that he never wrote anything, but he was literate and knew things most folks can only wonder about. Of all public figures past and present, Jesus seems to be the one who understood people best and loved enough to be tender. I don’t think he would humiliate me.

Paul Newman. (January 26, 1925 – September 26, 2008)

What do you plan to read next?

Something I’ve written, probably. I’m the greatest pontificator there’s ever been. Why go out for hamburger when there’s steak at home?

Paul Newman said the same when someone asked why he stayed faithful to his wife, Joanne Woodward. For those who understand what love is, no explanation is necessary.

Billy Lee

JESUS, THE CHRIST

Micah 7: 3-6
Both hands are skilled in doing evil; the ruler demands gifts, the judge accepts bribes, the powerful dictate what they desire — they all conspire together. The best of them is like a brier, the most upright worse than a thorn hedge. The day God visits you has come, the day your watchmen sound the alarm. Now is the time of your confusion.

Quoted by Jesus in the book of Matthew
 


For whatever reasons (a few are mentioned in the Bible) Jesus’s parents, their families, and close friends thought that his birth was going to be important. Like most devout Jewish couples two-thousand years ago, Mary and Joseph hoped their child would become the Anointed One — the Messiah promised by the prophet Isaiah — who would rule ancient Israel and the world with a righteous sword. Despite their hopes and plans, things went wrong from the start.

For one thing, their Roman occupiers decided to conduct a census, which disrupted everyone’s plans, because the Romans required that every Jew return to their ancestral towns to be counted. 

The family lived in Nazareth; now they would have to travel to Bethlehem; Mary was full-term pregnant. Worse, when they arrived, no place was available to birth the baby. They ended up bedding down in a stable for farm animals. It was a place unfit for human birth, by modern standards.

For whatever cause — gossip, religious fever, hysteria in the displaced population, hatred of Rome, whatever — more than a few people believed that this birth might have a political upside. Roman spies became aware, and Herod, the governor, decided to nip the hysteria in the bud. He ordered an infanticide; his agents assassinated every male child under the age of two.

Fortunately for Jesus, some wealthy people found the Joseph and Mary family before Herod; they gave them the resources they needed to flee Bethlehem; the family traveled to Egypt; they did not return to Nazareth, Israel until Jesus was eight years old.

Egypt was the ancient birthplace of Judaism.  Moses (of the Exodus) and Joseph (of the coat of many colors) were historically prominent; the details of their lives were the tapestry on which much of the Torah was written.

Joseph enabled free Jews to come to Egypt in ancient times, mainly to help his extended family avoid a famine emergency in Israel. They settled in Egypt around 1520 BCE and eventually became slaves of the pharaoh. About two-hundred years later, in 1311 BCE, Moses led the exodus of Jewish slaves out of Egypt. When Jesus moved there almost a millennia and a half later, Egypt had evolved to become a sanctuary Roman province for a sizable Jewish population. And it had become a safe harbor for both libraries and intellectuals.

No one knows for sure if Jesus lived in cosmopolitan Alexandria or some other city, or what exactly happened in Egypt, but after Jesus returned to Israel, he knew things. He wasn’t just skilled with his hands like his father, Joseph, who according to tradition made a living in carpentry; most scholars today believe he was a builder, certainly, but more likely a stone mason.

Jesus learned to read and write Hebrew and probably hieroglyphics (almost certainly), and perhaps more. Modern people might use a term like child prodigy. The things he said and did proved not only to his family, but to the rabbinical class in Israel that he would likely become, some day, a force of nature.

When Jesus was twelve, his parents caught him studying secretly at the Temple in Jerusalem. It seems likely to me that Temple leaders already had their eyes on him; he had come to them from out of Egypt, after all. They knew very well the Bible prophesy, Out of Egypt I have called my son — a reference to the MessiahThe rabbis may have been working with Jesus for some time, perhaps even before his bar mitzvah — perhaps soon after his return from Egypt some years earlier. It’s possible.

Jesus of Nazareth had a special way about him that set him apart, even as he matured into adulthood. According to one gospel writer, people saw and liked it.  Luke wrote in his little book that …Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man. Enough said.

People hoped that Jesus might become the promised military leader who every Jew yearned would rise up to throw the Romans out of the Holy Land. At the end, Jesus would do much more than that, but not in the way people thought.

His life fulfilled the ancient Scriptures in every way possible. Bible scholars know that, now.  Seminaries offer courses on the many hundreds of passages from those ancient Scriptures that describe and predict every detail of Jesus’s life and mission.

But back then — in year zero — the problem was that no one in Israel really understood the prophetic texts upon which they were betting their future. It wasn’t clear to anyone that the Messiah was not going to be a military commander. The truth of life was much different and more satisfying than anyone then could imagine.

Billy Lee 

Comment by the Editorial Board: As is Billy Lee’s custom, he sometimes collects sayings by famous people and makes essays out of them. He did it for William Shakespeare, Miguel Angel Asturias, and Blaise Pascal; he even did it for himself in two collections of his own tweets first published on Twitter.

In this essay Billy Lee has collected many (not all) of the sayings of Jesus as remembered by four of his followers who wrote the tracts that modern people call the four Gospels. In these tracts Jesus tells a lot of stories, which religious people call parables. They make up big portions of the Gospels.

Billy Lee decided not to include these allegories — these parables — in his collection, because they not only take up a lot of space, their meanings can be difficult for the uninitiated to figure out. It takes effort to work through them. Billy Lee explains why at the end of the post. 

For the purposes of this essay Billy Lee has chosen to focus on the easier to understand admonitions and warnings of Jesus — uncut, unfiltered, and uncensored; no hidden meanings; everything in the open; everything in plain sight for any serious person to read and ponder in wonder, because it is these things that seem to border on the miraculous; these are the words that have compelled and comforted believers for centuries.

The words of Jesus are known to have broken down some of the cruelest humans who have ever lived; His words have dropped more than a few hardened haters to their knees, many of them in tears.

Through his words Jesus assures the poor and the ruined (the neglected refuse of hurting humans, which is almost all of humanity) that a reckoning is coming. They will be rescued by love — even as justice rolls down from the mountain-tops like a mighty river.

History and experience tell those who have the eyes to see and the ears to hear that it’s true. Jesus is the way. He sets things right.

from Matthew’s Tract

It is written: People will not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God.

Stop doing bad things, for the kingdom of heaven is nearby.

…follow me, and I will send you forth to fish for people.

Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me. Rejoice and be glad, because great is your reward in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

…until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished.

…unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.

 It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to go into hell.

 All you need to say is simply yes or no; anything beyond this comes from the evil one.

…love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your father in heaven.

For if you forgive other people when they sin against you, your heavenly father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others their sins, your father will not forgive your sins.

You cannot serve both God and money.

So do not worry, saying, What shall we eat? or What shall we drink? or What shall we wear? For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged…

So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.

…small is the gate and narrow the road that leads to life, and only a few find it.

Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them.

Not everyone who says to me, Lord, Lord, will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my father who is in heaven.

I say to you that many will come from the east and the west, and will take their places at the feast with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of heaven. 

Follow me, and let the dead bury their own dead.

…learn what this means: I desire mercy, not sacrifice. For I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.

I am sending you out like sheep among wolves. Therefore be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. Be on your guard…

…when they arrest you, do not worry about what to say or how to say it. At that time you will be given what to say,  for it will not be you speaking, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you. 

Brother will betray brother to death, and a father his child; children will rebel against their parents and have them put to death. You will be hated by everyone because of me, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in hell.

Whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for my sake will find it.

…the kingdom of heaven has been subjected to violence, and violent people have been raiding it.

For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day. But I tell you that it will be more bearable for Sodom on the day of judgment than for you.

…you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do.

Come to me, all you who are weary and overly burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.

If you had known what these words mean, I desire mercy, not sacrifice, you would not have condemned the innocent.

Every kingdom divided against itself will be ruined…

Anyone who speaks a word against the Son of Man will be forgiven…

 …whoever does the will of my Father in heaven is my brother and sister and mother.

But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear.

…the deceitfulness of wealth chokes the word, making it unfruitful.

The Son of Man will send out his angels, and they will weed out of his kingdom everything that causes sin and all who do evil. 

The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field. When someone finds it, they hide it again, and then in their joy sell all they have and buy that field. 

…the kingdom of heaven is like a net that was let down into the lake and caught all kinds of fish. When it was full, the fishermen pulled it up on the shore. Then they sat down and collected the good fish in baskets, but threw the bad away

…every teacher of the law who has become a disciple in the kingdom of heaven is like the owner of a house who brings out of his storeroom new treasures as well as old.

What good will it be for someone to gain the whole world, yet forfeit their soul?  Or what can anyone give in exchange for their soul?

…if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, Move from here to there, and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. 

 …whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.

 …your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish.

If your brother or sister sins, go and point out their fault, just between the two of you. If they listen to you, you have won them over.  But if they will not listen, take one or two others along, so that every matter may be established by the testimony of two or three witnesses. If they still refuse to listen, tell it to the church; and if they refuse to listen even to the church, treat them as you would a pagan…

For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.

Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?

 …forgive your brother or sister from your heart.

If you want to be perfect, go, sell your possessions and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.

...it is hard for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of heaven.

…with God all things are possible.

But many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.

…whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant,  and whoever wants to be first must be your slave— just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many. 

If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer. 

…prostitutes are entering the kingdom of God ahead of you.

…the kingdom of God will be taken away from you and given to a people who will produce its fruit. 

…many are invited, but few are chosen.

At the resurrection people will neither marry nor be given in marriage; they will be like the angels in heaven. But about the resurrection of the dead — have you not read what God said to you,  I am the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. ? He is not the God of the dead but of the living.

Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself.  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.

The greatest among you will be your servant.  For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

You travel over land and sea to win a single convert, and when you have succeeded, you make them twice as much a child of hell as you are.

…you have neglected the more important matters of the law — justice, mercy, and faithfulness.

…on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness.

I am sending you prophets and sages and teachers. Some of them you will kill and crucify; others you will flog…

…you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me.  At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other,  and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.

…the Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.

I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in,  I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

My Father, if it is not possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be done…

…all who draw the sword will die by the sword.

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? 

All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me.

Excerpts collected and edited by Billy Lee

from Mark’s Tract

…whoever is not against us is for us…

No one is good — except God alone.

Excerpts collected and edited by Billy Lee.

Due to its unusual presentation, we are recommending that the full Gospel of MARK be read in one session. Interested readers can click the link to access content. The tract is 11,300 words, which are gathered into 16 chapters. A typical reader will need about one hour. The Editorial Board

from Luke’s Tract

The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor. 

…no prophet is accepted in his hometown…

I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other towns also, because that is why I was sent. 

Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you…

…whoever has been forgiven little loves little.

…for whoever is not against you is for you.

Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.

…rejoice that your names are written in heaven.

…everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened. 

Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.

…you experts in the law, woe to you, because you load people down with burdens they can hardly carry, and you yourselves will not lift one finger to help them…

Woe to you experts in the law, because you have taken away the key to knowledge.

Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; life does not consist in an abundance of possessions.

This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself? This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God.

Do not be afraid, little flock, for your father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. 

Be dressed ready for service and keep your lamps burning…

From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked.

I have come to bring fire on the earth… Do you think I came to bring peace on earth? No, I tell you, but division.

…unless you change your evil ways, you too will all perish…

What is the kingdom of God like? What shall I compare it to?  It is like a mustard seed, which a man took and planted in his garden. It grew and became a tree, and the birds perched in its branches.

Make every effort to enter through the narrow door…

…those who humble themselves will be exalted.

…when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.

…those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be my disciples.

…remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony.

If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.

Even if they sin against you seven times in a day and seven times come back to you saying, I am sorry; I will change, you must forgive them.

The coming of the kingdom of God is not something that can be observed, nor will people say, Here it is, or There it is, because the kingdom of God is within you. 

…when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?

What is impossible with man is possible with God.

…the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.

…if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.

The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone…

The people of this age marry and are given in marriage.  But those who are considered worthy of taking part in the age to come and in the resurrection from the dead will neither marry nor be given in marriage, and they can no longer die; for they are like the angels. They are God’s children, since they are children of the resurrection. But in the account of the burning bush, even Moses showed that the dead rise, for he calls the Lord the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob. He is not the God of the dead, but of the living, for to him all are alive.

I will give you words and wisdom that none of your adversaries will be able to resist or contradict.

Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away.

…pray that you may be able to escape all that is about to happen, and that you may be able to stand before the Son of Man.

Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing. 

…today you will be with me in paradise.

Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

Excerpts collected and edited by Billy Lee 

from John’s Tract

…no one can see the kingdom of God unless they are born again.

…no one can enter the kingdom of God unless they are born of water and the Spirit. Flesh gives birth to flesh, but the Spirit gives birth to spirit. You should not be surprised at my saying, You must be born again. The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.

No one has ever gone into heaven except the one who came from heaven—the Son of Man. Just as Moses lifted up the snake in the wilderness, so the Son of Man must be lifted up, that everyone who believes may have eternal life in him. 

…whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.

…a time is coming and has now come when the true worshipers will worship the Father in the Spirit and in truth…

…just as the Father raises the dead and gives them life, even so the Son gives life to whom he is pleased to give it. 

…whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be judged but has crossed over from death to life.

…as the Father has life in himself, so he has granted the Son also to have life in himself…

You have never heard his voice nor seen his form, nor does his word dwell in you, for you do not believe the one he sent. You study  the Scriptures diligently because you think that in them you have eternal life. These are the very Scriptures that testify about me… 

…the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.

…my father’s will is that everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day.

I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.

…unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise them up at the last day.  For my flesh is real food and my blood is real drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me and I live because of the Father, so the one who feeds on me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven. Your ancestors ate manna and died, but whoever feeds on this bread will live forever.

…the flesh counts for nothing. The words I have spoken to you — they are full of the Spirit and life.

…where I am, you cannot come.

Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink.  Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them.

I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.

…you have no idea where I come from or where I am going…

I am going away, and you will look for me, and you will die in your sin. Where I go, you cannot come.

…you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

…you are looking for a way to kill me, a man who has told you the truth that I heard from God.

You belong to your father, the devil, and you want to carry out your father’s desires. He was a murderer from the beginning, not holding to the truth, for there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks his native language, for he is a liar and the father of lies. Yet because I tell the truth, you do not believe me.  

…whoever obeys my word will never see death.

…before Abraham was born, I am.

I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who see will become blind.

I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. 

I lay down my life — only to take it up again.  No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have authority to lay it down and authority to take it up again.

I am God’s Son…

I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.

…you will see the glory of God…

…unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. Anyone who loves their life will lose it, while anyone who hates their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.

When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.  

The one who looks at me is seeing the one who sent me.

I did not come to judge the world, but to save the world. 

Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.

As I have loved you, so you must love one another.

Where I am going, you cannot follow now, but you will follow later.

I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.

I am the way and the truth and the life.

I am in the Father and the Father is in me…

Because I live, you also will live. Someday you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. 

…the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you all things and will remind you of everything I have said to you.

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.

…apart from me you can do nothing.

Love each other as I have loved you. Greater love has no person than this: to lay down their life for their friends.  

You did not choose me, but I chose you…

If the world hates you, keep in mind that it hated me first.

If they persecuted me, they will persecute you also.

They hated me without reason.

…the time is coming when anyone who kills you will think they are offering a service to God.

I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear. But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth.

I came from God. 

I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart. I have overcome the world.

Now this is eternal life: that they know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. I have brought you glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do. And now, Father, glorify me in your presence with the glory I had with you before the world began.

Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one.  

…your word is truth.

Father, I want those you have given me to be with me where I am, and to see my glory, the glory you have given me because you loved me before the creation of the world.

My kingdom is not of this world.

…my kingdom is from another place.

…the reason I was born and came into the world is to testify to the truth. Everyone on the side of truth hears my voice.

I am thirsty.

It is accomplished.

Excerpts collected and edited by Billy Lee


Post Script

Isaiah 6: 8-10

”Woe to me!” I cried. ”I am ruined! For I am a man whose lips speak all manner of evil, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the Lord Almighty.”

Then an angel of high rank flew to me with a live coal in his hand, which he had taken with tongs from the altar.  With it he touched my mouth and said, ”See, this hot coal has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away and your sin is set right.”

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying: Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?

And I said: Here am I.  Send me!

He said:  Go and tell this people: Be ever hearing but never understanding; be ever seeing, but never perceiving. Make the heart of this people calloused; make their ears dull and close their eyes. Otherwise they might see with their eyes, hear with their ears, understand with their hearts, and turn and be healed.


Jesus quoted the passage from Isaiah 6 in Matthew 13 to explain why he taught certain groups of people using allegories (or parables). Jesus told his disciples:  …the knowledge of the secrets of the kingdom of heaven has been given to you, but not to them.

Billy Lee

CORN MEN

Miguel Angel Asturias won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1967 during my freshman year at college. I must have been chasing girls the day of the announcement. I just don’t remember him. Until a few months ago, I didn’t know who he was.

While doing research on the Cuban Revolution and its leaders for recent blog-posts, Miguel’s name kept popping up here and there in various contexts, so I decided to learn more about the author by trying to take an inside-the-cover peek into his signature book, Men of Maize, on Amazon.com.

Was Asturias really that good that he could win a Nobel prize? What did he write about?




Miguel Angel Asturias, I’d already learned, was born in Guatemala and wrote in Spanish — a language I didn’t read or speak. I was able to find some English translations of his books on-line, but they seemed to be scarce and out-of-print.

On Amazon.com, Men of Maize (Hombres de Maiz) cost $50 — in used condition, of course. “Like-new” copies priced-out at over a hundred dollars. The titles didn’t feature Amazon’s inside-the-cover functionality either, so my free peek inside-the-cover strategy just wasn’t going to work.

Other books by Asturias were also unavailable in English, although a beat-up library copy of Strong Wind (Viento Fuerte) turned up on-line for sale at ten bucks.  I decided to buy it and then search through libraries on-line for Men of Maize. It turned out that a solitary university library, which happened to be located nearby, owned a solitary English language copy, so I drove over to check it out.


Miguel Angel Asturias; born Oct 19, 1899; died June 9, 1974
Miguel Angel Asturias; born 19 Oct 1899; died 9 June 1974

According to the inside cover, the library acquired the book in 1993, the same year Hombres de Maiz was translated into English and incorporated into UNESCO’s World Heritage historical book collection. It had been forty-four years since it was first published, in Spanish. The librarian — who must have jumped out of her chair to place the order — probably thought the book would become a big hit among the institution’s forty-thousand English readers.

Sure enough, according to the book’s ledger, someone or other had already borrowed the award-winning novel five times: June 1996; February 1997; February 2001; July 2003; July 2009.  And now a sixth borrower was stepping up to the plate — that would be me — to end the book’s most recent six-year no-hitter.  Unless the forty-thousand folks who used the student library were reading it in Spanish, Corn Men wasn’t doing so good, not where I lived, anyway; not in English.

How does a critically acclaimed once-upon-a-time international best-seller written by a Nobel Prize winning author (unavailable in USA bookstores) generate a paltry six library reads in twenty-two years at a major university library that is also serving the public?  I don’t know.

I took the book home to study it.  Here is the opening sentence: Gasper[pronounced Jasper, like the blood-stone] Ilom lets them steal the sleep from the eyes of the land of Ilom.  Ok, not sure what this is about, I’ll keep reading.  Gasper Ilom lets them hack away the eyelids of the land of Ilom with axes…  Huh?  Gasper Ilom lets them scorch the leafy eyelashes of the land of Ilom with fires that turn the moon to furious red…  Mmm. Keep reading. Keep reading. OK. End of page one.  Gasper stretched himself out,…bound in sleep and in death by the snake of six-hundred-thousand coils of mud, moon, forests, rainstorms, mountains, lakes, birds, and echoes that pounded his bones until they turned to a black frijol paste dripping from the depths of the night.


Gerald Martin, translator of Miguel Angel Asturias and Gabriel García Márquez
Gerald Martin, translator.

Page one, I soon learned, was the weakest page in the book. On page two and beyond, the novel began to rise into a tour de force, a masterpiece, which had been lovingly captured and transformed into English by translator, Gerald Martin.

Asturias, I discovered, wrote in a style that critics would later call magic realism.  It’s the style of One Hundred Years of Solitude, by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (Gabo), which also won a Nobel Prize and is required reading in many university literature programs. Gabo published his book in Argentina during the same year that Asturias won his Nobel Prize (1967).

For those familiar with Gabo’s book, it’s use of language is shallow compared to that of Asturias — though it is a fun and light-hearted read; I would say it is more entertaining to average readers interested in plot over word-play and character development. Gabo referred to his book as a kind of inside joke written for friends.

Whatever style anyone chooses to label Corn Men, Miguel Asturias was clearly a genius who knew unusual stuff, and he could write. That’s my view, anyway. His writing stands alone. Critics have compared him to Keats and Joyce, but I say, no. Those authors can sometimes depress the reader with their pedantic displays.

Not Miguel. He was humble, brilliant, knowledgeable, and direct. He didn’t grandstand. He didn’t show-off. He painted with a preternatural palette to portray ways of being which were lucid and compelling; and fabulously unusual. His writing sometimes took my breath away, because it was original, unpredictable, and paradigm-shattering.

Only Shakespeare himself rewires the brains of his readers like Asturias, I thought. Yes, references to Mayan culture might be arcane. But they didn’t impede the flow of the story or obscure its meaning. They simply provided rivulets to explore for those readers who might like to learn more than they know.


Popol Vuh cover
Popol Vuh is Mayan scripture. It contains accounts of creation, ancestry, history, and cosmology. It even references a great flood.

My interest in Corn Men, after reading it, has less to do with the story itself, or its backstory, than with its use of language — though all of it is incredible. For example, the Guatemalan writer — a Sorbonne trained ethnologist and bonafide expert in Maya culture — spent forty years transcribing and translating into Spanish the Mayan “bible”, Popol Vuh  (Book of the People).  His knowledge of Mayan culture saturates the novel.

Miguel Angel Asturias lived and breathed Guatemala, which for him sheltered a personal treasure-cache of Maya ruins, history, legends, culture, writings, and artifacts. Asturias was in love with all of it.

Guatemala should be of interest to all Americans, as well, because it is central to recent US history. In 1954 Guatemala became the second of several modern democracies the United States chose to overthrow. (The first was Iran, in 1953.)

Encouraged by the easy success of its military takeovers, the USA used Guatemala as a base of operations to try again, in 1961, to seize control of Cuba, but its Bay of Pigs invasion (modeled after its strategy in Guatemala), failed.

The USA was undeterred by miscalculation. It learned from its mistakes, made tweaks in its planning and, by the middle 1960s, began overthrowing governments in the Americas and around the world to further its economic and strategic interests.

Like falling dominoes, countries like Chile, Nicaragua, Panama, South Vietnam, and Iraq (there were others) fell to USA backed military coups and takeovers, until President Obama put a stop to it all in 2008. (Two exceptions continue to be Afghanistan and Syria, where takeover planning and operations are ongoing.)

Editors Note: As of 25 May 2018 destabilization of countries the USA dislikes seems to have resumed as a cornerstone of its foreign policy, which is to dominate all countries on the earth. The policy is called strategic strangulation; it’s like waterboarding except that it’s inflicted on countries; it’s being applied against Cuba, North Korea, Iran, Venezuela, Brazil, Turkey, and many others — which some readers won’t have any trouble identifying. Readers should keep in mind that everything changed when the GOP and its Russian-Israeli backers seized power in the manipulated and rigged election of November 2016. Billy Lee published this essay during the final years of the Obama presidency.

Current problems in socialist democracies like Brazil, Columbia, and Venezuela appear (on the day of this writing) to be the work of wealthy power-brokers working outside the influence of traditional government agencies long associated with destabilization programs; the CIA and its labyrinth of agricultural-aid programs seem to be playing historically minor roles at the present time.


Jacobo Arbenz 2
Jacobo Arbenz, Guatemalan President, 1951-1954

Not so in 1954. Back then USA proxies overpowered the popularly elected Guatemalan President, Jacobo Arbenz and forced him to stand naked before reporters before they put him on an airplane and threw him out.

They then stripped another prominent Guatemalan, our writer Miguel Angel Asturias, of his citizenship and expelled him (along with hundreds of his friends and acquaintances) from the country he loved.

Soon, over one-hundred thousand citizens fled to neighboring countries, after they learned that the military government was “disappearing” opponents — a terrifying practice that would spread to other USA backed dictatorships, like Argentina, in the decades to come.

Miguel’s exile (to Argentina and Chile) lasted eight years during which the United States transformed Guatemala into a training ground and staging area for CIA backed militias tasked to, among other things, protect dictators allied with American businesses, hunt down and kill leftist revolutionaries (one of them, Che Guevara), and capsize popularly elected socialist governments, like those in Chile and Nicaragua.


Maya pyramid in Gutemala
     Maya Pyramid in the city of Tikal, Guatemala

As I said before, my interest in Corn Men lies beyond its compelling story and backstory. Yes, it is a novel about the indigenous Indians of Guatemala, who believed their skin was made of corn. Yes, it describes the marginalization and suppression of a native people by modern hi-tech agribusiness, which viewed corn as nothing more than a crop that could be sold.

Corn could not be one’s personal identity, the northern white-men of agribusiness insisted. Corn did not, could not, envelop, protect, and nurture ones soul.

According to the leaders of big agribusiness, corn was something to eat, nothing more. The Mayan Indians knew better. Corn was sacred. Corn was people. They were made from it.


Mayan Corn Men
      Corn Men don’t remember.

Cross-cultural differences as wide as these, though fascinating, always seem to lead toward tragedy. On the book’s final page, in the epilogue, in the last paragraph, at the last sentence, Asturias shows us the horrific result: a degraded world where corn men become ants. They work on utopian ant farms harvesting kernels of corn. The glory and the magic of living inside skin made of corn has been flayed away.

The thrill of being Corn Men, the joy of being a fruit-like part of the earth, is not even remembered. From now on, corn men are worker ants. It becomes all about the work. It’s all about producing corn, selling corn, eating corn, buying corn, maybe even popping corn. It’s no longer about being corn.

Or is it?

Gerald Martin, the translator, thought Asturias may have intended the last paragraph to show that in the distant future the Indians would actually triumph; their descendants would win their fight to be corn people by establishing a kind of worker’s paradise; a communal corn-based utopia; a society based, presumably, on communism, where they would toil like joyful ants.

Who knows?  Asturias never said.  His ending remains ambiguous, open to interpretation and discussion. Good literature is like that, it seems.

The dilemmas which Asturias described are thought provoking for sure, but what made me love Corn Men was Miguel’s way with language; the way he used language to paint the surreal internal realities of the many indigenous persons he described. The literary techniques and devices he employed to craft the landscapes, animals, people, and action in Corn Men are complex, varied, and thrilling to encounter and embrace, at least for me.

To my mind, Miguel’ s prose is amazing, wondrous, dense, and sophisticated. Gerald Martin, his translator, preserved and amplified it all in a resplendent English version in 1993, which is the one I read.

Below are my personal picks of phrases from the book, Corn Men, (my proletarian version of the title) to give flavor to uninitiated readers; to acquaint them with the astonishing author, Asturias. And, as always, please, feel free to click on the links in this post to learn more.

Billy Lee

What follows are assorted tidbits from a few chapters in the 1993 Gerald Martin translation of Hombres de Maiz, by Miguel Angel Asturias, first published in 1949.  Billy Lee hopes these vivid constructs will stimulate interest in the book for all those folks who like to write and read.   The Editorial Board


bunny rabbit with shiny eyes
…rabbits…turned into stars…

…word of the earth turned to flame by the sun almost set fire to the maize-leaf ears of the yellow rabbits in the sky…that planted themselves in the sky, turned into stars, and faded into the water like reflections with ears.

…rivers stagnant with wakefulness…

…he was swallowed by a toothless half moon which sucked him from the air, without biting him, like a small fish.

…ground sticky with cold…

…fingernails heavy as shotgun slugs…

…liquor…the water of war…

Gasper grew older as he talked…

His head fell to the ground like a flowerpot with buds of tiny thoughts.

His thoughts passed out of his ears…

…her hair combed by Gaspar’s teeth…

She shrank back like a blind hen.

A handful of sunflower seeds in her entrails.


Rio Sarstun Guatemala river
…river that…rots…for wanting to sleep…

…river that sleeps as it flows and opens its eyes in the pools and rots for wanting to sleep…

…the earth that falls from the stars…

…creamy skies and butter rivers running low…

…shadow hard as the walls…

…gun fully loaded with seeds of darkness…

…skin like old bark, his hair sticking out over his forehead like the tip of a sucked mango…

…dog dyed red with ringworm…

…face the color of vinegar scum…

…shadowy corpses scattering handfuls of maize down from the sky in torrents of rain…


firefly wizard
…firefly wizards…

…firefly wizards, who dwelt in tents of virgin doeskin…

…the mud gets more wrinkled year by year, like an aging face…

…sound of his breathing like water falling on porous earth…

…meat contorted in the fire as though the animals had come back to life and were being burned alive…

…boiling fat made rain bubbles in the tortilla dishes…

…men and women trembling like the leaves smacked by machetes.

…saffron colored mountains bathed in turpentine down to the valleys…

…baked puff-pastry faces…

…white root poison…

…sob chilled his nostrils…

old mayan man
…old fool…afraid of everything…

…his fears were just that, the tremors of an old fool who, because of his age, was starting to be afraid of everything.

…crawling children and warm legs…

Candy rosaries like sugared cartridge belts around young bosoms.

…a swarm of locusts on fire…like golden hailstones with wings…

…skeleton light of fireflies…

…deer like lunar sawdust in the fragile light…

…jaw trembling like a loose horseshoe…

…darkness streamed out of the anthills…


horseman in fire
…everything was on fire…like the light at the beginning of the world…

…everything was on fire, without giving off either flame, smoke, or any smell of burning.  The candle glow of the fireflies streamed down from his hat, behind his ears, over the collar of his embroidered shirt, over his shoulders, up the sleeves of his jacket, down the backs of his hairy hands, between his fingers, like frozen sweat, like the light at the beginning of the world, a brightness in which everything could be seen…

Without saying a word he started bleeding away inside.

…as his voice turned flesh and blood in the cartilage of his nose, mid sobs and thick snuffles…

Senor Tomas, who sat on his leather stool and sucked in his tears, with his back to the door…

…the fire followed on behind with a rush, like a shaggy dog wagging its tail of smoke at him.

…it’s dangerous to contradict what lunatics or lovers say…

Roads of white earth are like the bones of all roads that fall dead at night.  …They remain unburied to give passage to souls in torment…


fire like water
…fire is like water when it flows…

Fire is like water when it flows, no one can cut it off.

…smoke swirling like milk…

…his sigh dropped from the tip of his spurs like tears, almost like words.

…wrapped in their ponchos like mummies…

…the earth was a huge nipple…

The sun, blear-eyed, could hardly see.

Stones from agave slings hummed through the razor-sharp air in the sun-toasted silence of the ripened fields…

Through the tattered lip his incisors, like two enormous nose drips, thrust forward a ridge of cold laughter.

…gums nailed down with stumps…

Madmen and children speak the truth.

night thorns
…spines…hidden like jaguars…

…sarespino bushes, which by day seem to keep their spines hidden, like jaguars, and bring them out as it grows dark to wound those who pass by.

…echo of the bells that toll for the dead down in the town until they make everyone dizzy, tilan-tilon, tilan-tilon…

The hands of those who snap the maize plant so the cob will finish ripening are like the hands that break the sound of bells in two, so the dead person will ripen.

…the running of the rats, real persons to judge from the noise they made, as though they were moving furniture, were the last things she heard.

…lighter sneezed sparks as the flint struck the steel.

…sparks that sailed…like little partridge eyes to set alight the gold-starched clothes of dry sun and dry moon, dry salt and dry star, of the maize-fields.

…flowers like doomed flags crawling with insects…

…darkness in the clear light of liquor, a luminous liquid which coats everything inside you black as you swallow it, dresses you in mourning inside.

…spurs speaking to the stallion in telegraphic, star-like language.

Death is the dark betrayal of the liquor of life.

Two thin burned legs inside a petticoat of ash, a head with no ears and a small lock of hair, also of ash, and a few curled fingernails, was all that could be lifted from the ground where Vaca Manuela Machojon had fallen.

The waters of the river would cheep at the edges of the pools, like little chicks.

…speaking as though he were killing lice with his teeth…

old mayan woman
…her soul…pleading for relief…

…her soul bulging out of her aged, deep-set eyes, pleading mutely for relief…

…tidal waves of weeping that makes everything salty, because tears are salty, because man is made salty by weeping from the moment he is born…

…jasmine-colored teeth…

…a body that goes out of tune, my son, is no good anymore for this life…

…its blood of red citrus juice bathed the moon…

…the madman’s vision is like a mirror broken inside him and in the pieces he sees what he saw whole before.

…he turned his head with the eyes of a boiled crab…

Musus tried to control his horse, sitting up like a flea in the stirrups, buttocks-battered by the trot.

…hoofs echoed like pewter-pots…

…his eyes were fixed on a long serpent of trees which seemed to be crawling between the mountains with the sound of thunder.

Don Chalo…bellowed at him with his mouth open up to his eyes, and such force of lungs that the sound even poured out of his nose.

The sonorous blood clots of his laughter could not be heard, but it was joyful paint that splashed over his face…

red moon
…clotting blood of the red moon…

…the thick clotting blood of the red moon…

…dark forest which stank of horses…

…you could hear something like the boiling fizz of water produced by the stubborn flight of insects…

…flea-bitten nag which paid no heed to word or spur once it became stuck to the ground with the glue of weariness and the thin gum of darkness that was half a dream.

…his ears hummed as though he’d been dosed with quinine…

…silver-coin necklaces of clear water and mountains of leaves that woke at each disturbance, each gust of wind with the clamor of a swarm of locusts sandpapering the air.

…carpets of dry pine needles, rivulets which the shine of the moon turned into navigable rivers of white honey along bare hillsides surrounded by pine groves…

The stallion tossed its head as it felt the splash of large drops of white moon.

…sprinkle of limy light…

Pine cones like the bodies of tiny motionless birds, sacrificed birds petrified with terror on the ever convulsing branches.


two spiders 2
…hands…like spiders….

The hands of the second lieutenant looked like scuffling spiders beneath the play of lights and shadows.

The light and shade had awoken the itching of the mange between his fingers.

Air and earth, as the riders advanced, seemed to be folded in dark and luminous pleats, blinking, and the stones and black spinebushes gave grasshopper leaps.

…the brightness that was coming at them now, gropingly, mid a beautiful darkness, seemed more like a star in the sky forgotten there since the beginning of the world.

…they could hear the tinkling of stones as they sang beneath the horses’ hoofs.

The rocks, faintly orange in color, were reflected in the film of moon and water that covered them like the surface of a mirror…

…meteors falling with their tendons bleeding light…

…the collapse of a vegetable being which no longer has the will to resist the onrush of the wind.

They literally merged their necks with the necks of their horses, to offer the least resistance, and because contact with living, sweating animals which smelled like sacks of salt afforded them the vague security of companionship in the midst of danger.

…that man whose pale blue eyes shown like crystals of fire…

Squirrel in tree hole
…squirrels…chewed on cheerful thoughts…

…distant howling of coyotes in lunar syrup, squirrels gnawing with laughter as they chewed on cheerful thoughts…

The moon had fallen with its slow decaying light in a convex sky weepy with night dew.

Suffocating suphur fumes in which diseases seemed to float…

…whiplashing of the fierce wind…armed with razor leaves.

Black wasps smelling of hot cane liquor fleeing from honeycombs the color of excrement sown in the earth, half honeycomb, half ant’s nest.

Little streams of weeping, like brown sugar water, ran through the dust of the roads on his cheeks.

…it grows chill, like the fur of a dead animal, at night.

I picked you up and brought you back to life by blowing on you like a fire when all that’s left is a spark.

…fireflies played at little candles in the darkness. If only Goyo Yic could have seen just one of those small greenish lights, the color of hope, which lit up his pockmarked face, dry and expressionless as cow dung.

…sticks sounded like snapping guitar strings on the docile backs of the oxen…

To hear them speak was better than charity now, in his solitude, when to hear a voice in his house he had to talk to himself, and it’s not the same at all when you talk to yourself, it’s a human voice, sure, but it’s the voice of a madman.


crowd-at-the-market-in-Santiago-Atitlan-Guatemala-BG
…people…made from hillside earth…

People from the highlands smelling of wool, crags, and black poplars. People from the coast stinking of salt and sea sweat. People from the east, made of hillside earth, giving off an odor of tobacco, dry cheese, yucca paste and corn starch, and people from the north smelling of drizzle, mockingbird cages, and boiled water.

The blind man heard the sky palpitate like some feathered creature, and a strange itching troubled his groin and nipples, as if his sweat were eating away his courage as acid corrodes metal.

…time, which passes without us noticing: as we always have time, we don’t realize we’re always short of it, was how Culebro explained it to him.

…knees deadened from so much kneeling, hands dripping the white smallpox from the candles they held in bundles…

What color is weeping? he cried, stretched out on the ground, and in the same cry, with the very ache of his weeping, he replied, It’s the color of white rum!

White copal, which is the mysterious white brother to rubber, the black brother, the darkness that jumps.

amate flower
…a woman who is truly loved cannot be seen…

A woman who is truly loved cannot be seen, she is the flower of the amate, seen only by the blind, the flower of blind men, men blinded by love, blinded by faith, blinded by life.

…let himself be bathed, one of those moonlit nights when everything looks just as it does by day, in the tree milk that flows down from the machete cuts in the bark of the moon, that light of copal the wizards cook in receptacles of dream and oblivion.

The woman made a sound of splintering teeth, grinding them, and of bones straining in their joints, stretching out, curling up, crushing her face with tears, which interlocked the sorrow of sinfulness to her placid smile of contentment.

The sky moved.

Billy Lee

SHAKESPEARE SONNET GEMSTONES

ShakespeareI know almost nothing about the man, William (Will) Shakespeare. Over the centuries, scholars have questioned many of the details of his life including his birth, circumstances of his death, his sexuality, and his authorship of various works. It seems it might not be possible for any modern person to know anything they can fully trust about the man himself.

I’ve yet to take a college course on Shakespeare or perform in one of his plays. I have attended theatrical performances and watched movie enactments. Mostly, I’ve read his plays and his poetry, not much more. His work is suffused in unique hues, which easily identify his authorship. When reading Shakespeare, my interest is always in his unusual use of language, which appeals to me more than that of any other English-speaking writer or poet.

Shakespeare, whoever he was, had a gift for language which seems to have seduced nearly every person of letters I’ve ever met. He had a talent for drawing attention to the nuances of meaning through a peculiar juxtaposition of his singular syntax with unexpected context.

Shakespeare’s pen tugs and pulls on the corroded wires in our brains to make new schematics. His ink flushes out the rust and lubricates the synapses to enable fresh and completely radical transformations of our internal world. Best of all, his complex literary architecture provides a grand space where readers can safely explore many of the raw subtleties of life, love, power, sorrow, decline and death.

I love Shakespeare. Shakespeare’s language thrills me. I agree with Poet Laureate, Donald Hall, who once observed that Shakespeare’s writing is among the most densely strewn (with gems) of any literature in the world.

shakespeare sonnetsIn this article are collected — from Shakespeare’s Sonnets — over one-hundred and fifty of his brightest jewels and most dazzling gemstones. I don’t much care about the size or carat of a crystal — or its clarity. Color and cut are what fascinate me. If the excerpt doesn’t sparkle, it isn’t on my list. 

The scintillas in this sample are in order of their appearance in the Sonnets. They make up a kind of Reader’s Digest abridgement, which should enable readers to glean some of Shakespeare’s best lines without having to spend several hours reading all one-hundred and fifty-four chapters.


From Shakespeare’s Sonnets:

…making a famine where abundance lies, thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.

When forty winters shall besiege thy brow, and dig deep trenches in thy beauty’s field, thy youth’s proud livery, so gazed on now, will be a tatter’d weed, of small worth held.

Thou art thy mother’s glass, and she in thee calls back the lovely April of her prime.

Die single, and thine image dies with thee.

…sap check’d with frost and lusty leaves quite gone, beauty o’ersnow’d and bareness everywhere: then, were not summer’s distillation left, a liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass…

…thou art much too fair to be death’s conquest and make worms thine heir.

Sweets with sweets war not…


shakespeare sonnet
Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye that thou consumes thyself in single life?

Is it for fear to wet a widow’s eye that thou consumes thyself in single life?

The world will be thy widow and still weep…

But beauty’s waste hath in the world an end, and kept unused, the user so destroys it.

For thou art so possess’d with murderous hate that ‘gainst thyself thou stick’st not to conspire, seeking that beauteous roof to ruinate which to repair should be thy chief desire.

Make thee another self, for love of me.

…violet past prime, and sable curls all silver’d o’re with white…

…barren rage of death’s eternal cold…

Thy end is truth’s and beauty’s doom and date.

…wasteful Time debateth with Decay to change your day of youth to sullied night…

…my verse…is but as a tomb which hides your life and shows not half your parts.

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines…

Pluck the keen teeth from the fierce tiger’s jaws, and burn the long-lived phoenix in her blood…

Yet, do thy worst, old Time: despite thy wrong, my love shall in my verse ever live young.

An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling, gilding the object whereupon it gazeth; a man in hue, all hues in his controlling, which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.

With sun and moon, with earth and sea’s rich gems…

…not so bright as those gold candles fix’d in heaven’s air…

For all that beauty that doth cover thee is but the seemly raiment of my heart…

For at a frown they in their glory die.  The painful warrior famoused for fight, after a thousand victories once foil’d, is from the book of honor razed quite, and all the rest forgot for which he toil’d.


aquatic couple embracing underwater
…thy soul’s thought, all naked… …puts apparel on my tatter’d loving.

…thy soul’s thought, all naked…  …puts apparel on my tatter’d loving, to show me worthy of thy sweet respect…

And keep my drooping eyelids open wide, looking on darkness which the blind do see…

…like a jewel hung in ghastly night, makes black night beauteous and her old face new…

But day by night, and night by day, oppress’d?  And each, though enemies to either’s reign, do in consent shake hands to torture me…

For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings that then I scorn to change my state with kings.

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, for precious friends hid in death’s dateless night, and weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe, and moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight…

Thou are the grave where buried love doth live…

Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss: the offender’s sorrow lends but weak relief to him that bears the strong offence’s cross.  Ah! but those tears are pearl which thy love sheds, and they are rich and ransom all ill deeds.


101220-NASA-eclipse01
…clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun…

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, and loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud.

I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief, although thou steal thee all my poverty; and yet, love knows, it is a greater grief to bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.

Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows, kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

…thy beauty and thy straying youth, who lead thee in their riot even there where thou are forced to break a twofold truth; hers by thy beauty tempting her to thee; thine, by thy beauty being false to me.

If I lose thee, my loss is my love’s gain, and losing her, my friend hath found that loss; both find each other, and I lose both twain, and both for my sake lay on me this cross; but here’s the joy; my friend and I are one; sweet flattery! then she loves but me alone.

And darkly bright are bright in dark directed.

When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so!

All days are nights to see till I see thee, and nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.

For nimble thought can jump both sea and land.

These present-absent with swift motion slide.

A closet never pierced with crystal eyes…

Mine eye’s due is thy outward part, and my heart’s right thy inward love of heart.

Or heart in love with sighs himself doth smother…


gems 2
…my jewels trifles are…

But thou, to whom my jewels trifles are, most worthy of comfort, now my greatest grief, thou, best of dearest and mine only care, art left the prey of every vulgar thief.

Against that time when thou shalt strangely pass and scarcely greet me with that sun, thine eye…

To leave poor me thou hast the strength of laws, since why to love I can allege no cause.

For that same groan doth put this in my mind; my grief lies onward and my joy behind.

So am I as the rich, whose blessed key can bring him to his sweet up-locked treasure, the which he will not every hour survey, for blunting the fine point of seldom pleasure?

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem for that sweet odor which doth in it live.

They live unwoo’d and unrespected fade, die to themselves.  Sweet roses do not so; of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made…

So true a fool is love that in your will, though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.

I am to wait, though waiting so be hell; not blame your pleasure, be it ill or well.


antique_photo_album_closure
…show me your image in some antique book…

O, that record could with a backward look, even of five hundred courses of the sun, show me your image in some antique book…

Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end; each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth and delves the parallels in beauty’s brow, feeds on the rarities of nature’s truth, and nothing stands but for his scythe to mow…

O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great: it is my love that keeps mine eye awake…

Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye and all my soul and all my every part; and for this sin there is no remedy, it is so grounded in my heart.

But when my glass shows me myself indeed, beated and chopp’d with tann’d antiquity…

And all those beauties whereof now he’s king are vanishing or vanish’d out of sight, stealing away the treasure of his spring…

…against confounding ages cruel knife, that he should never cut from memory my sweet love’s beauty, though my lover’s life…


beach
When I have seen the hungry ocean gain advantage on the kingdom of the shore…

When I have seen the hungry ocean gain advantage on the kingdom of the shore, and the firm soil win of the watery main, increasing store with loss and loss with store…

Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate, that Time will come and take my love away.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, but sad mortality o’ersways their power, how with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, whose action is no stronger than a flower?

O, how shall summer’s honey breath hold out against the wreckful siege of battering days, when rocks impregnable are not so stout, nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?

O, none, unless this miracle have might, that in black ink my love may still shine bright.

…right perfection wrongly disgraced…

Why should false painting imitate his cheek and steal dead seeing of his living hue?

They look into the beauty of thy mind, and that, in guess, they measure by thy deeds; then, churls, their thoughts, although their eyes were kind, to thy fair flower add the rank smell of weeds…

For slander’s mark was ever yet the fair; the ornament of beauty is suspect, a crow that flies in heaven’s sweetest air.

When I perhaps compounded am with clay, do not so much as my poor name rehearse, but let your love even with my life decay…

For I am shamed by that which I bring forth, and so should you, to love things nothing worth.


cold yellow leaves with snow
…when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang upon those boughs which shake against the cold…

…when yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang upon those boughs which shake against the cold…

…as after sunset fadeth in the west, which by and by black night doth take away, Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.

…the coward conquest of a wretch’s knife…

The worth of that is that which it contains, and that is this, and this with thee remains.

…for the peace of you I hold such strife as ‘twixt a miser and his wealth is found…

Why is my verse so barren of new pride, so far from variation or quick change?  Why with the time do I not glance aside to new-found methods and to compounds strange?

Thou by thy dial’s shady stealth mayst know time’s thievish progress to eternity.

Thine eyes that taught the dumb on high to sing and heavy ignorance aloft to fly…

…being wreck’d, I am a worthless boat…

When all the breathers of this world are dead; you still shall live — such virtue hath my pen — where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.

…making their tomb the womb wherein they grew…

…upon thy side against myself I’ll fight, and prove thee virtuous…


shakespeare sonnets ladyfair
Thy love is better than high birth to me…

Thy love is better than high birth to me, richer than wealth, prouder than garments’ cost, of more delight than hawks or horses be; and having thee, of all men’s pride I boast: wretched in this alone, that thou mayst take all this away and me most wretched make.

But what’s so blessed-fair that fears no blot?  Thou mayst be false, and yet I know it not.

In many’s looks the false heart’s history is writ in moods and frowns and wrinkles strange…

How like Eve’s apple doth thy beauty grow…

They that have the power to hurt and will do none…

…who, moving others, are themselves as stone, unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow…

They are the lords and owners of their faces…

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

O, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose!

O, what a mansion have those vices got which for their habitation chose out thee, where beauty’s veil doth cover every blot…

The hardest knife ill-used doth lose his edge.

As on the finger of a throned queen the basest jewel will be well esteemed…

How many lambs might the stern wolf betray, if like a lamb he could his looks translate!

The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime, like widow’d wombs after their lord’s decease…

…hope of orphans and unfather’d fruit…

…roses fearfully on thorns did stand…


Medieval couple love
…eternal love in love’s fresh case…

Give my love fame faster than Time wastes life…

The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured…

So that eternal love in love’s fresh case weighs not the dust and injury of age, nor gives to necessary wrinkles place, but makes antiquity for aye his page…

…mine eye is in my mind…

My most true mind thus makes mine eye untrue.

Such cherubins as your sweet self resemble, creating every bad a perfect best…

If it be poison’d, ’tis the lesser sin that mine eye loves it and doth first begin.

But reckoning time, whose million’d accidents creep in ‘twixt vows and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharp’st intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things…

Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds…

Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come: love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.

Bring me within the level of your frown, but shoot not at me with your waken’d hate…

…to prevent our maladies unseen, we sicken to shun sickness when we purge…

…drugs poison him that so fell sick of you.

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, distill’d from limbecks foul as hell within…

O benefit of ill!  Now I find true that better is by evil still made better; and ruin’d love, when it is built anew, grows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater.

For if you were by my unkindness shaken as I by yours, you’ve pass’d a hell of time…

…how hard true sorrow hits…

‘Tis better to be vile than vile esteem’d…

For why should others’ false adulterate eyes give salutation to my sportive blood?  Or on my frailties why are frailer spies, which in their wills count bad what I think good?

Unless this general evil they maintain, all men are bad, and in their badness reign.

Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire what thou dost foist upon us that is old…

To this I witness call the fools of time, which die for goodness, who have lived for crime.

…black beauty’s successive heir…

…fairing the foul with art’s false borrow’d face…


eve offers apple Forbidden_Fruit_by_kusokurae
…none knows well to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

The expense of spirit in a waste of shame is lust in action…

…as a swallowed bait on purpose laid to make the taker mad…

Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.  All this the world well knows; yet none knows well to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

And in some perfumes is there more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art, as those whose beauties proudly make them cruel…

…a torment thrice threefold thus to be cross’d.

The sea, all water, yet receives rain still…

…thus far for love my love-suit, sweet, fulfil.

Make but my name thy love, and love that still, and then thou lovest me, for my name is Will.

…to put fair truth upon so foul a face…

When my love swears that she is made of truth I do believe her, though I know she lies…

And wherefore say not I that I am old?  O, love’s best habit is in seeming trust, and age in love loves not to have years told: therefore I lie with her and she with me, and in our faults by lies we flatter’d be.

…the manner of my pity-wanting pain…

As testy sick men, when their deaths be near, no news but health from their physicians know…

Only my plague thus far I count my gain, that she that makes me sin awards me pain.


cupid's fire
…my female evil tempteth my better angel from my side…

Two loves I have of comfort and despair, which like two spirits do suggest me still: the better angel is a man right fair, the worser spirit a woman color’d ill.  To win me soon to hell, my female evil tempteth my better angel from my side, and would corrupt my saint to be a devil, wooing his purity with her foul pride.

Yet this  shall I ne’re know, but live in doubt, till my bad angel fire my good one out.

Those lips that Love’s own hand did make breathed forth the sound that said I hate.

I hate from hate away she threw, and saved my life, saying not you.

So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, and Death once dead, there’s no more dying then.

For I have sworn thee fair and thought thee bright, who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

O, how can Love’s eye be true, that is so vex’d with watching and with tears?

The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

…all my best doth worship thy defect, commanded by the motion of thine eyes…

But, love, hate on, for now I know thy mind; those that can see thou lovest, and I am blind.

Who taught thee how to love thee more the more I hear and see just cause of hate?


cupid bird bath
…the bath for my help lies where Cupid got new fire…

For all my vows are oaths but to misuse thee…

For I have sworn thee fair; more perjured I, to swear against the truth so foul a lie.

I, sick, withal, the help of bath desired … but found no cure: the bath for my help lies where Cupid got new fire — my mistress’ eyes.

Billy Lee