Primed for Life

At the end of the first lesson on Publishing (Bachelor of Writing and Publishing nmit Fairfield) the class was asked to respond to the following prompt.
 ‘Choose a book (or other literary form) that has had a profound influence upon you. Discuss the book, its themes and narrative, and how it has impacted upon your life.’
 I chose Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, Let me not to the marriage of true minds..
I began my response with the following paragraph,

     'On encountering this Shakespearean sonnet in 1976, I was immediately drawn to its idealised portrayal of unconditional love.  Its sentiment flirted with my longing to fall in love; seduced me with imagery of loyalty and unwavering commitment, and then in the closing couplet, convinced me with its argument. Here was a blueprint for love. At the time I was a young romantic, caught up in images of faithful maidens and steadfast lovers and so on meeting my husband and believing us to be of true minds, I immediately applied this sonnet as a blueprint for our love. Nothing would be allowed to come between us. No obstacle would stand in our way. We would be together forever. Thus I allowed myself to be carried away on a sea of emotion refusing to ‘admit impediments’.

   Clearly I was/am an idealist. The exercise got me thinking about other books that may have played a role in developing the sentimentalist aspect of my personality. There were many. I traced them all the way back to my primary schooling. I scoured my bookshelves last night and found my copy of the Victorian Readers Fifth Book (Second Edition, 1940). Flipping through the pages I came across a selection of poetry and short stories with titles such as Pioneers, The Drover's Wife, The Fire at Ross's Farm, Romance, The Hero of the Flooded Mine, My Heart's in the Highlands...and then I stopped to read The Ballad of the Drover. I was immediately transported back in time to my Grade 5 desk at the Cromwell Primary School in Collingwood. The poem was heavy going for a nine year old. I remembered stuffing my hankie in my mouth and wiping my teardrops off the pages with my sleeve. If the words themselves hadn't reduced everyone in the class to tears then the two accompanying illustrations ensured that no one would escape the pathos of the sorry sad tale of the hapless drover and his faithful dog. Here is an excerpt.

'When flashes next the lightning,
   The flood's grey beast is blank,
And cattle dog and pack horse
   Are struggling up the bank.
But in the lonely homestead
   The girl will wait in vain-
He'll never pass the stations
   In charge of stock again.

The faithful dog a moment
   Sits panting on the bank,
And then swims through the current
   To where his master sank.
And round and round in circle
   He fights with failing strength,
Till, borne down by the waters,
   The old dog sinks at length.
And it doesn't stop there! More heart wrenching words follow, more images of the pack horse struggling onward to 'take dumb tidings home'. The poem closes with,
'But some one's eyes are saddened,
   And some one's heart still bleeds
In sorrow for the drover
   Who sleeps among the reeds'.

No wonder I am a romantic fool. I was conditioned to be so by the fifth grade reader and the four readers that proceeded it and the one that followed.
Now I understand why they call primary books 'primers'.
'nuff said.

One thing leads to an other, to an other, to an other…

I haven’t thought about church and religion for years. I stopped going to church when I was around 9 years of age. My parents stopped going. Don’t know why. Both my grandfathers were Greek Orthodox priests. Three great uncles were also priests. So there had to be a good reason.

I was glad we didn’t go anymore for lots of reasons: I didn’t understand Greek; the priest was scary and I didn’t like the taste of wine either. Also, there were a lot of pictures to be kissed, a lot of candles to be bought, and a lot of donations to be given. Yep, I was happy to stay home and I didn’t give church another thought. Religion? Yes, but church? No. That is, until the other day when the Reformation was mentioned in Publishing class.
I decided that I would research it further, as a possible topic for the upcoming essay.
It so happens that Dr Martin Luther started it all with his posting on the Castle Church door ( I guess it was the blog site of choice back in 1517). More out of curiosity and less out of the need for academic thoroughness, I decided to check out his 95 Theses. Turns out, he hand-wrote them (funny that) in Latin. I read about three different translations and an easy-to-read chart which pointed out the differences between Catholics and Protestants. So there I was, at the computer taking notes and formulating my essay in my head, when bingo, light bulb moment, epiphany or whatever- I got why my parents stopped going to church.
As I said, ‘One thing leads to an other, to an other, to an other….’

Image sourced from "http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:912u_Luther%27s_95_Theses,_Schlosskirche,_Wittenberg,_GER,_.jpg"

Impressions of the Printing Press

Who would have thought that learning about the printing press would have proven to be so interesting?  This is not the place for me to go into details about how Gutenberg’s invention changed the world (I’ll leave that for an upcoming essay) nor do I wish to explain its inception, construction and mechanics.  Instead I would like to remark that if it had not been for Gutenberg’s printing press, then this event of you reading my words through the technology that now sits before you might never have been plausible let alone possible.  Even more fascinating is the realisation that both of us may not have developed intellectually enough to even understand this subject matter.
Take a moment to reflect.

How can you not help but to admire and respect Gutenberg for his ingenuity, his foresight and his humanitarianism?

Image sourced from: http://revolutionarypeoplefromtherenaissance.weebly.com/johannes-gutenberg.html