https://www.themarginalian.org/2012/11/01/john-keats-on-negative-capability/

Re

On the art of remaining in doubt “without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.”

BY MARIA POPOVA

Despite his short life, the great Romantic poet John Keats (October 31, 1795–February 23, 1821) endures as one of the most influential creative geniuses humanity has produced. Writing to his brothers, George and Thomas, in a December 1817 letter found in Selected Letters (public library), Keats coins the phrase that has come to be the single most emblematic phrase of his entire surviving correspondence, even though he only makes mention of it once: “Negative Capability” — the willingness to embrace uncertainty, live with mystery, and make peace with ambiguity. Triggered by Keats’s disagreement with the English poet and philosopher Coleridge, whose quest for definitive answers over beauty laid the foundations for modern-day reductionism, the concept is a beautiful articulation of a familiar sentiment — that life is about living

https://dalspace.library.dal.ca/bitstream/handle/10222/63097/dalrev_vol61_iss1_pp39_51.pdf?sequence=1

“When we look into Keats’s expressions of conflict between
imagination and reality we can see the roots of this conflict in the
problem of identity. Keats wrote about the sunset, the sparrow, the
mythological figure as if he had lost his identity in the object. He
experienced these identifications sometimes with a sense of discovery
and sometimes with fear or irritability. Eventually, Keats began to see
that his identity would not be maddened by his imagination and could
be strengthened by it. He realized, in other words, “that a not inconsiderable increase in psychical efficiency” can result “from a disposition
which in itself is perilous.” In-the four years we know Keats as a letter
writer and a poet, we can see the development of his capacity for
retaining a sense of identity even when seized by powerful or seductive
visions. This is the development–the turning of a weakness into a
strength, both as artist and as man-that accounts for many apparent
contradictions in Keats’s thought. The language of negative capability
has been difficult because it suggests a puzzling oxymoron- a negative
and a positive. The figure presents two aspects of a dual process, the
first part of which, in its partial renunciation of control, can be felt as a
negative, while the second, or alternating, state recreates and is felt as a
capability. The creative process in some of its operations posed
dangers for Keats’!; identity. But by the spring of 1819, the period of the
great odes, there appears a new strength in the second aspect of
negative capabilily imagination”

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2014/07/25/the-vale-of-soul-making/

“I will call the world a School instituted for the purpose of teaching little children to read—I will call the human heart the horn Book used in that School—and I will call the Child able to read, the Soul made from that school and its hornbook. Do you not see how necessary a World of Pains and troubles is to school an Intelligence and make it a soul? A Place where the heart must feel and suffer in a thousand diverse ways!” Keats

She saw her own self sitting in the coffee bar that day

She was on the other side and feeling far away.

Her eyes had left herr body,they were looking back at her

She felt hot and sweaty in that fine Italian chair

She thought she saw a vulture peering in the glass

Just another monster like you see with air and gas

She telephoned her sister and asked her what to do

It certainly more frightening simply feeling blue

We put it down to terror and to chemotherapy

It’s hard,so hard if we’re alone and we have not got a clue.

If you haven’t got a sister then I hope you’ve got a friend

We need a lot of loving or we will go around the bend

Anyone can feel unreal invisible or strange.

Reach out to the human race,this can arranged

When we are alone too much we think and fret our minds

But when we hava comforter,

Life feels much more kind

Matthew 25:35-46 New International Version (NIV)

For 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.

https://www.bible.com › compare

Matthew 25:35-46

https://theconversation.com/anger-sadness-boredom-anxiety-emotions-that-feel-bad-can-be-useful-217654

https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/commentisfree/2017/dec/18/the-price-of-driving-down-care-home-costs-staff-who-quit-after-a-few-weeks?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

The results of the experiment = the insults of the compliment

I failed my degree = I wailed by a tree

Panic attack=.Paris is sacked

Last year in Marienbad = Last beers, don’t carry on lad

An evil sinner =seaweed for dinner

Do you repent = Who are you to dissent?

Hold my hand cos I need you===Fold the sands as we seam now

You might enjoy it ===== you’re right,destroy it

What’s my name= am I insane?

Where are you going.  We’re all overflowing

Eating disorder.    Sweetening the border

You’ll never walk again… Leave off the men

No cream on the puddings… Go and dream of the flooding

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2023/nov/26/culture-labour-plan-save-the-arts-tory-cuts?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other

The River Lea creeps onwards in the rain

Deep mist be-shrouds the fields,the geese complain.

I used to love the fog in Wiillows Park

Yet I was quite fearful in the dark

The River. Lea is large it carries boats

Yet on the living water  moorhens float

Even in the rain men stand and fish.

And so the child she’ll have her wanted dish

https://wp.me/p4fTq7-2Re

https://gregcartmell.com/life-is-strange/typical-day-working-professional-artist/

https://lifeloversmag.com/2023/03/01/a-day-in-the-life-of-a-writer/#:~:text=More%20Than%20Words&text=We%20do%20a%20lot%20of,landing%20pages%20and%20advertising%20copy.

24 Hours in the Creative Life https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2022/04/21/t-magazine/culture-issue-creative-life-artists.html?smid=nytcore-android-share

The creative life is one defined by insecurity, doubt and uncertainty (as well as overconfidence, arrogance and delusion). We asked 40 poets, painters, photographers, filmmakers, actors, musicians and writers to share hard-earned wisdom for every stage of an artistic career.

Winter sunshine shows the branches bare

Reveals each shape both elegant and spare

The little birds fly in and out at will

The low sun’s bright, the wind is light as well

What kind of world has human language made?

Evolution does not always pay

For language can speak love but also hate

And brings to some misfortune and black fate

Words can hurt much deeper than a knife

We may be traumatised by our own life

The bitch the witch , the charlatan, the Jew

These categories old, are ever new

Language wrote both Dante and Mein Kampf,

From ecstasy to Concentration Camp

Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart from dull, dark dreams
The marvels are the poignant shapes I see
I recognise them in the grace and fear
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
I’m branded with their shapes so known so dear
Yet how huge shadows frighten,haunt the seer
Pendle Hill , the Langdale Pikes are me
They waken up my heart to what may be

I am looking at the painting by Philip Steer that I have described to s friends before of the place in Suffolk where the Freud .. family used to take their summer holidays and know some of them live there. It’s called Walberswick 

It’s in Suffolk and when I’m looking at the picture of the girls on the pier going out towards the sea I can see the sea itself in my mind’s eye I can hear the ripples of the waves and I’m standing on the sand and just behind me is a wooden building which is an art gallery which also sells paintings and now I can see this picture as it was ..  hanging on the wall which is made of cream coloured wood and there are other similar paintings and more recent ones by modern artists and the sand comes right up to the door of the art gallery and I can see the sea and hear it lapping on the shore.

One benefit of having beenlaud up  is that my visual memories have become even more powerful. I can see everything even the sea far out where there are fishing boats.

The air is pure and salty I could almost believe I’m there now.

Next to the art gallery there is a cafe where we sat outside in the garden one afternoon to drink tea and because of my vision just having deteriorated I couldn’t judge the depth of the tea in the cups so they overflowed then the puddles were wiped up by a merry waitress. You see I was using w teapot!

You need three dimensional vision or you’ve got to be very very careful which I now am

I’m determined to see as much as possible of everything in case my vision gets worse so I see the weeds in the grass and I see the the boat man rowing.. he’s rowing people across the river Blyth in his little boat.

The .air is so clear I seem to hear noises from far away 

.. children getting out of cars and running about.. the air is clear and beautiful… No other place seems to have air like this.

Now I have dropped my eyes . I am back in this room but the sun is shining today and there are magnificent clouds… Winter will be over very soon the daffodils are coming out too early it’s  the crocuses I love best.

I feel like running about like those children with my arms and legs bare just running in circles on the sand…..

Why do we have to grow up so totally ,?

Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight
Posted on February 11, 2018

Cain and Abel fought the bitter fight
Like baby eagles, sharks and all that bite
For parents stand aloof as if amused
By sibling killing sibling for their food

This may be the crime original
So common it may seem to be banal
Inside the heart of love lurk greed and hate
Genetics brings destruction as a fate

So hatred precedes love if any grows
As dead egrets have no claw to show.
Families have their scapegoats all will harm
No-one seems to notice wild alarm

So Cain was not unusual nor mad
Indeed he was a hero, that is sad.

Professor Rosa Benchez was in the staff-room at Middle-Jeans-Rise University collecting her mail and having coffee at 9.30 am on Monday morning after running 10 miles on her rowing machine.It rowed and she ran
How are you? enquired Danny her friend and colleague in the School of Learning.
I’m feeling very insignificant today,she replied. quietly.I am giving a lecture on Semiotics and it’s those French people who use such idiotically complicated language.We all know that an object like a bird has to have a name before we can talk about it.
Well.,said Danny, I thought you’d just say,”In the pink” as usual to my greeting, so you must feel bad.Does each bird have to have its own name,he continued wonderingly?
Well,it depends on the context, she informed him coolly and enigmatically.
First,if we are looking at birds as a class or set, they just need a name like “bird”.It could have been anything but somehow it was” bird” that occurred like x is used in algebra.We may just study one bird then we give it a number to identify it.That is its name
Danny gazed at her beautiful bosom under her semi-transparent pink blouse.Did she dress like that on purpose to provoke men or did she feel so deep;y insignificant that she didn’t realise anyone at all could see her purple lace bra and her green silk and wool thermal vest with matching briefs, though fortunately, the latter were invisible from outside sp
Danny,I’m talking to you, she called sympathetically.Why are you quiet?
I dunno, the world famous biologist replied.Maybe I am not quite here today.
You too,she murmured quietly ,like the stream in Little Walsingham by the ruined Abbey.
Are you anxious about your lectures,she enquired softly and caringly?
No, not really ,he said tearing his eyes away from her revealing clothing.
Is there a biological reason why a scholar like Rosa would wear this unusually exciting outfit.
The truth was more mundane.Rosa bought her clothes in Sales and was indifferent pr unaware to the way men might feel seeing her like this.After all,did she notice if they wore deep purple underpants that showed above their low rise jeans or gold coins on a chain with matching long earrings?
She only looked at their faces while they naturally were drawn to see what outfit she was wearing that day. and what her new lingerie looked like.
What did her partner feel?Had he left her for a woman who dressed in thick beige blouses and stockings with grey skirts?
To dress well takes time and Rosa did not give it enough although so far she had not lectured in a string bikini nor an evening dress she had found in a jumble sale.
These French people have made a fortune by re-labelling well know things like birds as “signified” and the word “bird” as signifiers!
It reminded her of a sociologist who got a large grant to see if women were more scared walking under a railway bridge at night if there were no streetlight there
The conclusion seems obvious.And that was what they proved “scientifically”
Statistics,numbers, that’s what journals want.
She went to her lecture room and turned on the lights.Eighty students gazed at her happily.She was almost the best and funniest lecturer in the place.
I put 30 handouts in Dr Bevan-Finnish’s drawer for the seminar but someone has stolen them, she said menacingly.I write these handouts myself and if they do not appear by noon ,nobody will get another one for the entire semester
With that, she turned to the blackboard and defined ” the signifier”
Well,it’s better than taking the insides out of chickens on a conveyor belt she thought silently as she moaned on while the students took copious notes or wrote limericks on kleenex tissues with their own blood
After lunch Rosa was in the staff room talking to some women colleagues when Dr Bevan -Finnish came over,blushing dark red as he approached.He said the handouts were back in his tray
Why is he so shy, Rosa asked herself,not realising it was her outfit that provoked his blushes.And that is a very important thing to remember… whoever we are with affects us so a bold man like Bevan-Finnish seemed shy when with Rosa whereas with another more sensibly dressed woman he was quite at ease.
There may be a few men who are not affected this way but not many otherwise the human race would die out and then where would we be?Nowhere!
What a pity nobody tells a lady like Rosa the facts of life so she goes about causing sinful longings in her colleagues quite oblivious.Even some of the women were getting affected but nobody dared to tell her.At least it drew students to her lectures and who knows, they might have learned some Linguistics as well.And it kept them off the streets.Which streets nobody knows.Yet!

My heart is crushed like petals on the road
When spring winds blow and cars speed by like shot
The weight of caring is too hard to hold
Yet such a pastime seems to be my lot.

When buds appear I dread the frost of sin
When leaves uncurl ,I bear my breathless dream
I was not always of this mind so grim
Neither did I ponder complex schemes.

Shall I descend to ploys and plots of doom;
Wreak revenge on those who trouble me?
No,I ‘ll not give home to conquering gloom
I’ll sit it out and find what good’s for me.

My heart is crushed but I shall live again
Far from the habitat of wolf-like man.

Inside my shell, I dream of pearls,
Caterpillars, snails with whorls.
I dream contented, all enwrapped
With reverie and dream, I’m lapped.
The inner seas will comfort me,
While gods allow my eyes to see

Oh, sweeter than confectionery
Is my worn old dictionary.
The words whirl round and fall to shape
The sentences, which my world drape.
This furnishing is rich and strange
Yet magically self-arranged.

Oh, sweeter than the love of man
Is reading works of poets long gone;
And feeling deeply their dark tides,
Upon which our boats may glide.
The sea infinite we float on
Is the same warm sea that ancients swam.

Sweeter still is this spring air
And the blossom spreading fair.
We’ll drown ourselves in deep green fields
To the gods of poetry yield.
We’ll rise again and spring up tall
To grow more rich until we fall.

Sweet it is to live and die
And to write my poetry
Touch me with your ardent souls
My mind and yours shall all be whole

O

Oo

D

Ddd

https://kids.frontiersin.org/articles/10.3389/frym.2022.623953

C

If I didn’t believe anything.

I would know there is another me

That knows more that I do

That I am not omniscient

There are many things I cannot see in normal consciousness

Some I have seen when my life slowed down to a snail pace

Some only another person can see

What does a snail see?

Fast anxious scanning just not reveal a world of value

It only tells us whether we are about to be devoured by lions

Does not show us blue moths nor birds,not butterflies

Pinpoint eyes do not see the rainbow or the star

If you don’t believe anything what does it mean to say what would you believe then?

I believe there are other people other minds

That should make us listen more because these other minds are not our mind

Don’t we want to know what another mind perceived?

A woman in the art class says she hates Picasso

Is it that she hates to see what Picasso saw?

Can’t she just say,this is not what I see?

Don’t we realise that sight needs development. Did Plato not see more than I can or ever will be able to and what about Jesus what did he see ,?

It’s not automatic that we see the way the great artists saw.

But it might show us a way, a path, a new direction.

Probably slowness is better than speed

And it’s not quantity that’s important

They wanted to call mathematics quantitative methods

As if it had no qualities.

As if it had no quality

No e-quality

Not all activities are of equal value

But how do we judge?

If we can’t see then we can’t judge

Democracy is in dangér … From those who think they already know everything

https://www.winxdvd.com/dvd-play/external-dvd-drive-for-chromebook.htm#what

My husband liked being recumbent

He was lazy in all of his ways.

I never knew he was dying

As he kept on smiling.

What can I say in his praise?

I told him off for keeping me waiting

Not knowing his heart had a leak.

In a way I admired him

For keeping cabs standing

And being reluctant to speak.

He rarely addressed these cab drivers

But blessed them, each one, with his gaze.

He sat with composure

And little disclosure…

Though sometimes his guns were ablaze.

When the drivers were told he had passed,

Some wept and my hands they each grasped.

Oh, my dear lady

We were all ready

To drive you to Barnet so fast.

The compassion from the humble and lowly

The love from the poor and the weak

What can I say for

We miss all his labours

If only we could, at least, hear him speak.

I held his left hand for an hour

I held it again for much more.

I felt a stiff tendon

Which refused any bending

And massaged it as I sat on the floor.

He never repeated me he loved me,

Or how I should live when he’d gone.

I suppose by that time

He believed all was kind.

And his earthly endeavors were done.

It seems like a dream, a performance…

And I keep thinking life will resume.

I see no apparitions

Have no new intuitions

This is my life, I presume.

https://dictionary.apa.org/identification-with-the-aggressor

https://www.sainsburysmagazine.co.uk/recipes/sides/pan-haggerty

When you are hungry but you don’t have a lot of money to buy meat etc this is good

https://www.deliaonline.com/recipes/international/european/french/sausages-boulangere