But then again, the first let's-prepare-them-for-adversarial-pract
Then you go in for the mock hearing, not realising that the both of you have entirely different figures to fight for. (This happens in practice, only that this time, you know)
And then the judge (played by the same lawyer who gave you the Figures Whose Twain Shall Never Meet) goes :D :D :D, "I AWARD YOU $6,927." (Which means nobody is happy, so the case goes on appeal.)
Speaking of two different views of the same thing: I used to analyse literature in school; it was the kind of arrangement whereby they give you a sixteen-line poem and want you to write a four-page essay on authorial intent and what you think the poem is saying. I suspect that this is why I'm a particular way with commenting on fic; any of you whose stories I've left comments on would probably know.
nemesis happened to mention literary analysis (they called it practical criticism where I came from), which made me recall what happened during my first lesson with one of my Literature teachers. He was teaching us how to analyse a poem, and I will always remember what he told us.
"Every poem is about drugs, or sex. Just make sure you get a reference to drugs or sex in, and you'll be just fine. When I say drugs or sex, it doesn't have to be drugs or sex. It can be, preferably, both."
(I can't help but think, now, If Reborn's Shamal was a Literature teacher)
So! Three poems, For Your Consideration:
GLORY be to God for dappled things,
For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow,
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls, finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced, fold, fallow and plough,
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.
All things counter, original, spare, strange,
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim.
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change;
- Gerard Manley Hopkins
And this is the stuff I got:
'anyone lived in a pretty how town'
anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did.
Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn't they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain
children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more
when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone's any was all to her
someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hoe and then)they
said their nevers and they slept their dream
stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt for forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)
one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was
all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.
Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain
-- E. E. Cummings
Poetry is never one thing to two people. I leave you now with a poem Niisan loves, but one which, back then, I did the mental equivalent of softly scribbling a question mark. I read it differently now, of course (and would totally post it uncut, but it is ten stanzas and approximately fifty lines long.
Law Like Love
W. H. Auden
Law, say the gardeners, is the sun,
Law is the one
All gardeners obey
To-morrow, yesterday, to-day.
Law is the wisdom of the old,
The impotent grandfathers feebly scold;
The grandchildren put out a treble tongue,
Law is the senses of the young.
Law, says the priest with a priestly look,
Expounding to an unpriestly people,
Law is the words in my priestly book,
Law is my pulpit and my steeple.
Law, says the judge as he looks down his nose,
Speaking clearly and most severely,
Law is as I’ve told you before,
Law is as you know I suppose,
Law is but let me explain it once more,
Law is The Law.
Yet law-abiding scholars write:
Law is neither wrong nor right,
Law is only crimes
Punished by places and by times,
Law is the clothes men wear
Law is Good morning and Good night.
Others say, Law is our Fate;
Others say, Law is our State;
Others say, others say
Law is no more,
Law has gone away.
And always the loud angry crowd,
Very angry and very loud,
Law is We,
And always the soft idiot softly Me.
If we, dear, know we know no more
Than they about the Law,
If I no more than you
Know what we should and should not do
Except that all agree
Gladly or miserably
That the Law is
And that all know this
If therefore thinking it absurd
To identify Law with some other word,
Unlike so many men
I cannot say Law is again,
No more than they can we suppress
The universal wish to guess
Or slip out of our own position
Into an unconcerned condition.
Although I can at least confine
Your vanity and mine
To stating timidly
A timid similarity,
We shall boast anyway:
Like love I say.
Like love we don’t know where or why,
Like love we can’t compel or fly,
Like love we often weep,
Like love we seldom keep.