#flexner

[daimonclub]

Halloween death poems

Halloween poems on death and souls Halloween death poems, dead spirits and departed souls with the passed away essence of our ancestors existing around the living by the World of English that is English-culture.com Halloween for the year 2022 is celebrated/observed on Monday, October 31st. What the dead had no speech for, when living, They can tell you, being dead: the communication Of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living. T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets No poet, no artist of any art, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists. You cannot value him alone; you must set him, for contrast and comparison, among the dead. T. S. Eliot Be silent in that solitude, Which is not loneliness - for then The spirits of the dead, who stood In life before thee, are again In death around thee, and their will Shall overshadow thee; be still. Edgar Allan Poe From “Spirits of the Dead All Souls’ Night You heap the logs and try to fill The little room with words and cheer, But silent feet are on the hill, Across the window veiled eyes peer. The hosts of lovers, young in death, Go seeking down the world to-night, Remembering faces, warmth and breath - And they shall seek till it is light. Then let the white-flaked logs burn low, Lest those who drift before the storm See gladness on our hearth and know There is no flame can make them warm. Hortense King Flexner Petit mort pour rire - Poem by Tristan Corbiere Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Les herbes au vent seront tes cheveux ; De ton œil béant jailliront les feux Follets, prisonniers dans les pauvres têtes… Les fleurs de tombeau qu’on nomme Amourettes Foisonneront plein ton rire terreux… Et les myosotis, ces fleurs d’oubliettes… Ne fais pas le lourd : cercueils de poètes Pour les croque-morts sont de simples jeux, Boîtes à violon qui sonnent le creux… Ils te croiront mort - Les bourgeois sont bêtes Va vite, léger peigneur de comètes ! Tristan Corbiere For Annie Thank Heaven! the crisis, The danger, is past, And the lingering illness Is over at last - And the fever called "Living" Is conquered at last. Sadly, I know I am shorn of my strength, And no muscle I move As I lie at full length - But no matter! - I feel I am better at length. And I rest so composedly, Now, in my bed, That any beholder Might fancy me dead - Might start at beholding me, Thinking me dead. The moaning and groaning, The sighing and sobbing, Are quieted now, With that horrible throbbing At heart: - ah, that horrible, Horrible throbbing! The sickness - the nausea - The pitiless pain - Have ceased, with the fever That maddened my brain - With the fever called "Living" That burned in my brain. And oh! of all tortures That torture the worst Has abated - the terrible Torture of thirst For the naphthaline river Of Passion accurst: - I have drank of a water That quenches all thirst: - Of a water that flows, With a lullaby sound, From a spring but a very few Feet under ground - From a cavern not very far Down under ground. And ah! let it never Be foolishly said That my room it is gloomy And narrow my bed; For man never slept In a different bed - And, to sleep, you must slumber In just such a bed. My tantalized spirit Here blandly reposes, Forgetting, or never Regretting, its roses - Its old agitations Of myrtles and roses: For now, while so quietly Lying, it fancies A holier odor About it, of pansies - A rosemary odor, Commingled with pansies - With rue and the beautiful Puritan pansies. And so it lies happily, Bathing in many A dream of the truth And the beauty of Annie - Drowned in a bath Of the tresses of Annie. She tenderly kissed me, She fondly caressed, And then I fell gently To sleep on her breast - Deeply to sleep From the heaven of her breast. When the light was extinguished, She covered me warm, And she prayed to the angels To keep me from harm - To the queen of the angels To shield me from harm. And I lie so composedly, Now, in my bed, (Knowing her love) That you fancy me dead - And I rest so contentedly, Now in my bed (With her love at my breast). That you fancy me dead - That you shudder to look at me, Thinking me dead:- But my heart it is brighter Than all of the many Stars in the sky, For it sparkles with Annie - It glows with the light Of the love of my Annie - With the thought of the light Of the eyes of my Annie. By Edgar Allan Poe Annabel Lee It was many and many a year ago, In a kingdom by the sea, That a maiden there lived whom you may know By the name of Annabel Lee; And this maiden she lived with no other thought Than to love and be loved by me. I was a child and she was a child, In this kingdom by the sea, But we loved with a love that was more than love - I and my Annabel Lee - With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted her and me. And this was the reason that, long ago, In this kingdom by the sea, A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling My beautiful Annabel Lee; So that her highborn kinsmen came And bore her away from me, To shut her up in a sepulchre In this kingdom by the sea. The angels, not half so happy in Heaven, Went envying her and me - Yes! - that was the reason (as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea) That the wind came out of the cloud by night, Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. But our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we - Of many far wiser than we - And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling - my darling - my life and my bride, In her sepulchre there by the sea - In her tomb by the sounding sea. By Edgar Allan Poe

Halloween poems on death, spirits and souls Halloween Upon that night, when fairies light On Cassilis Downans dance, Or owre the lays, in splendid blaze, On sprightly coursers prance; Or for Colean the route is ta’en, Beneath the moon’s pale beams; There, up the cove, to stray and rove, Among the rocks and streams To sport that night. Among the bonny winding banks, Where Doon rins, wimplin’ clear, Where Bruce ance ruled the martial ranks, And shook his Carrick spear, Some merry, friendly, country-folks, Together did convene, To burn their nits, and pou their stocks, And haud their Halloween Fu’ blithe that night. The lasses feat, and cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they’re fine; Their faces blithe, fu’ sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, and warm, and kin’; The lads sae trig, wi’ wooer-babs, Weel knotted on their garten, Some unco blate, and some wi’ gabs, Gar lasses’ hearts gang startin’ Whiles fast at night. Then, first and foremost, through the kail, Their stocks maun a’ be sought ance; They steek their een, and graip and wale, For muckle anes and straught anes. Poor hav’rel Will fell aff the drift, And wander’d through the bow-kail, And pou’t, for want o’ better shift, A runt was like a sow-tail, Sae bow’t that night. Then, staught or crooked, yird or nane, They roar and cry a’ throu’ther; The very wee things, todlin’, rin, Wi’ stocks out owre their shouther; And gif the custoc’s sweet or sour. Wi’ joctelegs they taste them; Syne cozily, aboon the door, Wi cannie care, they’ve placed them To lie that night. The lasses staw frae ‘mang them a’ To pou their stalks of corn: But Rab slips out, and jinks about, Behint the muckle thorn: He grippet Nelly hard and fast; Loud skirl’d a’ the lasses; But her tap-pickle maist was lost, When kitlin’ in the fause-house Wi’ him that night. The auld guidwife’s well-hoordit nits, Are round and round divided, And monie lads’ and lasses’ fates Are there that night decided: Some kindle coothie, side by side, And burn thegither trimly; Some start awa, wi’ saucy pride, And jump out-owre the chimlie Fu’ high that night. Jean slips in twa wi’ tentie ee; Wha ‘twas she wadna tell; But this is Jock, and this is me, She says in to hersel: He bleezed owre her, and she owre him, As they wad never mair part; Till, fuff! he started up the lum, And Jean had e’en a sair heart To see’t that night. Poor Willie, wi’ his bow-kail runt, Was brunt wi’ primsie Mallie; And Mallie, nae doubt, took the drunt, To be compared to Willie; Mall’s nit lap out wi’ pridefu’ fling, And her ain fit it brunt it; While Willie lap, and swore by jing, ‘Twas just the way he wanted To be that night. Nell had the fause-house in her min’, She pits hersel and Rob in; In loving bleeze they sweetly join, Till white in ase they’re sobbin’; Nell’s heart was dancin’ at the view, She whisper’d Rob to leuk for’t: Rob, stowlins, prie’d her bonny mou’, Fu’ cozie in the neuk for’t, Unseen that night. But Merran sat behint their backs, Her thoughts on Andrew Bell; She lea’es them gashin’ at their cracks, And slips out by hersel: She through the yard the nearest taks, And to the kiln goes then, And darklins graipit for the bauks, And in the blue-clue throws then, Right fear’t that night. And aye she win’t, and aye she swat, I wat she made nae jaukin’, Till something held within the pat, Guid Lord! but she was quakin’! But whether ‘was the deil himsel, Or whether ‘twas a bauk-en’, Or whether it was Andrew Bell, She didna wait on talkin’ To spier that night. Wee Jennie to her grannie says, “Will ye go wi’ me, grannie? I’ll eat the apple at the glass I gat frae Uncle Johnnie:" She fuff’t her pipe wi’ sic a lunt, In wrath she was sae vap’rin’, She notice’t na, an aizle brunt Her braw new worset apron Out through that night. “Ye little skelpie-limmer’s face! I daur you try sic sportin’, As seek the foul thief ony place, For him to spae your fortune. Nae doubt but ye may get a sight! Great cause ye hae to fear it; For mony a ane has gotten a fright, And lived and died deleeret On sic a night. “Ae hairst afore the Sherramoor, — I mind’t as weel’s yestreen, I was a gilpey then, I’m sure I wasna past fifteen; The simmer had been cauld and wat, And stuff was unco green; And aye a rantin’ kirn we gat, And just on Halloween It fell that night. “Our stibble-rig was Rab M’Graen, A clever sturdy fallow: His son gat Eppie Sim wi’ wean, That lived in Achmacalla: He gat hemp-seed, I mind it weel, And he made unco light o’t; But mony a day was by himsel, He was sae sairly frighted That very night.” Then up gat fechtin’ Jamie Fleck, And he swore by his conscience, That he could saw hemp-seed a peck; For it was a’ but nonsense. The auld guidman raught down the pock, And out a hanfu’ gied him; Syne bade him slip frae ‘mang the folk, Some time when nae ane see’d him, And try’t that night. He marches through amang the stacks, Though he was something sturtin; The graip he for a harrow taks. And haurls it at his curpin; And every now and then he says, “Hemp-seed, I saw thee, And her that is to be my lass, Come after me, and draw thee As fast this night.” He whistled up Lord Lennox’ march To keep his courage cheery; Although his hair began to arch, He was say fley’d and eerie: Till presently he hears a squeak, And then a grane and gruntle; He by his shouther gae a keek, And tumbled wi’ a wintle Out-owre that night. He roar’d a horrid murder-shout, In dreadfu’ desperation! And young and auld came runnin’ out To hear the sad narration; He swore ‘twas hilchin Jean M’Craw, Or crouchie Merran Humphie, Till, stop! she trotted through them And wha was it but grumphie Asteer that night! Meg fain wad to the barn hae gaen, To win three wechts o’ naething; But for to meet the deil her lane, She pat but little faith in: She gies the herd a pickle nits, And two red-cheekit apples, To watch, while for the barn she sets, In hopes to see Tam Kipples That very nicht. She turns the key wi cannie thraw, And owre the threshold ventures; But first on Sawnie gies a ca’ Syne bauldly in she enters: A ratton rattled up the wa’, And she cried, Lord, preserve her! And ran through midden-hole and a’, And pray’d wi’ zeal and fervour, Fu’ fast that night; They hoy’t out Will wi’ sair advice; They hecht him some fine braw ane; It chanced the stack he faddom’d thrice Was timmer-propt for thrawin’; He taks a swirlie, auld moss-oak, For some black grousome carlin; And loot a winze, and drew a stroke, Till skin in blypes cam haurlin’ Aff’s nieves that night. A wanton widow Leezie was, As canty as a kittlin; But, och! that night amang the shaws, She got a fearfu’ settlin’! She through the whins, and by the cairn, And owre the hill gaed scrievin, Whare three lairds’ lands met at a burn To dip her left sark-sleeve in, Was bent that night. Whyles owre a linn the burnie plays, As through the glen it wimpl’t; Whyles round a rocky scaur it strays; Whyles in a wiel it dimpl’t; Whyles glitter’d to the nightly rays, Wi’ bickering, dancing dazzle; Whyles cookit underneath the braes, Below the spreading hazel, Unseen that night. Among the brackens, on the brae, Between her and the moon, The deil, or else an outler quey, Gat up and gae a croon: Poor Leezie’s heart maist lap the hool! Near lav’rock-height she jumpit; but mist a fit, and in the pool Out-owre the lugs she plumpit, Wi’ a plunge that night. In order, on the clean hearth-stane, The luggies three are ranged, And every time great care is ta’en’, To see them duly changed: Auld Uncle John, wha wedlock joys Sin’ Mar’s year did desire, Because he gat the toom dish thrice, He heaved them on the fire In wrath that night. Wi’ merry sangs, and friendly cracks, I wat they didna weary; And unco tales, and funny jokes, Their sports were cheap and cheery; Till butter’d so’ns, wi’ fragrant lunt, Set a’ their gabs a-steerin’; Syne, wi’ a social glass o’ strunt, They parted aff careerin’ Fu’ blythe that night. Robert Burns, 1759 - 1796 Download the pdf file about Halloween History Other poems on Halloween Here   www.poets.org/poetsorg/halloween-poems If you like Halloween you can also read the following articles: Halloween great and famous quotes Halloween or All Hallows’ Eve Halloween quotes and aphorisms Halloween death poems Read the full article

[biglisbonnews]

A $1 billion lawsuit is making matters worse for Binance Binance’s pile of legal woes keeps on growing.Read more... https://qz.com/a-1-billion-lawsuit-is-making-matters-worse-for-binanc-1850293184

[welcometogrouchland]

Btw the reason why the hexsquad had kinda weird Grom outfits in the photo set during the timeskip is bc their junior Grom was themed "back to the 'fraidies" (pun on 80s) and was one of those cheesy vintage themed school dances. They're all wearing old outfits scoured from thrift stores and their parents closets.

Speaking of, the entire hagsquad was there to chaperone and they spent the night being nostalgic and sorting out their own issues (bc their own Grom was very very Messy. The dalador friendship breakup happened here, there was tension between Lilith and Eda over it being the first year Eda had a date (Raine, who had drama at home that year and ended up crashing on the Clawthorne's couch after Grom rather than going home) instead of going stag w/ Lilith, who almost didn't come that year, but ended up going with Perry Porter, who was generally just kind of awkward around his miserable "date" the whole night. It Was Not Fun)

The soundtrack was boppin' and the fashion was horrendous. Darius and Alador made out that night in a corridor. The school, led by Gus, teamed up to defeat Grom permanently. Bump announced his retirement and Eda cried. Overall fun night!

[rulersreachf4n]

KING’S TIDE PROMO ART

DANA TERRACE

BRIDGET UNDERWOOD

MIKE AUSTIN

REBECCA ROSE

DANA TERRACE

JOHN BAILEY OWENS

ANDY GARNER FLEXNER

[stanley578]

Dana Terrace has officially revealed the poster, created by her and Andy Garner-Flexner, for the upcoming 3rd special of The Owl House season 3, Watching and Dreaming.

Here, we see Luz with a happy expression, holding a light glyph and the staff of her palisman, String Bean. The aggression coming from King and Eda sets the tone for what we're going to expect in this epic series finale. Below Luz are a bunch of glyphs that signify how far she has come in her journey as a human witch. Finally, above is the Titan with a glowing yellow left eye and a snake coming out of his right eye. From what I heard from MilkyyWaves, a skull and a snake represent death and rebirth, respectively.

There are a lot of speculations that the Titan is King's dad, the one whose remains formed the Boiling Isles, and the spirit who Luz saw in the in-between realm, but we'll have to wait and see once Watching and Dreaming airs on April 8, 2023.

P.S. I'm preparing a roll of tissue paper beside me, a pillow for hugging and punching, and a King plushie to help me get through the emotional damage.

[angstandhappiness]

Neat

some of my favorite promotional/production art of luz

[jm522415]

Los estudiosos que, como los poetas y los músicos, se han ganado el derecho a hacer las cosas a su gusto .../... logran los mayores resultados cuando se les permite actuar así. ABRAHAM FLEXNER [1866-1959]

[asfaltics]

putterings, 373-371

                                                  into strange paths so nearly featureless. lists, mislaid names, a matter of spectroscopy, Nomen mutabilia sunt                                                   away and was heard freedom, see the forbidden table, puttering at its pages not strange. how it came about, no idea res autem immobilis                                                   “Names are mutable, things immovable.”  

puutterings     |     their index     |     these derivations     |     20231116  

[puutterings]

spectroscopy, into strange paths

  Again, what is known now as “group theory” was an abstract and inapplicable mathematical theory. It was developed by men who were curious and whose curiosity and puttering led them into strange paths; but “group theory” is to-day the basis of the quantum theory of spectroscopy, which is in daily use by people who have no idea as to how it came about.

ex Abraham Flexner, “The Usefulness of Useless Knowledge,” in Harper’s Magazine (October 1939): 544-552 (547) : link (pdf)

discussed by Maria Popova at The Marginalian (27 July 2012) : link

—

context at 371  

[tenth-sentence]

In fact, despite the Rockefeller Institute's best efforts to massage its public image,⁴⁵ Carrel appears to have behaved just like the antivivisectionists' stereotype of the unfeeling experimental physiologist.

45 At one stage, Flexner, the Institute director, announced the appointment of a special assistant to take care of Carrel's dogs. See Corner, 1964, pp. 85-7.

"Frankenstein's Footsteps: Science, Genetics and Popular Culture" - Jon Turney

[hamburrgist]

me: bending the internet in order to find one (1) Hamilton biography

the chernow one I have in my shelf that’s 1/4th read:

[ordinaryschmuck]

I don't know who's idea it was to give Camila cute little cat socks...So I'm just going to thank all those were listed.

Thank you Andy Garner-Flexner, Shawn Responts, Lina Schlolter, and Dresden Douglas. You gave Camila so much personality in the tiniest thing that never got shown in the official episode.

[pollywiltse]

You know, when I said it was good to have an André biography from a British perspective, I meant because the author would have access to sources that it's harder for Americans to get to and because they would be less focused on the Revolution, and especially the Arnold plot, which is honestly less than a third of his life and hopefully more focused on his time before he came to America, about which less is known. I didn't mean "because the Brit would contort him into a Young Hero that bears minimal resemblance to the real John André and then claim his version like that because it was unaffected by American biases (and intellectual integrity, evidently)".

It's especially obnoxious because Flexner and Hatch, despite their issues (Flexner especially needed to chill. out) really did seem to be trying to write fair and intellectually honest biographies about André that weren't solely focused on the Arnold plot. And Flexner's book is actually a joint bio of the two of them, so he could be excused for not caring much about André outside of his time in America. But actually if you look in JSTOR at reviews of The Traitor and the Spy from when it was first published, while the reviewers don't seem terribly impressed about the Arnold sections (they don't think they're bad, just not anything new), they do talk about how Flexner found a significant amount of info about André's early life, including correcting the year of his birth. (I would say you can see this yourself from reading the Sargent and Tillotson biographies, but the Tillotson bio is so pointless I actually can't remember what it was like.)

Also the dude interviewing him is living down to my preconceptions about how little every historian who didn't specifically study André can be trusted when they talk about him.

Starting to listen to this podcast and already wanting to put my head through drywall. Good lord, Ronald, he was a desk jockey. He was an admirable, competent, intelligent person who was also a desk jockey because he was good at it and the army needs people who do paperwork too. (Also I have a feeling that he hated working in the family business because he didn't want to be a merchant, not because he hated paperwork.) He doesn't have to be a super spy to be "worthy of respect". (Honestly, managing to make friends with Henry "Paranoid and Hates Everyone" Clinton is probably a feat more worthy of respect than anything he could have done in battle.)

Also, the fact that he royally screwed up when it came to meeting Arnold doesn't mean that he wasn't generally intelligent and competent. (He evidently did have enough of a reputation for intelligence and good judgement that on the rare occasions he did do something silly, there are contemporary quotes from people going, "......Did he wake up and take stupid pills this morning?") He was doing something he had no training in and evidently not much natural aptitude. He's not required to be magically good at everything or be considered forevermore a pathetic loser. Especially because I suspect most people are not naturally good at what he was being asked to do.

I am so tired of people going "Well this person wouldn't be cool if they were like what they actually were like, so I'm going to make them completely different", especially since a lot of times what that person was actually like is perfectly worth reading about.

Also it's irritating that when he talks about "Monody for Major André" at the beginning he leaves out that Anna and John were really close friends for at least part of John's life (I suspect he did continue to write to her while he was in America), and she wasn't coming in from nowhere to make it all about her. (Also nice sexism there, especially since I don't think it was just her and her womanly lack of knowledge about war going "hdu hang him Washington you barbarian" - see also the inaccurate report of André's last words in whatever English paper it was that claimed he said his execution reflected badly on Washington. André Would Never, but a lot of people on the British side thought it.)

[rulersreachf4n]

THANKS TO THEM PROMO ART

BO CUBURN

SAM BOSMA

JASMIN CHOI

CHRISTIAN PALACIOS

DANA TERRACE

ANDY GARNER FLEXNER

MIKE AUSTIN

REBECCA ROSE

AMELIA LORENZ

[thoughtkick]

I wait every year for summer, and it is usually good, but it is never as good as that summer I am always waiting for.

Martha Gellhorn, Selected Letters of Martha Gellhorn; in a letter to Hortense Flexner and Wyncie King

[airas-story]

A happy reunion between Stephen and Tony at some gala.

“Oh my word.” Christine’s elbow dug into Stephen’s side. “It’s Stark,” she hissed.

“Who?” Stephen glanced down at her.

“Stark? Tony Stark?” Stephen’s heart leapt in his chest. “Iron Man?” she added. She rolled her eyes at him. “Even you know who Tony Stark is.”

Stephen barely heard her, turning in the direction she’d been looking. The sight of Tony—as breathtaking as ever—stole his breath. Did Tony know Stephen was here? Stephen and his research team were getting honored—the Flexner award—but his name had been just another on the list. Easy for Tony to have overlooked. 

The need to approach Tony itched at Stephen. But… he couldn’t. He didn’t know if Tony even remembered him. The thought of humiliating himself by approaching Tony in front of everyone only to get the ‘Tony Stark brush off’…

Tony turned in his direction; their eyes met.

Tony’s smile turned dazzling and bright and… and real. Tony disengaged from his group, cutting through the crowd toward Stephen.

“Oh god,” Christine hissed, hand grabbing Stephen’s elbow. “He’s coming this way.”

Tony stopped in front of him, soft smile on his face. “Look at you, Stephen Strange.”

Stephen heard Christine inhale.

“Tony,” he responded.

Tony glanced at Christine. “Date?” Stephen couldn’t read his tone.

Stephen shook his head. “Friend.” Christine nudged him again. “Oh, right, this is Christine Palmer. Fellow doctor at—”

“Metro General,” Tony said. “I know.”

Stephen flushed. “You’re not a doctor,” he said. “Any reason for being here?”

Tony arched an eyebrow. “I promised, didn’t I?”

The words hit hard, the memory of that night when they’d been sleep deprived college students who thought they’d figured everything out.

You’re gonna be the best, you asshole, I’m going to be there when the rest of the world figures it out.