Ralph Waldo Emerson

 

Ralph Waldo Emerson was an American essayist, lecturer, philosopher, and poet. His essays had a strong influence on both sides of the Atlantic toward directing readers and writers to study man's relation to life and social aims. In "Self Reliance" he stresses the importance of sturdy independence in thought and action. "Trust Thyself" he counsels. "Envy is ignorance.....imitation is suicide." Emerson believed in an "Over-Soul" or divine force, that supplies man with revelations of truth and beauty.

The core of Emerson's philosophy was Transcendentalism. His essays are memorable for the many epigrams they contain. Emerson's best poetry is also epigrammatic. His simple, vigorous style inspired other rebels against stale conventions, notably Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. He was a popular lecturer. Though keenly interested in the cause of abolition of slavery and such social experiments as Brook Farm, he was more an observer than an active participant.

Emerson called for an American culture less dependent upon European patterns, and urged upon the scholar these mottoes: "Know Thyself" and "Study Nature." In an address to the senior class of the Harvard Divinity School in 1938 he advised young clergymen to rely more upon intuition than rigid dogma. Some faculty members attacked Emerson as an atheist, and it was 30 years before he was again asked to talk at Harvard.

Though he continued to lecture and write, his creative powers began to fade away after the Civil War. In 1871 friends took Emerson on a trip to California in a private Pullman car. After his return, his mind became increasingly erratic. At Longfellow's funeral in March 1882, he recognized his friend's face but could not recall his name. Emerson died of pneumonia a few weeks later. He was buried in Concord.

In "The Definition of Success", he states the following:

To laugh often and much

to win the respect of intelligent people

and affection of children; to earn the

appreciation of honest critics and

endure the betrayal of false friends;

to appreciate beauty, to find the best

in others; to leave the world a bit

better, whether by a healthy child

a garden patch or redeemed

social condition; to know even

one life has breathed easier because

you have lived. This is to have

succeeded.

Trees - Oil Pastel

 

Travel Memoir

 

Many people visit Sigiriya because it is one of the main attractions in Sri Lanka, but I went there for an unusual reason.  Many years ago I tried my hand at painting. Unfortunately, my paintings weren't very good but I didn't know it at that time. In my own "humble" opinion they were as good as Vincent van Gogh's if not better. So I wanted to sell them to a well-known Art Gallery in the most expensive part of Colombo. 

It was a perfectly built building with several floors of Teak and it did not have an elevator but a finely built staircase. On every floor, there were marble statues and paintings of every kind, oils, acrylics, watercolors, and drawings that took my breath away. But there was also a certain coldness. Perhaps it was the air conditioning, but the receptionist was so distant that I felt she would have regarded me a little better if I had worn better clothes. And the salesgirl, though friendly, was nervous, and I wondered whether it was me or something else. But I wanted to make a strong impression in case they took my position lightly, so in my best voice I asked the salesgirl how many paintings they sold every day. She thought about it for a minute and said "the question you must ask is how many paintings we sell a month". 

The manager of the fifth floor, a big middle-aged man with a thick mustache, spied on me. Perhaps he was worried I would nick a painting. He walked up to me and engaged in small talk, but lost all interest in me when he realized that what I really wanted to do was to sell rather than buy, and he walked away without a word. But what really surprised me was the director, a proud woman who considered me and my paintings poorly. From what I understood her great-grandfather was a very clever man who made a great fortune in the art business. You could see his photo hanging there with profound intelligent cow-like eyes. 

Unfortunately, several bad marriages over successive generations had resulted in her, and now I had to face the consequences.  She considered the paintings poorly and at first rejected one of the paintings, and seemed to accept the other three. She considered again and rejected another, and a while later decided all four were not good. She said that compared to the paintings they had on display by well-known artists my paintings looked childish. Then she said, "I could accept it but they would end up in a corner of this building and probably get lost". And then she said in her perfect accent "If you come again make sure you make an appointment first." But what really blew the wind off my sails was as I was walking away the paintings tucked and heavy in my hands she asked in a very firm voice "weren't you the one who called and complained about our watercolor paper."

About three months earlier I did complain but I was impeccably polite and I did not know that she was the director. I went home disappointed and did not paint for another week, but then a strange thought came to my mind. What if the director was right, what if my paintings were really not good. This thought worried me no end. To cheer myself up I decided to watch movies. Sinhala movies no doubt have artistic merit, but have a slow snail-like quality to them, after a failed love affair a man goes to live in an isolated lighthouse to avoid human contact, grows a beard, and kind of stays in the lighthouse for the rest of his life, and that’s how the story ends. In another movie an upper-middle-class family falls on bad times, unable to keep up with the changing times, they do crazy things like being involved in a failed revolution. To be honest, these movies were interesting but weren’t very uplifting, so I decided to also watch Tamil movies. Tamil movies are action-packed, one showed the incredibly charismatic MGR, dancing around in Tibet or somewhere with a red suitcase while singing an energetic song - (Puthiya Vaanam, Puthiya Bhoomi), the only problem was he looks old for that role. The trouble with MGR was that his broad face looked old even when he was young. The same was true of Sivaji Ganesan, Gemini Ganesan, and many others in the old movies. But Sri Lanka’s answer to South Indian action heroes was GGG, a man whose voice was so rough and low that you sometimes wondered whether it was a voice at all and not a helicopter crashing. He paired up with MMM, to make some great movies. Unfortunately, he, like MGR later decided to enter politics, and when people asked him why they could not meet him, asked them to buy a ticket and watch one of his movies.

Unfortunately watching these movies was not getting me anywhere as an artist. So to make me feel better, I decided to go to a place near the Vihara Maha Devi Park in Colombo, where art students displayed paintings on both sides of the road. They were wonderful paintings using the brightest of colors. But one thing I noticed was that many of them featured Sigiriya, either as seen from the jungle or the frescoes themselves. And I realized that much in Sri Lanka was inspired by Sigiriya. So in a last-ditch attempt to resurrect my painting career, I decided to visit Sigiriya. 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882) was an American poet and educator. At the time of his death, Longfellow was regarded both at home and abroad as the greatest American poet. His reputation in England rivaled that of Tennyson. His translations from German, Italian and Scandinavian had much the directness and sincerity of his own verse, and attracted many American readers.

When critical taste turned toward a sterner brand of realism, Longfellow’s faults were noticed more than his very solid virtues. He has been called “The poet of the Commonplace,” but he had the gift of illuminating the ordinary and surrounding it with music. The simplicity that endears him to children and many adults often is interpreted as triteness or mediocrity. Nevertheless, Longfellow has earned a permanent place as a skilled lyricist of pure, sweet and gentle tone. Longfellow’s mastery of the ballad form and his proficiency with the sonnet are generally acknowledged.

A tragedy occurred in 1861 that shadowed the remaining years of his life. While his wife was melting sealing wax, a match set fire to her dress and she was burned to death in spite of Longfellow’s efforts to save her. He was seriously burned. Though the poet’s fame continued to grow, the peak of Longfellow’s creative life had passed. His translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy (1867), to which he turned for solace after his wife’s death, was competent but too literal to possess the musical quality Longfellow ordinarily summoned.

At the 50th anniversary of the graduation of his class at Bowdoin, Longfellow read a poem “Morituri Salutamus” (“We Who Are About to Die Salute Thee). After being stricken with dizziness in 1881, he died from an attack of peritonitis on March 24 of the following year. He was buried in Mount Auburn Cemetery.

A poem he wrote was "The Secret of the Sea" which is given below.

Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me

As I gaze upon the sea!

All the old romantic legends,

All my dreams, come back to me.

Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,

Such as gleam in ancient lore;

And the singing of the sailors,

And the answer from the shore

Most of all, the Spanish ballad

Haunts me oft, and tarries long,

Of the noble Count Arnaldos

And the sailor's mystic song.

Like the long waves on a sea beach,

Where the sand as silver shines,

With a soft, monotonous cadence,

Flow its unrhymed lyric lines;--

Telling how the Count Arnaldos,

With his hawk upon his hand,

Saw a fair and stately galley,

Steering onward to the land;--

How he heard the ancient helmsman

Chant a song so wild and clear,

That the sailing sea-bird slowly

Poised upon the mast to hear,

Till his soul was full of longing,

And he cried, with impulse strong,--

'Helmsman! for the love of heaven,

Teach me, too, that wondrous song!'

'Wouldst thou,'--so the helmsman answered,

'Learn the secret of the sea?

Only those who brave its dangers

Comprehend its mystery!'

In each sail that skims the horizon,

In each landward-blowing breeze,

I behold that stately galley,

Hear those mournful melodies;

Till my soul is full of longing

For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean

Sends a thrilling pulse through me.