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I had a plot fragment from an older science fiction novel floating in my head, and threw myself on the mercy of the LiveJournal hive mind, which promptly yielded author and title: Piers Anthony, Macroscope. That sent me to Teh Intarwebs to get a plot refresher, to Amazon to order a copy of the book, and then to the Internet Archive for an online edition of Sidney Lanier's poems, which figure importantly in the novel, especially "The Marshes of Glynn."

This 1880s-vintage volume has a Memorial by William Hayes Ward at its beginning and there I found this delicious observation:

While we do not talk so much of genius now as we did a generation ago, we can yet recognize the difference between the fervor of that divine birth and the cantering of the livery Pegasus along the vulgar boulevards over which facile talent rides his daily hack.


In reading this Memorial, I also find that Lanier, a musician, was commissioned to write a cantata for the opening of the Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, which we consider to be more or less the end of the Greater Civil War Era here. Which makes it all work-related, sort of. (EDIT: Turns out he was commissioned to write a poem. Someone else did the setting, which looks like a piece of livery hackery to me.)

The Marshes of Glynn on Bartleby.com, from the Harvard Classics.
The Centennial Cantata, text by Sidney Lanier, music by Dudley Buck, from Google Books
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Let's see...

Teh intarwebs are slower than molasses in a cold snap today, so replying to email is taking half of forever.

I've just had a "first" and hope it never happens again: I lost my grip on my coffee mug and poured 6 oz of black coffee into my keyboard. I am so glad I drink it black because after I turned the keyboard upside down and left it to drain on a dishtowel for a bit, it seems to be fine, although the action isn't quite as crisp as it used to be and a couple keys are threatening to stick a bit. Perhaps when it is completely dry. I hypothesize that the coffee has caused damp little mats of dust and cat hair that will break up after the keyboard dries out.

The hive mind of LJ has delivered unto me the name of a SF novel I read almost 40 years ago and couldn't for the life of me remember: Macroscope, by Piers Anthony. I have no idea what happened to my copy so I've just ordered up another one. It's a keeper. While I wait for it, there are the poems of Sidney Lanier, especially The Marshes of Glynn, that figure so prominently in that book. I am normally a prosaic soul, shying away from poetry, but the meter and the sonorities of Lanier speak to me.

Yesterday [livejournal.com profile] karenkay rode the only elephant in Michigan. Tonight Roy and I are riding The Ducks with a gaggle of Union Leaguers. Pictures will be posted.

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