Re: Waradpande seems to have destroyed PIE already

On Dec 4, 4:18 pm, phogl...@xxxxxx wrote:
On Nov 30, 5:08 pm, "Peter T. Daniels" <gramma...@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:





On Nov 30, 7:03 am, Harlan Messinger

<hmessinger.removet...@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
phogl...@xxxxxx wrote:
On Nov 30, 6:12 am, Harlan Messinger
<hmessinger.removet...@xxxxxxxxxxx> wrote:
phogl...@xxxxxx wrote:
On Nov 29, 11:42 pm, "benli...@xxxxxxxxxx" <benli...@xxxxxxxxxx>
wrote:
As for "killrating", I hear the term but I have no idea what it refers
to. If it has something to do with those little rows of stars that
appear on Google Groups, I have never paid any attention to them, and
never so much as attempted to "rate" somebody's post. This seems to me
as pointless and childish as becoming somebody's "friend" on MySpace.
That's enough. I return to my normal policy of ignoring Franz.
Actually, I sometimes make a point of "killrating" Franz with relish,
especially when he has been complaining about killrates.
How does it feel to be a one-man mob?

"I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am large, I
contain multitudes."

Oh, very good! It was vaguely familiar but I had to Google it.-

For shame! One of the best-known passages in American literature! (Cf.
Tertullian, "Credo quia absurdum est.")

I even took the trouble of translating it into Finnish, with a
tortuous rhyme:

"Vai puhun ristiin? No, olkoon niin!
Oon laaja, yllän moninaisuuksiin!"-

Um, why would you make Whitman rhyme?

When he went for something more formalist, he wasn't conspicuously
successful (this is really his only well-known conventional poem; the
other Lincoln items are in his usual style):

1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up--for you the flag is flung--for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths--for you the shores a-
crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You've fallen cold and dead.

3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
.

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