It seemed rather odd when it was announced that the Nobel Prize for Literature wouldn’t be awarded this year because of sex scandals surrounding the husband of a committee member. Continue reading Not so Nobel
Gert recently learned of the Darwin Awards, given to people ‘who improve our gene pool by removing themselves from it’. Continue reading Darwin Awards
Here in Melbourne we are in the first week of winter. After experiencing heavy rains, we are now shivering in crisp sunny cold weather.
Let us celebrate the rain with three haiku by Yosa Buson (1716-1783) translated by W S Merwin and Takako Lento Continue reading Winter
Irvin Yalom, one of the pioneers of Existential Therapy is in his eighties now but his zest for writing about his life and his encounters with patients continues unabated. In 2015 he wrote Creatures of a Day his title taken from the writings of Marcus Aurelius, ‘All of us are creatures of a day: the rememberer and the remembered alike. All is ephemeral-both memory and the object of memory.’. This book offers ten case studies of clients who came to him with particular problems, but ultimately Yalom sees their presenting fears and anxieties as an unavoidable part of the human condition. It is by accepting four hard truths about the nature of human life his patients come to terms with their pain. Continue reading Irvin Yalom: Love’s Executioner
The German language is famous for portmanteau words, none more popular than schadenfreude expressing the quite subtle emotion of joy in another’s misfortune, from schade meaning harm and freude meaning joy. But schadenfreude is not, to my mind, joy blasted from the rooftops, it is the secret little unworthy pang of pleasure we feel when our pompous boss chokes on his wine while holding forth at lunch, or our glamorous colleague comes back from the bathroom with her skirt caught up in her knickers. It is the also the way we feel when that moralising politician is caught with his pants down. Continue reading Schadenfreude
2017 wasn’t just the 200th anniversary of Jane Austen’s death, it was the 350th anniversary of Paradise Lost, published in April 1667. In belated homage, here’s a thrilling bit of that great work: