The Troubadour Podcast

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For those familiar with Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead, imagine for a moment what Roark's childhood might have been like. He talked a great deal about his love of the material world and, equally, his love of his own ability to transform that material as he saw fit.

I believe some of Wordsworth's poetry, particularly Nutting, illustrates a similar view.

In this simple poem, a young boy enters an unvisited nook in the woods. After appreciating and reveling in his own power, he suddenly and maniacally tears, rips and sullies the hazel nut bower. 

In this discussion, I explain the importance of this poem, how it is emblematic of Romanticism and, most importantly, how the essential interest of Wordsworth was the development of consciousness--our faculty of awareness.

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This year is a very special Objectivist Conference. It's the 50th anniversary of Ayn Rand's The Romantic Manifesto!

This work of nonfiction has not had the loud cultural impact of her political and economic work, but I believe it has impacted many artists in very personal ways.

More importantly, it has impacted many individuals in helping to bring to life the art around them.

This is a conference not to be missed. And I was able to chat with Anu Seppala of the Ayn Rand Institute to discuss the value of art in our lives and the value of OCON 2019.

Oh and be prepared for some recommendations on courses, books, articles and plays that will change your whole existence!

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Sunday Morning Poetry: The Fountain by William Wordsworth

This is a follow up to the previous poem "The Two April Mornings." Here Wordsworth is exploring character that we tend to spend very little time thinking about. In other words, they are on the edge of our consciousness.

How can a young person learn from an old person? It seems paradoxical that you have to experience something in order to understand it and yet elders are constantly giving advice based on their experiences.

This poem is a conversation poem. Young and old are sitting beneath a tree by a natural fountain, when seemingly out of nowhere, the old man grows melancholy. He's remembering his past.

The poem explores loss and grief and has the very memorable lines: "
the wiser mind
Mourns less for what Age takes away, Than what it leaves behind."

THE FOUNTAIN

By William Wordsworth

WE talk’d with open heart, and tongue 

Affectionate and true, 

A pair of friends, though I was young, 

And Matthew seventy-two. 

We lay beneath a spreading oak,         

Beside a mossy seat; 

And from the turf a fountain broke 

And gurgled at our feet. 

‘Now, Matthew!’ said I, ‘let us match 

This water’s pleasant tune         

With some old border-song, or catch 

That suits a summer’s noon. 

‘Or of the church-clock and the chimes 

Sing here beneath the shade 

That half-mad thing of witty rhymes         

Which you last April made!’ 

In silence Matthew lay, and eyed 

The spring beneath the tree; 

And thus the dear old man replied, 

The gray-hair’d man of glee:         

‘No check, no stay, this Streamlet fears, 

How merrily it goes! 

’Twill murmur on a thousand years 

And flow as now it flows. 

‘And here, on this delightful day,         

I cannot choose but think 

How oft, a vigorous man, I lay 

Beside this fountain’s brink. 

‘My eyes are dim with childish tears, 

My heart is idly stirr’d,         

For the same sound is in my ears 

Which in those days I heard. 

‘Thus fares it still in our decay: 

And yet the wiser mind 

Mourns less for what Age takes away,         

Than what it leaves behind. 

‘The blackbird amid leafy trees, 

The lark above the hill, 

Let loose their carols when they please, 

Are quiet when they will.         

‘With Nature never do they wage 

A foolish strife; they see 

A happy youth, and their old age 

Is beautiful and free: 

‘But we are press’d by heavy laws;         

And often, glad no more, 

We wear a face of joy, because 

We have been glad of yore. 

‘If there be one who need bemoan 

His kindred laid in earth,         

The household hearts that were his own,— 

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A #Mothersday challenge! This poem by William Wordsworth, THE MAD MOTHER, is not your typical lovey-dovey mom poem. Rather, it focuses on a woman, whose husband abandoned her and her newborn, as she copes with this new reality and her own apparent insanity.

One way art causes serious contemplation in the mind of an active observer is by "the pleasure which the mind derives from the perception of similitude and dissimilitude." 

In other words, the mind find pleasure in seeing similarities among dissimilar things.

What can we learn about motherhood from an insane, abandoned, wild mother? 

Tune in for this week's Sunday Morning Poetry!

THE MAD MOTHER

By WIlliam Wordsworth

Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,

  The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,

  Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,

  And she came far from over the main.

  She has a baby on her arm,

  Or else she were alone;

  And underneath the hay-stack warm,

  And on the green-wood stone,

  She talked and sung the woods among;

  And it was in the English tongue.

  "Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,

  But nay, my heart is far too glad;

  And I am happy when I sing

  Full many a sad and doleful thing:

  Then, lovely baby, do not fear!

  I pray thee have no fear of me,

  But, safe as in a cradle, here

  My lovely baby! thou shalt be,

  To thee I know too much I owe;

  I cannot work thee any woe."

  A fire was once within my brain;

  And in my head a dull, dull pain;

  And fiendish faces one, two, three,

  Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.

  But then there came a sight of joy;

  It came at once to do me good;

  I waked, and saw my little boy,

  My little boy of flesh and blood;

  Oh joy for me that sight to see!

  For he was here, and only he.

  Suck, little babe, oh suck again!

  It cools my blood; it cools my brain;

  Thy lips I feel them, baby! they

  Draw from my heart the pain away.

  Oh! press me with thy little hand;

  It loosens something at my chest;

  About that tight and deadly band

  I feel thy little fingers press'd.

  The breeze I see is in the tree;

  It comes to cool my babe and me.

  Oh! love me, love me, little boy!

  Thou art thy mother's only joy;

  And do not dread the waves below,

  When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;

  The high crag cannot work me harm,

  Nor leaping torrents when they howl;

  The babe I carry on my arm,

  He saves for me my precious soul;

  Then happy lie, for blest am I;

  Without me my sweet babe would die.

  Then do not fear, my boy! for thee

  Bold as a lion I will be;

  And I will always be thy guide,

  Through hollow snows and rivers wide.

  I'll build an Indian bower; I know

  The leaves that make the softest bed:

  And if from me thou wilt not go.

  But still be true 'till I am dead,

  My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing,

  As merry a

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In this discussion and reading of the famous piece of romantic poetry, I will explain the importance of metaphors, simile, and analogies; important to the poem and more important in your everyday life.

HINT: Thinking requires comparisons.

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A weekly reading and discussion of great poetry.

Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness ​By Alexander Pope 

I AM his Highness’ dog at Kew;
 Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you? 

To A Butterfly 

William Wordsworth 

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour; Self-poised upon that yellow flower And, little Butterfly! indeed
 I know not if you sleep or feed. 

How motionless!--not frozen seas More motionless! and then
 What joy awaits you, when the breeze Hath found you out among the trees, And calls you forth again! 

This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
 My trees they are, my Sister's flowers; Here rest your wings when they are weary; Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
 Come often to us, fear no wrong; 

Sit near us on the bough!
 We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
 And summer days, when we were young; Sweet childish days, that were as long As twenty days are now. 

-------- 

STAY near me--do not take thy flight! A little longer stay in sight!
 Much converse do I find in thee, Historian of my infancy! 

Float near me; do not yet depart! Dead times revive in thee:
 Thou bring'st, gay creature as thou art! A solemn image to my heart,
 My father's family!
 Oh! pleasant, pleasant were the days, The time, when, in our childish plays, My sister Emmeline and I
 Together chased the butterfly!
 A very hunter did I rush
 Upon the prey:--with leaps and springs I followed on from brake to bush;
 But she, God love her, feared to brush The dust from off its wings. 

Wordsworth 1770 - 1850 Pope 1688- 1744 

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If you could have any superpower what would it be?

Daniel Sherrier is the author of a comic book novel called The Flying Woman. We chatted about the role of comics in our culture, ancient myths and the purpose of superpowers.

The Flying Woman by Daniel Sherrier is available for sale on Amazon, Books-a-million and Indibound. 

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Let's talk about sex baby!

We've got on the show writer/director Stewart Wade Margolis. We talked about his latest movie Say Yes. It's about a woman who plans her husband's romantic life for after she dies...with her bisexual brother.

Quite a unique logline. 

We discussed sexuality and how sexuality is presented in our culture. There are a not a few controversial topics we broached in this discussion.

Check out the movie, available on Amazon and tell us what you think.
https://www.amazon.com/Say-Yes-Leah-McKendrick/dp/B07QBZMQ5Q/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=say+yes&qid=1555390113&s=gateway&sr=8-3 

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WHO WILL SIT ON THE IRON THRONE?

Chris and I had a great conversation about film, art, making movies, the changing medium of media and of course who will sit on the iron throne.

Check out this conversation between two film production majors about the art, craft and culture of moviemaking.

Follow the making of Chris' movie Death Blood 4 on Instagram @deathblood4

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In the first of a series of conversations I am planning to have in the Bay Area, I had a great chat with a local poet Maryam Khawar.

We discussed some of her short poetry, where she is inspired, why art is important in our lives, and how to become GREAT at anything.

Here is a very short poem of hers we discussed:
How beautiful, was your mind

and the ability to see the essence of the universe 

I see it through you 

As you pass from artist to artist 

We also read the poem "The Apology" by Ralph Waldo Emerson.