Here's one for us to meditate on, in our various groups, or alone, as
the mood takes us: we know that language is slippery stuff, that its
meaning changes with context and often has to be re-negotiated: how I
read Shakespeare now is different to how then etc - which is not, of
course, to deny a core there which comes through unchanged. As poets
we're concerned with such changes, and such consistencies. We're not
claiming any divine right here, but we are involved, modestly, in
tracking such changes.
So last night the President of the United States goes on live tv to
say: "I want to hammer home to the children of America that violence
is wrong."
As a piece of language it's clear and unequivocal, and I agree with it
(for what that's worth). But, I can't get rid of the image of those
poor innocent words, tied as a living shield to a totally different
form of language, and I don't know if I should laugh or cry.
Is this natural, Doc?
RC
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