Monday, June 6, 2011

Inside Mr. Bultitude's Mind

I was reminded by another C. S. Lewis blog (a very fine one) of this wonderful passage from That Hideous Strength about the bear, Mr. Bultitude (click his name to see the passage).

While I'm at it, I'll share this quote from R. A. Lafferty about bears:

'The bear is himself a caricature of animalkind, somehow a giant dog, somehow a shaggy man, an ogre, and also a toy.' (From his short story, 'Snuffles'.)

Monday, May 9, 2011

'Let us scatter the movements that were their bodies'

'Let it go hence,' they sang.
Let it go hence, dissolve and be no body.
Drop it, release it, drop it gently,
as a stone is loosed from the fingers drooping over a still pool.
Let it go down, sink, fall away.
Once below the surface there are no divisions,
no layers in the water yielding all the way down;
all one and all unwounded is that element.
Send it voyaging where it will not come again.
Let it go down; the hnau rises from it.
This is the second life, the other beginning.
Open, oh coloured world, without weight, without shore.
You are second and better; this was first and feeble.
Once the worlds were hot within and brought forth life,
but only the pale plants, the dark plants.
We see their children when they grow to-day,
out of the sun's light in the sad places.
After, the heaven made grow another kind on worlds:
the high climbers, the bright-haired forests, cheeks of flowers.
First were the darker, then the brighter.
First the worlds' blood, then the suns' brood.

-C. S. Lewis, Out of the Silent Planet

AN EXPOSTULATION Against too many writers of science fiction

Why did you lure us on like this,
Light-year on light-year, through the abyss,
Building (as though we cared for size!)
Empires that cover galaxies,
If at the journey's end we find
The same old stuff we left behind,
Well-worn Tellurian stories of
Crooks, spies, conspirators, or love,
Whose setting might as well have been
The Bronx, Montmartre, or Bethnal Green?

Why should I leave this green-floored cell,
Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell,
Unless, outside its guarded gates,
Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits,
Strangeness that moves us more than fear,
Beauty that stabs with tingling spear,
Or Wonder, laying on one's heart
That finger-tip at which we start
As if some thought too swift and shy
For reason's grasp had just gone by?

-C. S. Lewis