Today begins National Poetry Month, and I had planned to take advantage of the occasion for some easy blogging. Then I read this morning that Andrew Breitbart dies at 43. He leaves behind a wife and four children very nearly the ages of my own precious people.
Andrew (I just can’t call him Mr. Bretibart, or worse, Breitbart) was the very definition of a gadfly. There are those who hate him because he was pugnacious and rude and attacked sacred cows gleefully. And those of us who loved him for it. This is my favorite Breitbart moment: confronting an anti-capitalism rally while on roller blades.
There are many tributes to the man, from both ally and opponent. I have nothing really offer but this: my thoughts and prayers are with his wife.
For Whom the Bell Tolls
By John Donne
No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manner of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
(This was the little poem I was going to begin with. It’s a poem my children learn in their beginning grammar lessons. I think it’s fitting, too.)
Work
by Anonymous
Work while you work,
Play while you play,
This is the way
To be happy each day.
All that you do,
Do with your might,
Things done by half
Are never done right.
