Stray Poetry | Culture for Today

'IMAGINATION IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN KNOWLEDGE' - ALBERT EINSTEIN (1879-1955)

At first, this quote sounds a little quaint and assuming; as though a vivid imagination is all that is necessary to succeed. Were this true, it would be welcome relief for all the worried parents of starry eyed oblivious school children. Imagination is valueless without some knowledge; this is self-evident: How can any fancy begin without a place to start, and experienced life to base an idea upon.

Those who have wild imaginations more often than not are also those who ‘know’ many things. Knowledge in it’s base form is simply what you can regurgitate from a book, however couple that with some imagination, and one can cease to walk only the path that has been pre-prescribed for him, and can instead wander at will in the fields of the mind. I would counter that imagination with little knowledge is more valuable than much book learning with no creativity. To couple a wide array of interests  with no limitation to where your mind can take you is the true goal.

It was said that there were only two people in the world who could understand ‘General Relativity’ - Einstein….and God.

The damps of autumn sink into the leaves and prepare them for the necessity of their fall; and thus insensibly are we, as years close around us, detached from our tenacity of life by the gentle pressure of recorded sorrow. W.S. Landor (1775 - 1864)

I read that quote, once, twice; ten times. I wonder what unspoken grief pressed his hand to the parchment to pen those lines? How often he must have felt the 'damps of autumn' seeping into his soul, and felt a heaviness of step, and weary bones?

Face-to-face with his own mortality; the author bleeds ink to his page. Now nearly 150 years after his death, I read those lines, and think I know what was going on in his soul:   Are we 'detached from our tenacity of life' merely by age, or as Landor wrote: 'by the gentle pressure of recorded sorrow' ?

I sense a deep rift between life, and the prospect of death, as though he is weighing the cost, and the benefits of continuing despite the toil and pain. When we are young, we have that sharp 'tenacity' to hold on. The very concept of youth is wrapped up in a veracity to live, and a feeling of immortality.

The older we are; the less death seems a specter to be fought, and more it seems an old friend to be embraced.

I am surprised that I was unaware of this book for so many years. This book is considered one of the quintessential pieces of nature writing. Though the natural world is a great passion of mine, and in retrospect- some of the books I own reference The Outermost House, I had never picked up a copy until a week ago. The subject is unassuming, and simple: A year spent on the great beach of Cape Cod.

The author indeed did not set out to write a book, but merely wanted to take a short two week vacation in his newly constructed beach house. This turned into a solitary adventure that would forever mark his literary career. Henry Beston has a way of wording a sentence that leaves it marked in the mind long after the book is closed.

His descriptions are not laboriously detailed, even sparse at times, but he artfully gives exactly he information needed to render the scene on the imagination. It was a pleasant book to read, and though written in the mid 1920s, the English was not archaic or dated.   I finished it in a little over 2 days of sparse reading.

Only Beston could write an entire chapter just about the sound of the surf on the sand, and not come off as strained. I could almost hear it for myself. This is a true classic and 'The Outermost House' should be on the 'read next' list for anyone who loves nature and the feel of the sand between the toes.