"One year have passed"

Colin White departed one year ago, on Saturday.
If you remember well last year I posted something concerning the death of our dear teacher.

I remembered him the other day I was writing my paper on "The Cold Heaven" by Yeats. I am afraid I have nothing more to say but to quote the poem.

I have already stated that in Mexico people do not have memory. Nobody remembered it, even in my faculty. Nobody mentioned anything or at least I did not hear of it. I am sure that there are persons who did remember but the moarners that "wept" last year are not doing so now. Even in the site that was so popular in the previous months did not mention anything. I am not fighting against anyone, just mentioning what happened. Argel mentioned the subject but aside from him no body remembered.

Memory is an important topic on a paper I am writing on Atonement and which will be for the next Colloquium. I promise post will be regularized from Thursday, it has been a tough period.


Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting Heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?


Yeats, W. B. Yeats Poetry, Drama and Prose. Jame Pethica, ed. New York: W. W. Norton, 2000.

To Colin White Muller

I will never forget when he told me why did I wear such terrible colors (An orange sweater)or when he told me 'quite right, little fellow, quite right' (while talking about Keats's ideal in his feyanceé). Or when he told us that it would be dangerous if we did not agree with him. Also when we read Keats, his favorite, that was one of the best classes I have ever been. We will miss you, although you would not miss me.
He read this in the class and ask me if I liked it. And God! How I like it!

'Thou art no poet, mayst not tell thy dreams?'
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved,
And been well nurtures in his mother tongue.
Whether the dream now purposed to rehearse
Be Poet's or Fanatic's will be known
When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.

Keats, John."The Fall of Hyperion a Dream" in Selected Poems.Penguin Classics: London. 1998.

You can found another great account by a friend who also took memorable clases with this briliant man. You are also quite right Antonio. Quite right. http://nousoacentos.blogspot.com