Poetry | dual personalities

Dear Santa Claus

by chuckofish

And the Lord will guide you continually,
    and satisfy your desire with good things,
    and make your bones strong;
and you shall be like a watered garden,
    like a spring of water,
    whose waters fail not.

–Isaiah 58:11 (RSV)

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What do you want for Christmas? All I want is the usual–for everyone in my family to be happy with the gifts I give them. I would also like my eyebrows and eyelashes to grow back. 😑

By the way, the wee babes turned three on Wednesday!

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They are still pretty little, but they’ve come a long way, haven’t they?

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One and a half pounds!

They never cease to amaze me.

Yes, Santa came to the NICU!

Although there are two weekends before Christmas, I know that this is the last weekend when I will actually be able to get much done, so that is my plan. Maybe we’ll even get the tree up. (Maybe not.) How about you?

While I am getting things done, I will be listening to Christmas music. Here’s one of my favorite carols, based on an old Longfellow poem, and sung by Casting Crowns.

You can read the poem here.

4 Comments

October 15, 2019

Release one leaf at break of day

by chuckofish

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O hushed October morning mild,

Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;

Tomorrow’s wind, if it be wild,

Should waste them all.

The crows above the forest call;

Tomorrow they may form and go.

O hushed October morning mild,

Begin the hours of this day slow.

Make the day seem to us less brief.

Hearts not averse to being beguiled,

Beguile us in the way you know.

Release one leaf at break of day;

At noon release another leaf;

One from our trees, one far away.

Retard the sun with gentle mist;

Enchant the land with amethyst.

Slow, slow!

For the grapes’ sake, if they were all,

Whose leaves already are burnt with frost,

Whose clustered fruit must else be lost—

For the grapes’ sake along the wall.

–Robert Frost

I love October; it is my favorite month. But I feel that it is rushing by and that I am not able to savor its beauty. No long walks or day trips to mid-MO wine country. Well, c’est la vie. We do what we can.

This past weekend daughter #1 came for a short visit and we did get out on Saturday to a good estate sale where we did rather well. She got a chair and I got a Christmas present for someone. We also went out to lunch. And we met the wee babes at the local farmer’s market to watch them frolic on hay bales and in the corn box.

They also came over afterwards for pizza and more time with the dollhouse.

We were certainly living our best lives.

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The painting is Autumn Branches by Jan Schmuckal (found on Etsy.com).

3 Comments

August 23, 2019

True for you or me

by chuckofish

Well, the kids are back in school. They’re back at my flyover university and in all the schools around town. I can tell because the traffic is different in the morning. Even the wee babes are back and loving it.

So much to do! So much to learn! Life is good.

In honor of being back in school, here is a poem by Langston Hughes…

The instructor said,

Go home and write
a page tonight.
And let that page come out of you—
Then, it will be true.

I wonder if it’s that simple?
I am twenty-two, colored, born in Winston-Salem.
I went to school there, then Durham, then here
to this college on the hill above Harlem.
I am the only colored student in my class.
The steps from the hill lead down into Harlem,
through a park, then I cross St. Nicholas,
Eighth Avenue, Seventh, and I come to the Y,
the Harlem Branch Y, where I take the elevator
up to my room, sit down, and write this page:

It’s not easy to know what is true for you or me
at twenty-two, my age. But I guess I’m what
I feel and see and hear, Harlem, I hear you:
hear you, hear me—we two—you, me, talk on this page.
(I hear New York, too.) Me—who?
Well, I like to eat, sleep, drink, and be in love.
I like to work, read, learn, and understand life.
I like a pipe for a Christmas present,
or records—Bessie, bop, or Bach.
I guess being colored doesn’t make me not like
the same things other folks like who are other races.
So will my page be colored that I write?

Being me, it will not be white.
But it will be
a part of you, instructor.
You are white—
yet a part of me, as I am a part of you.
That’s American.
Sometimes perhaps you don’t want to be a part of me.
Nor do I often want to be a part of you.
But we are, that’s true!
As I learn from you,
I guess you learn from me—
although you’re older—and white—
and somewhat more free.

This is my page for English B.

(Langston Hughes, “Theme for English B”)

Have a good weekend. Go home and write/a page tonight./And let that page come out of you—Then, it will be true.

1 Comment

August 20, 2019

With a bit of a grin

by chuckofish

I was going to blog about our little trip on Saturday to Jeff City, but none of my pictures turned out very well. C’est la vie. I didn’t do much anyway–unwrapped a few boxes for daughter #1 in her very nice pre-war apartment, which I couldn’t help thinking, in her old neighborhood on the UWS, would be a million dollar apartment.

Two bedrooms, a sunporch, a living room, a dining room, full kitchen. Zut alors! And she can literally walk across the street to work. Well, she will have fun arranging all her stuff, and hopefully I helped a little.

I mostly reclined on the sofa, but I was exhausted when we returned home on Sunday.

Anyway, I will mention that today is the birthday of Edgar Guest (1881 – 1959) who, you may recall, was an American poet popular in the first half of the 20th century. His poems often had an inspirational and optimistic view of everyday life and he became known as the People’s Poet. No one ever reads him any more, but you could do worse.

Somebody said that it couldn’t be done

      But he with a chuckle replied

That “maybe it couldn’t,” but he would be one

      Who wouldn’t say so till he’d tried.

So he buckled right in with the trace of a grin

      On his face. If he worried he hid it.

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it!

Somebody scoffed: “Oh, you’ll never do that;

      At least no one ever has done it;”

But he took off his coat and he took off his hat

      And the first thing we knew he’d begun it.

With a lift of his chin and a bit of a grin,

      Without any doubting or quiddit,

He started to sing as he tackled the thing

      That couldn’t be done, and he did it.

There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,

      There are thousands to prophesy failure,

There are thousands to point out to you one by one,

      The dangers that wait to assail you.

But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,

      Just take off your coat and go to it;

Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing

      That “cannot be done,” and you’ll do it.

This poem had a bit of a revival in 2012 when Idris Elba read it at the BBC Sports Personality of the Year Awards show. It was cool again.

We can always use a reminder to think positive and just do it, right?

4 Comments

August 16, 2019

So brave a palace

by chuckofish

Well, the wee babes went back to school this week. They were pretty excited about it.

As you can see, Lottiebelle is already co-leading the class…

Tomorrow the OM and I are heading down to Jefferson City to hang out at daughter #1’s new apartment. (Check out the new video on the JC Visitor’s Bureau webpage–JC is a happening place.) I’m sure we won’t be much actual help unpacking stuff etc, but we can lend moral support and give advice.

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Yeah, that lamp looks swell over there….

I am looking forward to a change of scenery!

Today I start a new, once-a-week chemo routine and I am hoping it is a bit easier than the last rotation. On verra bien.

For us the winds do blow,
The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow.
     Nothing we see but means our good,
     As our delight or as our treasure:
The whole is either our cupboard of food,
          Or cabinet of pleasure.

          The stars have us to bed;
Night draws the curtain, which the sun withdraws;
     Music and light attend our head.
     All things unto our flesh are kind
In their descent and being; to our mind
          In their ascent and cause.

          Each thing is full of duty:
Waters united are our navigation;
     Distinguishèd, our habitation;
     Below, our drink; above, our meat;
Both are our cleanliness.
  Hath one such beauty?
          Then how are all things neat?

          More servants wait on Man
Than he'll take notice of:  in every path
     He treads down that which doth befriend him
     When sickness makes him pale and wan.
O mighty love!  Man is one world, and hath
          Another to attend him.

          Since then, my God, thou hast
So brave a palace built, O dwell in it
     That it may dwell with thee at last!
     Till then, afford us so much wit,
That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee,
          And both thy servants be.
--George Herbert, from "Man"

3 Comments

August 13, 2019

Small things

by chuckofish

I did not get to see the wee babes this weekend, but I did see pictures of their visit to the National Museum of Transportation where they seemed to have had a super fun time. This museum has come a long way since we used to visit it as children. They even have a little train you can ride on, like at the zoo.

I hope they saw the…

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…I can only imagine that the wee laddie would lose his mind over this treasure!

Meanwhile the OM and I had a quiet weekend at home. We only ventured out to take a drive through Lone Elk Park where we saw a raccoon family, a couple of wild turkeys and some buffalo taking a siesta. It was pretty chill there.

“Again I resume the long
lesson: how small a thing
can be pleasing, how little
in this hard world it takes
to satisfy the mind
and bring it to its rest.”
― Wendell Berry, Sabbaths

It is Tuesday now. Put down your phone and look up. Enjoy the small things. None of them are on a computer screen.

1 Comment

June 20, 2019

“I will not afflict you with complaining.”*

by chuckofish

Greetings from the land of the living. I am checking in while daughter #2 is busy in NYC. For several weeks after my surgery I was not reading much; it was difficult to focus.

I started slowly with poetry…

and moved on to old, familiar Kierkegaard and a wonderful new history by David McCullough…

Finally I made my way back to Moby-Dick and a recent biography of Melville. (Don’t you just love his face?)

I am not a STEMM person by any means, but genetics has always fascinated me, and this book is quite engaging and easy to read.

This is not to say that I spend all my time reading. Hardly. I wiled away many an hour in the first weeks of my recovery watching two seasons of sleep-inducing episodes of Murder She Wrote (better than any sleeping pill). When feeling more engaged, I have chuckled my way through several seasons of Corner Gas (2004-2009), a Canadian show about a small town in Saskatchewan where nothing much ever happens, which in my weakened state, I have found to be hilarious.

Screen Shot 2019-06-18 at 2.51.12 PM Sometimes, when I am feeling really productive, I work on a new needlepoint project while I watch the telly.

This old Victorian chair is remarkably well suited for sitting in and sewing by a sunny window. And how about that decoupaged side table I picked up at an antique mall a few months ago? How could I resist those tassels?

Chemotherapy commences tomorrow. We’ll see how that goes.

“An intense copper calm, like a universal yellow lotus, was more and more unfolding its noiseless measureless leaves upon the sea.” (M-D)

Meanwhile, what are you reading?

P.S. Here are a couple of pictures of the wee babes, because I know you have missed them, right?

*Lucy Backus Woodbridge, pioneer, quoted in The Pioneers by David McCullough

4 Comments

May 8, 2019

Counting every blessing

by chuckofish

We have a had an extremely wet winter and spring. Yes, the trees have been beautiful and the grass is lush, but the flooding has been bad.

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The eye shall look, the ear shall hark

To the hills, the doings in the hills,

And rivers mating in the dark

With tokens from the hills.

Now what is weak will surely go,

And what is strong must prove it so—

Stand fast in the lowlands, lowlands,

Lowlands under the hills!

(Rudyard Kipling, from the poem “The Floods”)

There is more on the way.

If this puts you in the mood to watch a disaster movie, here’s quite an exhaustive list of choices including a few about floods. I have seen Noah (2014) starring Russell Crowe and it is a pretty terrible movie. It seems odd to me that, considering it is based on the biblical story of Noah and the Ark, there is nary a mention of God in the whole thing. I think I would rather watch The Bible: In the Beginning (1966) which includes the Noah story from Genesis. You remember, John Huston plays Noah.

Screen Shot 2019-05-07 at 3.26.46 PM.png He also directed the film and narrates it. Yes, it is one of those elaborate star-studded Hollywood efforts and is produced by Dino De Laurentiis, but its screenwriter Christopher Fry sticks fairly close to the original. I always thought that Peter O’Toole makes a good angel.

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As I recall, it is overly long and a tad boring at times, but I may have to check it out…

Meanwhile, we will hope and pray that the cresting rivers here in Missouri and our surrounding states do not wreak too much havoc with our neighbors and their lives.

2 Comments

April 26, 2019

“Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing/ On the west wind blowing along this valley track?”*

by chuckofish

It has been a busy week, the highlight of which was my visit to the wee babes’ preschool one morning for Grandparents’ Day. I went to chapel with them and to an activity (coloring) and a snack. I had to leave early to get to work, but they were in the good hands of their other grandparents. At two, life is just one activity after another and then you take a nap. Sounds pretty good, right?

After quite a few busy weekends in a row, I am going to take it real easy this weekend. I have no plans besides babysitting the wee babes on Saturday night. I am hoping the OM and I are capable of handling/wrangling them for two hours. We’ll see.

Since tomorrow marks the 137th anniversary of the death of the brilliant, but ultimately misguided, Sage of Concord, Ralph Waldo Emerson, I will be toasting him.

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When Emerson died of pneumonia in 1882, he was buried on “Author’s Ridge” in Concord’s Sleepy Hollow Cemetery —a cemetery that was designed with Emerson’s Transcendentalist, nature-loving aesthetics in mind. In 1855, as a member of the Concord Cemetery Committee, Emerson gave the dedication at the opening of the cemetery, calling it a “garden of the living” that would be a peaceful place for both visitors and permanent residents. “Author’s Ridge” became a burial ground for many of those famous American authors who called Concord home—Louisa May Alcott, Henry David Thoreau, Nathaniel Hawthorne, and Emerson. Good company for sure.

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I should also note that tomorrow Christina Rossetti is honored with a feast day on the liturgical calendar of the Anglican Church.

Somewhere or Other

Somewhere or other there must surely be

The face not seen, the voice not heard,

The heart that not yet—never yet—ah me!

Made answer to my word.

Somewhere or other, may be near or far;

Past land and sea, clean out of sight;

Beyond the wandering moon, beyond the star

That tracks her night by night.

Somewhere or other, may be far or near;

With just a wall, a hedge, between;

With just the last leaves of the dying year

Fallen on a turf grown green.

Join me in toasting her as well! And have a good weekend!

*from “Amor Mundi” by Christina Rossetti

4 Comments

April 25, 2019

To the faithful trees, I confess my sins

by chuckofish

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“At start of spring I open a trench
In the ground. I put into it
The winter’s accumulation of paper,
Pages I do not want to read
Again, useless words, fragments,
errors. And I put into it
the contents of the outhouse:
light of the suns, growth of the ground,
Finished with one of their journeys.
To the sky, to the wind, then,
and to the faithful trees, I confess
my sins: that I have not been happy
enough, considering my good luck;
have listened to too much noise,
have been inattentive to wonders,
have lusted after praise.
And then upon the gathered refuse,
of mind and body, I close the trench
folding shut again the dark,
the deathless earth. Beneath that seal
the old escapes into the new.”
― Wendell Berry, New Collected Poems

(The photo is from a KMOV viewer in Maryville, IL.)

2 Comments

dual personalities

Category: Poetry

December 13, 2019

Dear Santa Claus

by chuckofish

October 15, 2019

Release one leaf at break of day

by chuckofish

August 23, 2019

True for you or me

by chuckofish

August 20, 2019

With a bit of a grin

by chuckofish

August 16, 2019

So brave a palace

by chuckofish

August 13, 2019

Small things

by chuckofish

June 20, 2019

“I will not afflict you with complaining.”*

by chuckofish

May 8, 2019

Counting every blessing

by chuckofish

April 26, 2019

“Oh where are you going with your love-locks flowing/ On the west wind blowing along this valley track?”*

by chuckofish

April 25, 2019

To the faithful trees, I confess my sins

by chuckofish