dual personalities

Tag: poetry

June 22, 2020

i am a little church

by chuckofish

i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
--i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
 
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
 
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
 
i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
–i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
 
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)

–e.e. cummings

How was your weekend? The boy and daughter #3 brought the wee babes over for a frolic on Saturday morning to celebrate Father’s Day. They mostly played with daughter #1 who was home and happily accompanied them upstairs to explore. Funnily enough they had come over on Friday morning as well (so their parents could go sofa shopping without them) and I played with them upstairs. They reminded me of Goldilocks, wishing to try out all the beds in the house.

Not that they like to nap; they like to “pretend” to nap. When we were in my room, we discussed the wallpaper and how the scenes are Chinese.

Lottiebelle looked at it and thought and then said, “Panda bears are from China.”

https://gfycat.com/constantflusteredkouprey

Their father told me that when he mentioned to the wee laddie that Olympus Mons is the great mountain of Mars (they are very into planets), the WL said, “No, Daddy, Olympus Mons is a volcano.” Are these three-year-olds not amazing? These babes who weighed less than 1.5 1bs. at birth! Think about that for awhile.

Also, I will note, that they can now go up and down stairs without holding on to a railing while holding an armload of stuffed animals/and/or/cars. This is frightening to say the least.

Meanwhile the newest wee babe continues to thrive and gain weight.

It is fun and fascinating to watch these babes grow and learn and to see my own children as parents and aunts and uncles.

Meanwhile we amused ourselves by listening/singing along to a lot of Bob Dylan–always a stress reliever. We also watched The Detective (1968) with Frank Sinatra. (I had not seen it after all.) It may have been edgy in 1968 with its subplots involving homosexuals and a sex addict wife–but it is not now. Also Frank Sinatra phoned in his performance and was terrible, not to mention (way) too old for the part. Maybe it might have worked with Paul Newman or James Garner. Whatever.

I also did laundry, vacuumed, found some baby clothes my mother made for my children and washed them, and went to an estate sale where I bought some books and rescued a needlepoint pillow.

Not bad for a weekend. Now it is back to the salt mine of working remotely where I lift my diminutive spire to merciful Him Whose only now is forever. Have a good week!

5 Comments
March 21, 2017

“Such rock-ribb’d hills our own New-England gave To mould her sons as rugged and as brave”*

by chuckofish

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Did you know that today is World Poetry Day? Me neither.

“Poetry reaffirms our common humanity by revealing to us that individuals, everywhere in the world, share the same questions and feelings. Poetry is the mainstay of oral tradition and, over centuries, can communicate the innermost values of diverse cultures.”

Thanks, UNESCO, for reminding us all.

Of course, the world could not totally agree on when to hold Poetry Day. It is celebrated in October in the UK. Also, FYI, April is National Poetry Month in the U.S. and Canada.

So why don’t we all just agree that every day is poetry day! Here’s a good one for today (“Monadnock Through the Trees” by Edward Arlington Robinson):

Before there was in Egypt any sound
Of those who reared a more prodigious means
For the self-heavy sleep of kings and queens
Than hitherto had mocked the most renowned,—
Unvisioned here and waiting to be found,
Alone, amid remote and older scenes,
You loomed above ancestral evergreens
Before there were the first of us around.

And when the last of us, if we know how,
See farther from ourselves than we do now,
Assured with other sight than heretofore
That we have done our mortal best and worst,—
Your calm will be the same as when the first
Assyrians went howling south to war.

I like the image of old Monadnock as a pyramid. And the last two line are great, don’t you agree? Enjoy your Tuesday!

*H.P. Lovecraft wrote poetry too–who knew? Check out “To Templeton and Monadnock”. The painting of Monadnock is by Dave Dodge.

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January 25, 2017

The moon is mine

by chuckofish

George Sotter (1879-1953)

I have a compact to commune
A monthly midnight with the Moon;
Into its face I stare and stare,
And find sweet understanding there.

As quiet as a toad I sit
And tell my tale of days to it;
The tessellated yarn I’ve spun
In thirty spells of star and sun.

And the Moon listens pensively,
As placid as a lamb to me;
Until I think there’s just us two
In silver world of mist and dew.

In all of spangled space, but I
To stare moon-struck into the sky;
Of billion beings I alone
To praise the Moon as still as stone.

And seal a bond between us two,
Closer than mortal ever knew;
For as mute masses I intone
The Moon is mine and mine alone.

–Robert Service, from “Moon-Lover”

In case you have forgotten, a tessellation of a flat surface is the tiling of a plane using one or more geometric shapes, called tiles, with no overlaps and no gaps. In mathematics, tessellations can be generalized to higher dimensions and a variety of geometries. A periodic tiling has a repeating pattern.

(I’ll admit, I had to look it up.)

The painting above (“Silent Night” c. 1923) is by George Sotter (1979-1952). The paintings that follow are by Maxfield Parrish, Bertha Lum and Albert Bierstadt.

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All photos from Pinterest.

4 Comments
November 28, 2016

“I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee”*

by chuckofish

wrc-2Today the boy turns 30!

His birthday is all the sweeter because he is a cancer survivor and a papa-to-be. Here’s hoping 2017 will be a fabulous year for the boy.

P.S. I may refer to my son as “the boy,” but he is sure enough a man.

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(But those baby pictures sure are cute.)

*Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood by William Wordsworth (1770-1850)–Read the whole thing here.

4 Comments
November 17, 2016

Thanks—joyful thanks!

by chuckofish

Here we are halfway through November and Thanksgiving is a week from today! Let’s get serious about having thankful thoughts! Here’s some Walt Whitman to help with that.

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Thanks in old age—thanks ere I go,

For health, the midday sun, the impalpable air—for life, mere
life,

For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my mother dear
—you, father—you, brothers, sisters, friends,)

For all my days—not those of peace alone—the days of war the
same,

For gentle words, caresses, gifts from foreign lands,

For shelter, wine and meat—for sweet appreciation,

(You distant, dim unknown—or young or old—countless, un-
specified, readers belov’d,

We never met, and ne’er shall meet—and yet our souls embrace,
long, close and long;)

For beings, groups, love, deeds, words, books—for colors, forms,

For all the brave strong men—devoted, hardy men—who’ve for-
ward sprung in freedom’s help, all years, all lands,

For braver, stronger, more devoted men—(a special laurel ere I
go, to life’s war’s chosen ones,

The cannoneers of song and thought—the great artillerists—the
foremost leaders, captains of the soul:)

As soldier from an ended war return’d—As traveler out of
myriads, to the long procession retrospective,

Thanks—joyful thanks!—a soldier’s, traveler’s thanks.

–Walt Whitman, 1888-89

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patrick-william-adam
mark-oneill

The paintings are by John McCartin, Patrick William Adam, Bruce Yardley, and Mark O’Neill. Pretty pictures always help, right?

3 Comments
November 3, 2016

Variations on a theme

by chuckofish

Photo courtesy of the Missouri Dept. of Conservation

Photo courtesy of the Missouri Dept. of Conservation

“We pray for the big things and forget to give thanks for the ordinary, small (and yet really not small) gifts.”

–Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together

We’ve quoted Bonhoeffer before on the subject of thankfulness, but can we ever say it often enough? Probably not. It is so central to our well-being.

November is a good month to take a look at the things for which we are thankful, so I plan to do that.

Meanwhile, here’s a poem by W.S. Merwin:

Thank you my life long afternoon
late in this spring that has no age
my window above the river
for the woman you led me to
when it was time at last the words
coming to me out of mid-air
that carried me through the clear day
and come even now to find me
for old friends and echoes of them
those mistakes only I could make
homesickness that guides the plovers
from somewhere they had loved before
they knew they loved it to somewhere
they had loved before they saw it
thank you good body hand and eye
and the places and moments known
only to me revisiting
once more complete just as they are
and the morning stars I have seen

And I am thankful for the flyover view.

“Grumbling and gratitude are, for the child of God, in conflict. Be grateful and you won’t grumble. Grumble and you won’t be grateful.”
―Billy Graham

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November 2, 2016

“We could be confidantes. Confiding confidentially.”*

by chuckofish

It is November, but it doesn’t feel like it, that’s for sure!

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I mean really.

We had a quiet Halloween. No one knocked at our door. I watched the Halloween episode of Angel, season 5–“Life of the Party”–the one where Lorne works around the clock to throw the ultimate Halloween party at Wolfram & Hart, but problems arise when he has his sleep removed. Then I watched two more episodes for the heck of it. Not a bad way to spend Halloween.

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I guess it is time to put away my festive (and very vintage) Halloween candles.

I should note that today is the birthday of the great American pioneer Daniel Boone (1734-1820)

boone_by_audubonwho…

Of all men, saving Sylla, the man-slayer,
Who passes for in life and death most lucky
Of the great names which in our faces stare,
The General Boon, back-woodsman of Kentucky,
Was happiest amongst mortals any where;
For killing nothing but a bear or buck, he
Enjoyed the lonely vigorous, harmless days
Of his old age in wilds of deepest maze.

Lord Byron wrote those lines in Don Juan, Canto 8. Old Dan’l was a pretty famous guy! Anyway, I will remind you that Boone spent those latter days in my flyover state in the appropriately named town of Defiance.

As Boone said, “I firmly believe it requires but a little philosophy to make a man happy in whatsoever state he is. This consists in a full resignation to the will of Providence; and a resigned soul finds pleasure in a path strewed with briars and thorns.”

I concur. Discuss among yourselves.

*Fred in the “Life of the Party” episode of Angel, season 5

The portrait of Boone is by John James Audubon.

5 Comments
October 27, 2016

Alive and well somewhere

by chuckofish

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“What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the
end to arrest it,
And ceas’d the moment life appear’d.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.”

― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself 

I went to a memorial service yesterday at the Unitarian Church on “Holy Corners” in the Central West End.

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You can see the Christian Scientist and Methodist churches in the background, built in better days around the turn of the 20th century.

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The Unitarian Church was built on a more humble scale and added to accordingly. It turns out it was the church of William Greenleaf  Eliot, the founder of my flyover university and also of the girls’ school I attended. Not that he would recognize this congregation.

Anyway, I had never been to a Unitarian memorial service before. The music was pretty bad and there was only one scripture reading–a terrible translation of Psalm 39–and one prayer. (We never even said the Lord’s Prayer.) The minister gave a long homily about the mystery of life and how everything dies, and a  long eulogy about the deceased, and the husband of the deceased gave a long eulogy. Like her parents, she was a lifelong member of the church and a serious Unitarian and social justice warrior. She and her husband were also big supporters of their partner church in Transylvania–yes, there are Unitarians in Transylvania! They are the second largest group of Unitarians in the world!  It is amazing what one doesn’t know about people.

Well, it all got me thinking about old Walt Whitman’s lines about death in Song of Myself, which seem very Unitarian in spirit to me but are more meaningful than anything I heard in the service. I like to think that my friend is alive and well somewhere, although I guess that’s not what she expected.

*The painting is “Moonlight” by Fausto Zonaro (1854 – 1929)

4 Comments
October 12, 2016

“Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes, Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies”

by chuckofish

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This is the day Nurse Edith Cavell was executed in 1915 by the Germans during WWI.

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Accused of treason, i.e. helping British and French soldiers to cross the border and eventually enter Britain, Edith was found guilty by a court-martial and sentenced to death. Despite international pressure for mercy, she was shot by a German firing squad. Her execution received worldwide condemnation and extensive press coverage. While the First Geneva Convention ordinarily guaranteed protection of medical personnel, the German authorities justified prosecution merely on the basis of the German law and the interests of the German state. What were they thinking?

In the months and years following Edith’s death, countless newspaper articles, pamphlets, images, and books publicized her story. Her execution was represented as an act of German barbarism and moral depravity. (As it turned out, they weren’t wrong on that count.) The Allies claimed Edith as a martyr and she became an iconic propaganda figure for military recruitment in Britain. Within eight weeks of her death, enlistment into the British Army had doubled.

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Edith, aged 49, was executed by firing squad just outside Brussels on October 12, 1915. Permission was given for the English Chaplain, the Rev. Stirling Gahan, to visit her the night before she died and together they repeated the words to the hymn Abide With Me. It was also to Gahan that Edith made her famous comment that “patriotism is not enough”. Her strong Anglican beliefs propelled her actions and so the Church of England commemorates her in their calendar of saints on October 12.  Although we do not commemorate Edith Cavell on our Episcopal calendar, I think it is fitting that we recognize her here.

Martyrs never regret
what they have done
having done it.
Amazing too
they never frown.
It is all so mysterious
the way they remain
above us
beside us
within us;
how they beam
a human sunrise
and are so proud.

–Alice Walker

5 Comments
September 30, 2016

You can do it!

by chuckofish

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This made me LOL.

Also it got me thinking about support and encouragement, which are all very well and good, but lest we forget, here’s a word from Ralph Waldo Emerson on self-reliance:

“Whatever you do, you need courage. Whatever course you decide upon, there is always someone to tell you that you are wrong. There are always difficulties arising that tempt you to believe your critics are right. To map out a course of action and follow it to an end requires some of the same courage that a soldier needs. Peace has its victories, but it takes brave men and women to win them.”

And a poem by Mary Oliver to get you moving:

THE FOURTH SIGN OF THE ZODIAC (PART 3)

I know, you never intended to be in this world.
But you’re in it all the same.

So why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it.
There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro.
Bless the eyes and the listening ears.
Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste.
Bless touching.

You could live a hundred years, it’s happened.
Or not.
I am speaking from the fortunate platform
of many years,
none of which, I think, I ever wasted.
Do you need a prod?
Do you need a little darkness to get you going?
Let me be as urgent as a knife, then,
and remind you of Keats,
so single of purpose and thinking, for a while,
he had a lifetime.

Have a good weekend. October will be here tomorrow! The last quarter of the year is upon us. Let us make good use of it.

4 Comments