The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.
(Robert Frost)
(All paintings above by Andrew Wyeth and one bonus piece by N.C. Wyeth below)
Little Mary in Worcester, MA, circa 1931
These are thy wonders, Lord of love,
To make us see we are but flowers that glide;
Which when we once can find and prove,
Thou hast a garden for us where to bide;
Who would be more,
Swelling through store,
Forfeit their Paradise by their pride.
–George Herbert, from “The Flower”
Can you find the pixilated Dual Personality in this festive bunch?
I give you an old reliable–but still wonderful–poem for the new year by Alfred Tennyson. Nothing much has changed since he wrote it in 1850. I mean people are still people and it is good to keep that in mind. Tennyson was writing about the “faithless coldness of the times” back then too.
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out the want, the care the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darknss of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.
Today is Emily Dickinson’s birthday!
Emily lived her whole life (December 10, 1830 – May 15, 1886) in Amherst, Massachusetts. She lived in this beautiful house, called by her family “The Homestead”.
She had a room of her own, and for Emily, this seems to have been enough. She also had her family and she did not lack for friends. She may have seemed “eccentric” to some, but plenty of people thought she was pretty cool. If she was mysterious back in her day, she is increasingly misunderstood now.
The Emily Dickinson Home, a National Historic Landmark, is located at 280 Main St. in Amherst, MA. Although I lived in the vicinity during my college years, I never visited the house. I saw it, but never went inside. The property, which is now owned by Amherst College, is a museum and is open to the public for guided tours March through December. It is definitely on my “to do/see” list.
So tonight let’s toast Emily and read a few of her poems. Here’s a good one for a winter afternoon:
There’s a certain Slant of light,Winter Afternoons –That oppresses, like the HeftOf Cathedral Tunes –Heavenly Hurt, it gives us –We can find no scar,But internal difference –Where the Meanings, are –None may teach it – Any –‘Tis the seal Despair –An imperial afflictionSent us of the Air –When it comes, the Landscape listens –Shadows – hold their breath –When it goes, ’tis like the DistanceOn the look of Death –
Yes, the Christmas cacti are blooming! Can it really be that time of year again?
It must be…’cause it snowed too!
Note the leaf bags!
The anthem at the Offertory at church on Sunday was the poem “Love” by George Herbert (1593-1632) which is a particularly lovely one:
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
“A guest,” I answered, “worthy to be here”:
Love said, “You shall be he.”
“I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee.”
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
“Who made the eyes but I?”
“Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.”
“And know you not,” says Love, “who bore the blame?”
“My dear, then I will serve.”
“You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.”
So I did sit and eat.
It snowed all day, but never amounted to too much. Time to get serious, though, about the snowball descent to the end of the year.
Have a good week!
*Hymn #680, Isaac Watts
Samuel Taylor Coleridge, a leader of the British Romantic movement and famous opium addict, was born on this day in 1772, in Devonshire, England.
In honor of his birthday, here is one of his famous poems to read aloud.
Kubla Khan Or a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round;
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:
And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;
And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight ’twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
If you prefer, here is the great Sir Ralph Richardson reciting the poem: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xjn7vh_samuel-taylor-coleridge-kubla-khan-ralph-richardson_creation
“The Tree of Life”, 1909, Gustav Klimt
Yesterday was the birthday of e.e. cummings, the poet, essayist, author, playwright, and Unitarian (October 14, 1894 – September 3, 1962). So I thought I’d share this famous poem of his which I like very much.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it inmy heart) i am never without it(anywherei go you go, my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing, my darling)i fearno fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i wantno world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meantand whatever a sun will always sing is youhere is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the budand the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars aparti carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)
If you want to read more about Cummings, here’s an interesting article by Susan Cheever.
As if you didn’t already know, I’ll remind you that on this day in 1802 William Wordsworth composed the sonnet titled “Composed Upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802”.
Westminster Bridge as it appeared in 1808 by Thomas Rowlandson (1756–1827) and Augustus Charles Pugin (1762–1832)
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
Now you’ll have something to discuss at the water cooler! Do they still have water coolers?
Joseph Nicholls 1742
Daniel Turner
Henry Pether 1862
Woodcut by Rockwell Kent
And, as you know, I agree.
Here’s what Dylan Thomas said about books:
I could never have dreamt that there were such goings-on
in the world between the covers of books,
such sandstorms and ice blasts of words,
such staggering peace, such enormous laughter,
such and so many blinding bright lights,
splashing all over the pages
in a million bits and pieces
all of which were words, words, words,
and each of which were alive forever
in its own delight and glory and oddity and light.
Maybe I have too many books in my house.
This is a pile of books I backed into and fell over when talking to daughter #1 on the phone recently. No, I’m not kidding.
And I do move books out of my house–just not as quickly as they move in.
I went to a funeral this weekend. It was at the church where I grew up and it was filled with a familiar crowd of people. The man who died was the father of four, all classmates of mine, the OM and my dual personality. There were 14 grandchildren and one great-grandchild–a fine, handsome family–good people.
It was the Rite I version of the Episcopal service without communion and included three hymns, one being “Once to Every Man and Nation” which I had not sung in a long time.
Once to every man and nation, comes the moment to decide,
In the strife of truth with falsehood, for the good or evil side;
Some great cause, some great decision, offering each the bloom or blight,
And the choice goes by forever, ’twixt that darkness and that light.Then to side with truth is noble, when we share her wretched crust,
Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and ’tis prosperous to be just;
Then it is the brave man chooses while the coward stands aside,
Till the multitude make virtue of the faith they had denied.By the light of burning martyrs, Christ, Thy bleeding feet we track,
Toiling up new Calv’ries ever with the cross that turns not back;
New occasions teach new duties, time makes ancient good uncouth,
They must upward still and onward, who would keep abreast of truth.Though the cause of evil prosper, yet the truth alone is strong;
Though her portion be the scaffold, and upon the throne be wrong;
Yet that scaffold sways the future, and behind the dim unknown,
Standeth God within the shadow, keeping watch above His own.
Old James Russell Lowell–I gotta love you.
But I bet the clergy were cringing. This hymn is not even in our hymnal any more. It was printed in the leaflet. As I recall we used to sing it occasionally at my school–it was in that hymnal. Well, time makes ancient good uncouth…
Back at church on Sunday I was heartened to hear our rector give a sermon on the Gospel, which was Matthew 16:13-20, where Jesus asks Peter “Who do you say that I am?” For once, Peter gets it right: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God.” The rector talked about how many professing Christians are really atheists who do not live their beliefs or actually walk the walk. But the bottom line, which he did not address, is that many Christians, including many members of the clergy, don’t seem to believe in anything anymore. You know, it’s all just a nice story. Jesus was just a social reformer trying to create a just society. They love “the symbolism of the Resurrection.” And as one fatuous misguided intern wrote in our diocesan newspaper, our “religion is just about being in one big love affair with God and Creation.” Ugh.
Well, it was good to be back in the pew after a few weeks off and it was fun to see the families and little kids back at church. We had ice cream to celebrate.
And our organist/choirmaster took the ALS challenge and was doused with ice water after church. Oh boy.
Before
After
True summer weather (finally) descended on us last week with temperatures pushing 100 and the heat index out of sight. But summer is coming to an end…Labor Day is a week from today! Good grief, Charlie Brown. Our (relatively) lazy days are getting busier and busier.
Can autumn be far behind?
Tout va bien.
dual personalities 