dual personalities

Tag: poetry

November 17, 2014

Our shelter from the stormy blast*

by chuckofish

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Yes, the Christmas cacti are blooming! Can it really be that time of year again?

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It must be…’cause it snowed too!

Note the leaf bags!

Note the leaf bags!

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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

4 Comments
October 21, 2014

In Xanadu

by chuckofish

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.

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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
3 Comments
October 15, 2014

Here is the deepest secret nobody knows

by chuckofish

"The Tree of Life", 1909, Gustav Klimt

“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 in
my heart) i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
                                                      i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

i 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.

4 Comments
September 3, 2014

A sonnet for Wednesday

by chuckofish

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”.

Thomas Rowlandson (1756–1827) and Augustus Charles Pugin (1762–1832) (after) John Bluck (fl. 1791–1819), Joseph Constantine Stadler (fl. 1780–1812), Thomas Sutherland (1785–1838)

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

Joseph Nicholls 1742

Daniel Turner

Daniel Turner

Henry Pether 1862

Henry Pether 1862

 

2 Comments
August 27, 2014

They say that…

by chuckofish

Books make the home

Woodcut by Rockwell Kent

And, as you know, I agree.

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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.

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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.

5 Comments
August 25, 2014

Upward and onward

by chuckofish

28745StPeterLadue

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.

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And our organist/choirmaster took the ALS challenge and was doused with ice water after church. Oh boy.

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Before

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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.

 

4 Comments
July 29, 2014

Twinklings

by chuckofish

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John Singer Sargent

Here come real stars to fill the upper skies,
And here on earth come emulating flies,
That though they never equal stars in size,
(And they were never really stars at heart)
Achieve at times a very star-like start.
Only, of course, they can’t sustain the part.

–“Fireflies in the Garden” by Robert Frost

“In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye, yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of — moments when we human beings can say “I love you,” “I’m proud of you,” “I forgive you,” “I’m grateful for you.” That’s what eternity is made of: invisible imperishable good stuff.”
–Fred Rogers

“Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.”
–I Corinthians 15:51-52

This is how my mind works.

The famous Whitelaw monument in the Glasgow Necropolis features the scripture from I Corinthians around its base.

The famous Whitelaw monument in the Glasgow Necropolis features the scripture from I Corinthians around its base.

 

3 Comments
July 23, 2014

Are you washed in the blood of the lamb?

by chuckofish

On this day in 1865 British revivalist preacher William Booth founded the Salvation Army.

william-booth

Originally a prominent Methodist evangelist, Booth felt constrained by the need to have a pastorate. Eventually he resigned from the ministry and began preaching to crowds of people in the streets of the East End of London. Soon he and his wife opened ‘The Christian Revival Society’ (later renamed The Christian Mission) where they held meetings every evening and on Sundays.

The Salvation Army, as the mission became known, was modeled after the military, with its own flag (or colors) and its own music, often with Christian words put to popular and folk tunes sung in the pubs. Booth and the other soldiers in “God’s Army” wore the Army’s own uniform, ‘putting on the armor’ for meetings and ministry work. He became the General and his other ministers were given appropriate ranks as officers. Other members became soldiers. During his lifetime, William Booth established Army work in 58 countries and colonies, traveling extensively and holding salvation meetings.

Today the Salvation Army is one of the largest and most popular charitable organizations in the world.

salvation-army

George Bernard Shaw wrote a three-act play Major Barbara about a Salvation Army member who becomes disillusioned when the charity accepts money from a arms maker and a whiskey distiller. In the preface to the play, however, Shaw derided the idea that charities should only take money from “morally pure” sources. He points out that donations can always be used for good, whatever their provenance, and he quotes a Salvation Army officer, “they would take money from the devil himself and be only too glad to get it out of his hands and into God’s”.

Vachel Lindsay wrote a poem about General Booth, General William Booth Enters Into Heaven. (You can read the whole poem here. )

And when Booth halted at the curb for prayer

He saw his Master thro’ the flag-filled air.

Christ came gently with a robe and crown

For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down.

He saw King Jesus. They were face to face,

And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place.

Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

On a lighter note, while toasting the Army tonight, we could all watch Guys and Dolls (1955).

313-Guys-And-Dolls

As you know, this is how my mind works…

7 Comments
June 10, 2014

In flowery June

by chuckofish

Kindred spirits by Asher Brown Durand.jpg

I gazed upon the glorious sky

And the green mountains round,

And thought that when I came to lie

At rest within the ground,

‘Twere pleasant, that in flowery June

When brooks send up a cheerful tune,

And groves a joyous sound,

The sexton’s hand, my grave to make,

The rich, green mountain-turf should break.

–William Cullen Bryant

Interesting side note to my art and poetry choice today: Asher B. Durand finished “Kindred Spirits” (above) in March 1849. It was a memorial to his friend and mentor Thomas Cole, who stands in the landscape with writer and poet William Cullen Bryant. The painting was commissioned by art patron John Sturges following the death of Cole at age 47. He gave the painting to Bryant, a close friend and “kindred spirit” of Cole and Durand. The painting remained in Bryant’s family until 1904 when it was donated to the New York Public Library.

“Kindred Spirits” was sold by the NYPL to Alice Walton at a private auction for a purported $35 million dollars in 2005. She bought the painting to be the centerpiece of the Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art in Bentonville, Arkansas. Some New Yorkers resented this greatly and the New York newspapers were outraged by the sale, one critic writing that its sale meant “not just the removal of a beloved painting from a beloved setting, but also a diminishment of New York City itself.”

Well, I can see how they felt and I’m pretty sure that the heirs of William Cullen Bryant would be disappointed that the NYPL sold their gift–although the price it got would blow their minds–but it’s one more reason for me to head south to Crystal Bridges. I have been meaning to do this for quite some time.

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Anyone want to go with?

8 Comments
May 29, 2014

Gaily bedight*

by chuckofish

sistersToday I am on the road to College Park, by way of Baltimore, to meet up with my lovely daughters. We are road-tripping together to Virginia to attend a wedding this weekend, so I will be off the radar for a few days. I hope my dual personality will fill in the blanks while I am incognito.

Have a great weekend and keep the faith!

*Gaily bedight, a gallant knight” is the first line of the poem “Eldorado” by Edgar Allan Poe. It always makes me want to “ride, boldly ride”.

 

3 Comments