Every Thought...
Week 40: We Will Draw Near
This far have I come, into the autumn rustle. Every thought is a prayer, indeed, and every day is in need of a blessing. Along this way I am reminded, by sibs and kids especially, of the continual presence of God.
09/30:
TWL, Lines 360-366: On The Road To Emmaus
360 Who is the third who walks always beside you?
361 When I count, there are only you and I together
362 But when I look ahead up the white road
363 There is always another one walking beside you
364 Gliding wrapt in a brown mantle, hooded
365 I do not know whether a man or a woman
366 — But who is that on the other side of you?
361. SHACKLETON’S ACCOUNT: Eliot: “The following lines were stimulated by the account of one of the Antarctic expeditions (I forget which, but I think one of Shackleton's): it was related that the party of explorers, at the extremity of their strength, had the constant delusion that there was one more member than could actually be counted.”
See Ernest Shackleton, South: A Memoir of the Endurance Voyage (1919):
“When I look back at those days, I have no doubt that Providence guided us, not only across those snowfields, but across the storm-strewn sea that separated Elephant Island from our landing place on South Georgia. I know that during that long and racking march of 36 hours over the unnamed mountains and glaciers of South Georgia, it seemed to me often that we were four, not three. I said nothing to my companions on the point, but afterwards Worsley said to me, ‘Boss, I had a curious feeling on the march that there was another person with us.’” Compare Daniel 3:24-25 (note 0.5):
“Then Nebuchadnezzar the king was astonished, and rose up in haste, and spake, and said unto his counsellors, Did not we cast three men bound into the midst of the fire? They answered and said unto the king, True, O king. He answered and said, Lo, I see four men loose, walking in the midst of the fire, and they have no hurt; and the form of the fourth is like the Son of God.”
364. HOODED FIGURES also appear at line 369. In an earlier note (note 46), Eliot identified the hooded figure in this passage as Christ on the road to Emmaus (see note 366), and associated him, through the Tarot deck’s Hanged Man card, with Artemis, goddess of fertility (see note 55).
365. THE PATH OF PURIFICATION: See Bhadantácariya Buddhaghosa, Visuddhimagga ("The Path of Purification," 430 AD, tr. Henry Clarke Warren, 1896):
“...A certain woman had married into a family of rank, but had quarreled with her husband, and, decked and ornamented, until she looked like a goddess, had issued forth from Anuradhapura, early in the morning, and was returning home to her family. On her way she met the elder, as he was on his way from Mt. Cetiya to go on his begging-rounds in Anuradhapura. And no sooner had she seen him, than the perversity of her nature caused her to laugh loudly. The elder looked up inquiringly, and observing her teeth, realized the impurity of the body, and attained to saintship. ...Then came her husband, following in her footsteps, and seeing the elder, he said: ‘Reverend sir, have you seen a woman pass this way?’ And the elder said: ‘Was it a woman, or a man, that passed this way? I cannot tell. But this I know, a set of bones is traveling on upon this road.’”
Compare Augustine’s experience, just before picking the random bible verse that led to his moment of conversion, at Confessions (note 307) 8.12.29: “So was I speaking and weeping in the most bitter contrition of my heart, when, lo! I heard from a neighbouring house a voice, as of boy or girl, I know not, chanting, and oft repeating, ‘Take up and read; Take up and read.’”
366. THE ROAD TO EMMAUS passage at Luke 24:13-43 offers another parallel to Shackleton’s account, finally moving the April poem from the pains of Good Friday to a late recognition on the morning of Easter:
“And behold, two of them went that same day to a village called Emmaus, which was from Jerusalem about threescore furlongs. And they talked together of all these things which had happened. And it came to pass, that, while they communed together and reasoned, Jesus himself drew near, and went with them. But their eyes were holden that they should not know him. And he said unto them, What manner of communications are these that ye have one to another, as ye walk , and are sad? And the one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answering said unto him, Art thou only a stranger in Jerusalem, and hast not known the things which are come to pass there in these days? And he said unto them, What things? And they said unto him, Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, which was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people: And how the chief priests and our rulers delivered him to be condemned to death, and have crucified him. But we trusted that it had been he which should have redeemed Israel: and beside all this, to day is the third day since these things were done. Yea, and certain women also of our company made us astonished, which were early at the sepulchre; And when they found not his body, they came, saying, that they had also seen a vision of angels, which said that he was alive. And certain of them which were with us went to the sepulchre, and found it even so as the women had said: but him they saw not. Then he said unto them, O fools, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken: Ought not Christ to have suffered these things, and to enter into his glory? And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning himself. And they drew nigh unto the village, whither they went: and he made as though he would have gone further. But they constrained him, saying, Abide with us: for it is toward evening, and the day is far spent. And he went in to tarry with them. And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight. And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures? And they rose up the same hour, and returned to Jerusalem, and found the eleven gathered together, and them that were with them, Saying, The Lord is risen indeed, and hath appeared to Simon. And they told what things were done in the way, and how he was known of them in breaking of bread. And as they thus spake, Jesus himself stood in the midst of them, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you. But they were terrified and affrighted, and supposed that they had seen a spirit. And he said unto them, Why are ye troubled? and why do thoughts arise in your hearts? Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have. And when he had thus spoken, he shewed them his hands and his feet. And while they yet believed not for joy, and wondered, he said unto them, Have ye here any meat? And they gave him a piece of a broiled fish, and of an honeycomb. And he took it, and did eat before them.”
10/01:
VI. The Older Son
The older son, the one who stayed
at his father’s side and in his place
Was in the field while this went on,
and when his working day was done
At the cue of the setting sun he came
back home again, but as he drew
Up closer to the house he heard
the music and the sounds of
people dancing.
And looking through the door he saw
that they had killed the fatted calf.
What is the meaning of this? he said,
pulling one of the servants aside,
And the servant said, your brother is home
and all of this your father has done
To welcome him and to receive
your brother safe and sound where
he belongs.
This only angered the older son,
and he stood where he was looking in,
Refusing to enter through the door
and scowling at the celebration,
And even when his father came
outside to ask him earnestly
To enter in, to be part of
the party, the older child started
arguing.
10/02:
VII. The Younger Brother
Look, the brother said, how many
years have I been at your side,
Serving you, following your rules
and never breaking your commands,
And have you ever given me
as much as a suckling goat to share
With friends, a single night that my friends
and I might have a party of
our own?
Yet here, no sooner had your boy
returned from his great carnival
Of whores, his share of your estate
devoured, for this son of yours
You’ve gone and killed the fatted calf!
And he despised his brother and
Continued with his murmuring,
but the loving father to his son
replied,
My son, you are forever with me,
and everything I have is yours,
But it was right that we should have
this feast and celebration, for
You see, this is your younger brother:
he was dead, but turn around
And look, he is alive again! Your
brother was lost, and now he has
been found!”
10/03:
Blessing: An Introduction
This is inspired, at least in part, by brother Josh's persistent challenge to us all to get out another "S2L2A&A" list: songs to listed to again and again. I don’t have a full list together for this year yet, but I think I'd like to start it with a favorite song from Kirsten's Jubilate Choir days, music that I still like to turn to now and again, eight years later. The song is Adiemus by Karl Jenkins, the lead part of a full album and the premise for a beautiful choral concert called Songs of Sanctuary. What makes Jenkins work especially unique is that it's all done in a pseudo=Latin with no specific meaning. The first lines, for instance, are:
Ari adiemus late
Ari adiemus da
Ari a enatus late adua.
It turns out the title can be roughly translated as "We will draw near" in Latin, but Jenkins claimed not to have known this. Anyway, it's musically rich, solemn, dramatic, full of crescendo and sanctuary but also, at least for me all these years, intriguing in how it seems to beg for more meaning. So this year I finally decided to give the song my own words. In the process, arbitrarily or not, I have turned to the well known "bless you keep you" benediction, enhanced with one of my favorite words, Immanuel, a word worth repeating, again and again. And yes, the descant remains: we will draw near.
10/04:
We Will Draw Near
An interpretation of Adiemus, by Karl Jenkins
Brother, may the Lord be with you
Like a shepherd in the field
Giving you the meaning of Immanuel.
May that mean the whole world to you,
God's world ever given to you,
Blessing you no matter where you are.
Sister, may a world of peace be
With you everywhere you go,
Everywhere the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God will hold you
Like a mother holds her child who
Grows up in the arms of loving care.
Son, may God's face shine upon you
With an everlasting smile,
Showing you the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
(We will draw near.)
(We will draw near.)
Daughter, may the grace of God be
Something you will come to know
Moving through the meaning of Immanuel.
As you wander through the fold and
Grow beyond the mother's hold, may
You remember you’re a child of God.
And may God's face shine upon you
With an everlasting smile,
Showing you the meaning of Immanuel.
May it mean that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
May you know that God is with you everywhere.
(We will draw near.)
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
May the hands of the father hold you.
(We will draw near!)
May the arms of the mother keep you.
(We will draw near!)
May the face of the son shine on you.
(We will draw near!)
May grace be a lesson to you.
(We will draw near!)
May peace be a river through you.
(We will draw near!)
May you know that God is with you.
(We will draw near!)
Immanuel!
Immanuel!
10/05:
Epigraph to Thirty Birds
Come, you lost Atoms,
to your Center draw,
and be the ...Mirror...
--- Farid Ud-din Attar
10/06:
Moleskin 5.3: Lingering River
Let me linger for a moment now, back at my sixth home and its place on the Buffalo River: a muddy river, full of the soil of the fields around it; a rising river in the spring, finding its way into our basement from time to time; a meandering river that shapes its own valleys in the shadow of the Red River of the North; a river of gravel road bridges and big mud turtles. My mother had her small job of reading and reporting the river heights at the bridge station just down the hill from our home; my father worked at the church up the hill on the other side of the river, a quarter mile down and up that hill. I swam in the Buffalo River, as muddy as it was, and I explored the woods behind our house that bordered the river and give it riparian solace. I met neighbors and friends my own age all along the river: across from us, the Akers; a mile east and south, the Horpedahls. Spiritually I am still sitting, will always be, along that river, with water that seems to barely move.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Friday, September 23, 2016
The Wondrous Chant of the Gray-Brown Bird
Every Thought...
Week 39: Parable
The Return Of The Prodigal Son is really seven parables in one, each teaching a different lesson with different people and all lessons leading to the same conclusion: there is a place for us!
09/23:
TWL, Lines 331-359 Thirty Good Lines
331 Here is no water but only rock
332 Rock and no water and the sandy road
333 The road winding above among the mountains
334 Which are mountains of rock without water
335 If there were water we should stop and drink
336 Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
337 Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
338 If there were only water amongst the rock
339 Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
340 Here one can neither stand not lie nor sit
341 There is not even silence in the mountains
342 But dry sterile thunder without rain
343 There is not even solitude in the mountains
344 But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
345 From doors of mudcracked houses
346 If there were water
347 And no rock
348 If there were rock
349 And also water
350 And water
351 A spring
352 A pool among the rock
353 If there were the sound of water only
354 Not the cicada
355 And dry grass singing
356 But sound of water over a rock
357 Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
358 Drop drop drip drop drop drop drop
359 But there is no water
331. THIRTY GOOD LINES: T.S. Eliot wrote to Ford Madox Ford in 1923 that there were “about thirty good lines in The Waste Land, can you find them?” Ford declined to take the bait, so Eliot answered himself in a subsequent letter: “As for the lines I mention, you need not scratch your head over them. They are the 29 lines of the water-dripping song in the last part.” See Eliot, Letters II. A few years earlier, in Reflections on Contemporary Poetry, Egoist (November 1917), Eliot had called Ford’s poem Antwerp (1917) “the only good poem I have met with on the subject of the war.” Ford’s poem graphically describes “the trench of gray mud ...turned to a brown purple drain...” See note 61 for references to the war within The Waste Land.
343. LIMBO: Compare the absence of silence, of solitude and the presence of a dry thunder to the suspended state of limbo in Dante, Inferno 4.41-42 (see note 64). See also Brooks (note 330), comparing these descriptions to the different sounds and presences to come, when a third will begin to walk beside the travelers (lines 360-366) and the thunder will bring rain and words with meaning (lines 400-423).
357. THE HERMIT-THRUSH: Eliot: “This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birds in Eastern North America) ‘it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats.... Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequalled.’ Its ‘water-dripping song’ is justly celebrated.” See Frank M. Chapman, Handbook (1896).
Lines 331-359 present the longest stretch of the poem in Eliot’s own voice without apparent allusions or the need for translation, but the hermit thrush's call at the end of this passage represents the hint of, or the longing for, a third voice. This itself alludes to the hermit thrush in Whitman, Memories:
“4.
In the swamp in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary the thrush,
The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat,
Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)
...
13.
Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,
Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the
bushes,
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
O liquid and free and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!
You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.
...
16.
Passing the visions, passing the night,
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands,
Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my
soul,
Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering
song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling,
flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet
again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,
Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with
spring.
I cease from my song for thee,
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing
with thee,
O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.
Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul,
With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full
of woe,
With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to
keep, for the dead I loved so well,
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this
for his dear sake,
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.”
09/24:
I. The Shepherd
“What one of you who murmur,
disapproving of the company I keep,
Who grumble at these sinners
drawing near that they may hear,
Who complain about the publicans
so hungry for my words and
Would not have me receive them
at my table —which of you,
If you were a hired shepherd, and
you lost one of your hundred sheep,
Would not leave the ninety nine
in the ambles of your wilderness
To go after the one who strayed
into the mountains? Wouldn’t you
Be relieved to find your little one,
to lift him up, to carry him on
your shoulders?
And who among you, coming home
with news to share with everyone,
Would hesitate to call your friends
and neighbors round to celebrate
The simple fact that you had found
that little one that you had sought
And could restore him to the good
folds of your pasture? Tell me,
would you not?”
09/25:
II. The Housekeeper
“So will the angels cheer in heaven, and
how much more their cheering for
The one returning soul than for
the ninety nine who never wandered?”
And even as the Pharisees
continued with their murmuring, he
Kept talking to them, questioning
and challenging them with parables.
“Imagine you are a woman now
with only ten coins to your name,
And then suppose you find one day
that you had lost one of your coins:
Which of you would not turn up the lights
and sweep out your entire house,
Looking everywhere until you
found that one lost piece of silver,
And in that coin would you not find
the grounds to dance, a cause to call
Your friends and neighbors, all of them,
to share the joy with you? I tell you,
So do heaven’s angels sing and dance,
God’s very name pronounced
With celebration every time
a single sinner simply turns
around.
09/26:
III. The Prodigal Son
There was a man who had two sons
and the one who was the younger stood
Up to his father. Father, he said,
give me the part of your estate
I would inherit now, as I
can’t wait around for you to die.
And so the father, still alive,
took what he had and gave it to
his sons.
Then, with his share, the younger son,
who could have been a blessed one
And always had a place to stay,
within a week was out the door,
Taking a different road and looking for
a distant land, somewhere to waste
The substance of his portion, and
the road took him where he meant
to go,
And there he lived in riotous
abandon, spending all he had,
But then a mighty famine came
and he became a beggar of the land,
An immigrant among the citizens,
consigned to work their fields
And feed their pigs, willing to line
his belly with the husks left for
the swine.
09/27:
IV. The Road Home
But when no one gave him anything,
he started talking to himself,
Questioning, remembering
how servants working for his father
Always had enough to eat,
and bread to spare, he said, and here
Am I, so far away from where
I was, with less than I need to stay
alive.
I will stand, he said, and go back to
my father. Father, I will say,
I have sinned against the heavens, and you
have seen me. I have turned away,
But now I fall before you, one
no longer worthy to be called your son.
Instead, I beg you, let me be
one of the hired servants in
your fields.
And the son arose and started walking
back towards his father’s place,
But when he was still a long way off
the father saw the suffering of
His child and he was greatly moved.
He ran to him with open arms,
He fell on him with a strong embrace,
he held him to his heart and kissed
his face.
09/28:
V. The Celebration!
The son, just as he planned, began
to say, Father, I have sinned against
The heavens, and in your sight I am
no longer worthy to be your son,
But before he reached the begging part
to work as a servant in the fields
The father wiped his words away
and turned toward the servants he
had hired.
Bring out my finest robe, he said,
and give it to my son to wear,
Let him have rings for his fingers
and put new shoes upon his feet,
And then bring out the fatted calf,
have it quartered, chopped and cut
Into the finest veal for our table
that we may eat and celebrate
the day,
And then as they prepared the feast
and as the plates of veal were passed
The father rose and raised his glass
and gave a toast to all the house:
My son was dead, he said, but now
he is alive! My son was lost
But here again, you see, my son
is found! My little one is home
at last!
09/29:
Moleskin 5.2: Rivers
My first home was Owatonna, Minnesota, a town built on the banks of the Straight River, Straight, or Owatonna, being the name of a Dakota princess who was first healed by mineral springs on a tributary, Maple Creek. I lived there as an infant and remember nothing of it. My second home was in Billings, Montana, however many blocks away from the Yellowstone River: I was a toddler here, and I do not recall anything about my toddler years. Third was Minneapolis, Minnesota, where the mighty Mississippi courses through; we lived in a trailer park just east of the Miss, but my memories are only third party suggestions: I am told I first learned my address here, and being told this enough afterwards I still remember it. Fourth was Maddock, North Dakota, with no rivers of its own but the Big Coulee two miles west and the Sheyenne five miles south. I remember Maddock —our house anyway —but not the rivers. Fifth was New Hope, Minnesota, four miles west again of the Mississippi, still in the days before I had ever heard of Huck Finn.
Week 39: Parable
The Return Of The Prodigal Son is really seven parables in one, each teaching a different lesson with different people and all lessons leading to the same conclusion: there is a place for us!
09/23:
TWL, Lines 331-359 Thirty Good Lines
331 Here is no water but only rock
332 Rock and no water and the sandy road
333 The road winding above among the mountains
334 Which are mountains of rock without water
335 If there were water we should stop and drink
336 Amongst the rock one cannot stop or think
337 Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand
338 If there were only water amongst the rock
339 Dead mountain mouth of carious teeth that cannot spit
340 Here one can neither stand not lie nor sit
341 There is not even silence in the mountains
342 But dry sterile thunder without rain
343 There is not even solitude in the mountains
344 But red sullen faces sneer and snarl
345 From doors of mudcracked houses
346 If there were water
347 And no rock
348 If there were rock
349 And also water
350 And water
351 A spring
352 A pool among the rock
353 If there were the sound of water only
354 Not the cicada
355 And dry grass singing
356 But sound of water over a rock
357 Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pine trees
358 Drop drop drip drop drop drop drop
359 But there is no water
331. THIRTY GOOD LINES: T.S. Eliot wrote to Ford Madox Ford in 1923 that there were “about thirty good lines in The Waste Land, can you find them?” Ford declined to take the bait, so Eliot answered himself in a subsequent letter: “As for the lines I mention, you need not scratch your head over them. They are the 29 lines of the water-dripping song in the last part.” See Eliot, Letters II. A few years earlier, in Reflections on Contemporary Poetry, Egoist (November 1917), Eliot had called Ford’s poem Antwerp (1917) “the only good poem I have met with on the subject of the war.” Ford’s poem graphically describes “the trench of gray mud ...turned to a brown purple drain...” See note 61 for references to the war within The Waste Land.
343. LIMBO: Compare the absence of silence, of solitude and the presence of a dry thunder to the suspended state of limbo in Dante, Inferno 4.41-42 (see note 64). See also Brooks (note 330), comparing these descriptions to the different sounds and presences to come, when a third will begin to walk beside the travelers (lines 360-366) and the thunder will bring rain and words with meaning (lines 400-423).
357. THE HERMIT-THRUSH: Eliot: “This is Turdus aonalaschkae pallasii, the hermit-thrush which I have heard in Quebec County. Chapman says (Handbook of Birds in Eastern North America) ‘it is most at home in secluded woodland and thickety retreats.... Its notes are not remarkable for variety or volume, but in purity and sweetness of tone and exquisite modulation they are unequalled.’ Its ‘water-dripping song’ is justly celebrated.” See Frank M. Chapman, Handbook (1896).
Lines 331-359 present the longest stretch of the poem in Eliot’s own voice without apparent allusions or the need for translation, but the hermit thrush's call at the end of this passage represents the hint of, or the longing for, a third voice. This itself alludes to the hermit thrush in Whitman, Memories:
“4.
In the swamp in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary the thrush,
The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat,
Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)
...
13.
Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,
Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the
bushes,
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.
Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.
O liquid and free and tender!
O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!
You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)
Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.
...
16.
Passing the visions, passing the night,
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands,
Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my
soul,
Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering
song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling,
flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet
again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,
Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with
spring.
I cease from my song for thee,
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing
with thee,
O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.
Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,
And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul,
With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full
of woe,
With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,
Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to
keep, for the dead I loved so well,
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this
for his dear sake,
Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.”
09/24:
I. The Shepherd
“What one of you who murmur,
disapproving of the company I keep,
Who grumble at these sinners
drawing near that they may hear,
Who complain about the publicans
so hungry for my words and
Would not have me receive them
at my table —which of you,
If you were a hired shepherd, and
you lost one of your hundred sheep,
Would not leave the ninety nine
in the ambles of your wilderness
To go after the one who strayed
into the mountains? Wouldn’t you
Be relieved to find your little one,
to lift him up, to carry him on
your shoulders?
And who among you, coming home
with news to share with everyone,
Would hesitate to call your friends
and neighbors round to celebrate
The simple fact that you had found
that little one that you had sought
And could restore him to the good
folds of your pasture? Tell me,
would you not?”
09/25:
II. The Housekeeper
“So will the angels cheer in heaven, and
how much more their cheering for
The one returning soul than for
the ninety nine who never wandered?”
And even as the Pharisees
continued with their murmuring, he
Kept talking to them, questioning
and challenging them with parables.
“Imagine you are a woman now
with only ten coins to your name,
And then suppose you find one day
that you had lost one of your coins:
Which of you would not turn up the lights
and sweep out your entire house,
Looking everywhere until you
found that one lost piece of silver,
And in that coin would you not find
the grounds to dance, a cause to call
Your friends and neighbors, all of them,
to share the joy with you? I tell you,
So do heaven’s angels sing and dance,
God’s very name pronounced
With celebration every time
a single sinner simply turns
around.
09/26:
III. The Prodigal Son
There was a man who had two sons
and the one who was the younger stood
Up to his father. Father, he said,
give me the part of your estate
I would inherit now, as I
can’t wait around for you to die.
And so the father, still alive,
took what he had and gave it to
his sons.
Then, with his share, the younger son,
who could have been a blessed one
And always had a place to stay,
within a week was out the door,
Taking a different road and looking for
a distant land, somewhere to waste
The substance of his portion, and
the road took him where he meant
to go,
And there he lived in riotous
abandon, spending all he had,
But then a mighty famine came
and he became a beggar of the land,
An immigrant among the citizens,
consigned to work their fields
And feed their pigs, willing to line
his belly with the husks left for
the swine.
09/27:
IV. The Road Home
But when no one gave him anything,
he started talking to himself,
Questioning, remembering
how servants working for his father
Always had enough to eat,
and bread to spare, he said, and here
Am I, so far away from where
I was, with less than I need to stay
alive.
I will stand, he said, and go back to
my father. Father, I will say,
I have sinned against the heavens, and you
have seen me. I have turned away,
But now I fall before you, one
no longer worthy to be called your son.
Instead, I beg you, let me be
one of the hired servants in
your fields.
And the son arose and started walking
back towards his father’s place,
But when he was still a long way off
the father saw the suffering of
His child and he was greatly moved.
He ran to him with open arms,
He fell on him with a strong embrace,
he held him to his heart and kissed
his face.
09/28:
V. The Celebration!
The son, just as he planned, began
to say, Father, I have sinned against
The heavens, and in your sight I am
no longer worthy to be your son,
But before he reached the begging part
to work as a servant in the fields
The father wiped his words away
and turned toward the servants he
had hired.
Bring out my finest robe, he said,
and give it to my son to wear,
Let him have rings for his fingers
and put new shoes upon his feet,
And then bring out the fatted calf,
have it quartered, chopped and cut
Into the finest veal for our table
that we may eat and celebrate
the day,
And then as they prepared the feast
and as the plates of veal were passed
The father rose and raised his glass
and gave a toast to all the house:
My son was dead, he said, but now
he is alive! My son was lost
But here again, you see, my son
is found! My little one is home
at last!
09/29:
Moleskin 5.2: Rivers
My first home was Owatonna, Minnesota, a town built on the banks of the Straight River, Straight, or Owatonna, being the name of a Dakota princess who was first healed by mineral springs on a tributary, Maple Creek. I lived there as an infant and remember nothing of it. My second home was in Billings, Montana, however many blocks away from the Yellowstone River: I was a toddler here, and I do not recall anything about my toddler years. Third was Minneapolis, Minnesota, where the mighty Mississippi courses through; we lived in a trailer park just east of the Miss, but my memories are only third party suggestions: I am told I first learned my address here, and being told this enough afterwards I still remember it. Fourth was Maddock, North Dakota, with no rivers of its own but the Big Coulee two miles west and the Sheyenne five miles south. I remember Maddock —our house anyway —but not the rivers. Fifth was New Hope, Minnesota, four miles west again of the Mississippi, still in the days before I had ever heard of Huck Finn.
Friday, September 16, 2016
Free Music
Every Thought...
Week 38: Songs To Listen To
Songs to listen to again and again, a beautiful way of showing and sharing a part of what makes us tick, of celebrating our variety and expanding the awareness of our collective souls...
Week 38: Songs To Listen To
Songs to listen to again and again, a beautiful way of showing and sharing a part of what makes us tick, of celebrating our variety and expanding the awareness of our collective souls...
09/16:
TWL, Lines 322-330: After...
322 After the torchlight red on sweaty faces
323 After the frosty silence in the gardens
324 After the agony in stony places
325 The shouting and the crying
326 Prison and palace and reverberation
327 Of thunder of spring over distant mountains
328 He who was living is now dead
329 We who were living are now dying
330 With a little patience
322. REORDERING: See line 427: “Shall I at least set my lands in order?” After the disorder of the first four parts of this poem, part five opens with four lines, one for each part, summarizing where we have been so far. The sections are still out of order for now, but earth, air, fire and water are now revisited with the word “after.” This follows lines 297-280 (“After the event he wept”); see note 279 for what the event may be, but “after,” repeatedly spoken, now suggests an opening willingness to move forward.
AFTER THE TORCHLIGHT: See the fire of Part III, with its river sweat (line 266), red sails (line 270) and incessant burning (line 308).
HOLY WEEK is also reflected at lines 322-330, with several specific Gethsemene references (torch, sweat, garden, agony) ; see also notes 71, 321.5, 322, 366 and 393, and see Luke 22: 39-45 (note 0.5): “And he [Jesus] came out, and went, as he was wont, to the mount of Olives; and his disciples also followed him. And when he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray that ye enter not into temptation. And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down, and prayed, Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground. And when he rose up from prayer, and was come to his disciples, he found them sleeping for sorrow.”
See also Matthew 26:36 (note 0.5), placing this prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane; and John 18:3 (note 0.5), adding soldiers’ torches to the scene; and compare these to the torches in Whitman, Memories 6 (see notes 2, 61).
323. AFTER THE FROST: See the water of Part IV (see note 311.5) and its association with the drowned girl in the hyacinth garden (lines 37 and 38).
324. AFTER STONY PLACES: See the earth of Part I (see note 0.5), with its stony rubbish (line 20). See also Matthew 13:5 (note 0.5):
“Some [seeds] fell upon stony places, where they had not much earth: and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of earth.”
325. AFTER SHOUTING AND CRYING: See the air and talk of Part II (see note 76.5). “After” is implied here (see note 322), perhaps not uttered to keep with a developing pattern of threes (see note 434).
330. BEFORE THE EPIPHANY: See Cleanth Brooks, Modern Poetry and the Tradition 7: The Waste Land: Critique of the Myth (1939)., noting the limbo of those “living ...now dying” in split levels of life and death. See also note 64. This description of “he” and “we” also reflects the mood of the disciples on the road to Emmaus (see note 366): in their grieving, before Jesus was revealed to them, they talked to him and walked with him and listened to him and finally asked him to tarry with them longer over a meal, all “with a little patience” (line 330).
09/17:
Meditations of a Waiting Room
Today we meditated: father, son
And waited on a Wednesday afternoon
To see the doctor of attention spans
Whom we had hoped to meet at four pm
But found her overbooked and in demand.
We found ourselves within a waiting room
Of fellow patients of psychiatry
(And those of us along for the support)
For two full hours, and ironically
Amid the stacks of social magazines
And with a background television on,
Among a sampling of the population
Listening to hear their names be called,
We meditated. Unexpectedly
My son, the one who never could sit still,
Is starting to mature before my eyes.
He’s waiting here more patiently than me,
And I begin to wonder anymore
If he’d been diagnosed with ADD
A bit to hastily back in the day
When he was acting all of eight years old
And telegraphing his apparent need
For Adderol, if we have come this far
Again to have his old prescription filled
More out of habit than necessity,
And if there isn’t better therapy
In meditations of a waiting room
Than medications of amphetamine.
Today we meditated: everyone
Who waited with us had a different need,
A different habit, if their trials be told,
And yet we seem to be so much the same,
At least as far as anyone reveals.
I don’t begrudge the doctor for her role
In getting us to recognize ourselves
And realize how simple life can be,
How we all need this opportunity
Of time, however given, to reflect
On simple things, like having empathy
Or understanding our maturity
Or sitting in positions of support
Or being patient in a waiting room.
My father once was in a waiting room
For me. The wait was relatively short
And our trial was a different one to tell,
A different diagnosis, but the same
Prognosis: Give it time, give it time.
The doctor didn’t specify these words
Or scribble his prescription b.i.d.,
But as he had my father wait outside
He talked to me a while, and then he asked
If I played chess. This took me by surprise,
But I said yes, and so the troubled teen
And the Psy.D. played chess while the old man
Was waiting in the hall, more patiently
Than I appreciated, until now.
09/18:
Songs To Listen To
...This next piece is inspired by brother Joshua’s persistent Symposian call for submissions of S2L2A&A: songs to listen to again and again. Thank you Josh. Here is what my kids and I came up with.
Andrew
The state of Massachusetts by Drop Kick Murphy
Back aginst the wall by Cage the Elephant
Horchata by Vampire weekend
Little lion man by Mumford and Sons
Fool on the hill by The Beatles
For what its worth by buffolo Springfield
Pumped up kids by Fosters the People
Baby you can drive my car by The Beatles
Kids by MGMT
We dont need no education by Pink Floyd
If your going to be dumb you got to be tough by Smut Peddler
I will walk 500 miles by The Proclaimers
We are young by Fun.
Kirsten
Rise
Beck - Morning
Samuel Barber - Adagio for Strings, op. 11
Radiohead - Faust Arp
Yann Tiersen (Amelie) - Comptine d'un autre été
Beyoncé - Haunted
Zenith
Lana Del Rey - Money Power Glory
Mark Ronson - Uptown Funk
Xtreme - Te Extraño
Die Antwoord - Ugly Boy
Lana Del Rey - F***ed My Way Up To the Top
Set
TLC - No Scrubs
Arctic Monkeys - Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High?
Juanes - FotografÃa
Destiny’s Child - Say My Name
Beck - Turn Away
Jon
WE WILL DRAW NEAR
1. Adiemus, by YCTC
2. Forever Young, by Bob Dylan
3. Shine On You Crazy Diamond, Parts I-V, by Pink Floyd
4. Tintinabulum, by YCTC
WALKING SONG
5. Modern Man, by Arcade Fire
6. Have a Talk With God, by Stevie Wonder
7. Modern Love, by David Bowie
8. Rococo, by Arcade Fire
STARRY NIGHT
9. Widow’s Grove, by Tom Waits
10. Vincent, by Don McLean
11. Pictures of You, by The Cure
12. Take It With Me, by Tom Waits
09/19:
Baptism Of Joshua Paul
A Sermon by Joseph Vold, October 12, 1969
Text: John 9: 24-41
If we had a person here in our midst who had been blind from the day he was born, and now on this day, he hears the word of a physician —and follows it and of a sudden —he is no longer blind but can see —SAY WE WITNESSED THIS we would be overwhelmed by the event. He was blind, but now he can see —oh,! we would be amazed by the fact! We would be mightily impressed, and would never forget it. BUT THAT HAPPENED HERE TODAY IN OUR VERY MIDST. Through baptism. It has happened to this child, Joshua Paul.
In the catacombs of Rome where early Christians gathered to hide from hostile authorities to keep from being killed and to live and to worship, they left on the walls frescoes, pictures of what they treasured. The story of the man born blind appears seven times in catacomb art, most frequently as an illustration of Christian baptism. This story was taken by the early church as an interpretation of what happens in baptism.
When the early Christians were about to baptize a person who had been prepared and was brought forward to be a member of the Body of Christ, i.e. the church, they read Chapter 9 of John —the story of the man born blind and healed through washing —they read this chapter together.
The early Church Fathers referred to baptism as the washing away of blindness. Tertullian opened his book (or tract) on baptism with the words ‘Happy is the sacrament of our water, in that, by washing away the sins of our early blindness, we are set free unto eternal life.’
Augustine comments on our text: “This blindman stands for the human race ....if the blindness is lack of faith, then the seeing (illumination) is faith .... He washes his eyes in that pool which is
interpreted ‘one who has been sent’; he was baptized in Christ.”
I would like to draw from the entire ninth chapter of John for our sermon today to show what God does in baptism. FOR THE MAN BORN BLIND WHO IS MET BY CHRIST AND HIS LOVING ACTION: Instead of darkness or blindness, there is light and ability to see. There is much stress on the fact that the man in our text was born blind. It is mentioned —this fact of being blind at birth —no less than seven times.
Now when we consider a little child —that cuddly little bundle who is so winning —mostly because he is so small and helpless and dependent —we overlook this fact of his being blind. Unless he is enlightened, unless he receives the vision of God he will remain in darkness —He will not know who he is and what he came into the world for. But Christ comes and brings enlightenment starting with the washing of baptism. The one who has the Christ and his light through faith has the vision of God.
But how can such a little child be enlightened? He does not know, surely he does not know what is going on. He cannot have faith or comprehension. So some will argue.
The only way this little one is going to know of Christ (have the vision of God) is if the church loves him —and, loving him, teach him of the good news we have. The first and second —and third lesson —and all the way through the last lesson we teach should be this: God loves you so much that he has adopted you to be his own, and we, the church, love and care for you as a brother. You start teaching that lesson from the very first day. We know that an infant child may not understand much but he surely feeds on love —and he is nourished by the love that people can give to him. The parents can love him just because Christ has loved us and gave His life for us. The parents can be patient and forgive because Christ forgives us and is patient with us and keeps bringing us back.
The child is going to know of Christ as the church shows care for him. The child will know of Christ as people in the church live the life of Christ, live the way of the cross in the community. He will not know the fullness of the faith as a baby or as a little boy —or as a young man. BUT LOVE CANNOT FAIL. He will know someday. He will know the greatness of what has happened to him in the claim of God in baptism —the miracle of new life —someday I believe that. I am filled with high hope for him because of the Word of God.
Now in the ninth chapter of John we see a gradual dawning —an increase in knowledge for this man who received his sight from Jesus.
The Jews —it is the way of the world with, or against, the baptized —would not accept that Jesus had accomplished the restoring of sight to this blind man. They hounded the man who had been born blind. “How were your eyes opened?” The man Jesus did it. “Where is he?” I don’t know.
Later on they wanted to press him further on this matter so they asked, “What do you say about Jesus?” The former blind man said: He is a prophet.
Now in the part of the chapter that is the text for today the Pharisees (or Jews) are pressing him again and are trying to teach that Christ is not good or able to heal blindness. The man says plainly to them: I don’t know whether Jesus is a sinner or not, but once I was blind, now I can see. The man has great power.
Growing recognition of the fact and the power of Jesus as the one who gives light and goodness in life —This is the thing that happens to the child who is brought up in the baptismal covenant. He doesn’t know all the answers about Jesus, but he learns of his life and his power —because of what Christ —and the Body of Christ —can do and has done for him.
When the man who had been born blind answers the Pharisees that someone who does such great things —so good —has got to be from God —he gets clobbered by the Jews. The baptized, who live by their baptism, may share the same reaction from the world —but they hold fast to Christ who gives light and life.
Finally this man is confronted again by the Christ who tells him who he is and asks, “Do you believe?” He said, “Lord, I believe,” and he worshiped him.
The child who is baptized may not know the fullness of the truth of Christ, but as he experiences the power of God through the Church —through loving people as well as the Word and Sacraments —he will one day also fall down and worship Jesus as the Lord.
He will someday know how much he needed this act of baptism, this washing away of blindness of the natural man. He will someday know how necessary it was for God to come to him and to give forgiveness and light. He will know that he passed from blindness to the vision of God through Christ (Once I was blind —now I can see). He will know it because of the church, the caring, faithful, loving, teaching, acting church. And he will be glad for the judgment of God. The judgment of God upon this little one baptized here today is YES, you are my child. That’s what I want to teach him to know the rest of the years I have to be his earthly father and his brother in the church. Will you help me to teach him that?
AMEN: YES, YES and it shall be so.
09/20:
Coronota
Whiplash migration, filling the branches
one day, on their way the next, so quick it seems,
four weeks flying by as fast as the flash
of their yellow posterity, moving in dreams
from south to north to south again with stops
and light refreshments. Free music. Dancing.
Life, nothing fancy, but sweet all the same,
the simplest warble and a two-step shuffle,
easy going charity with yellow patches
on the elbows of their sleeves and in the press
of their hats. Plain folk simply passing through
with an unexpected splash of country
flare, nothing fancy but sweet all the same,
and only memories with the next flight south.
09/21:
Equinox
September. I once stayed with you because
I thought I could distinguish right from wrong:
The kids were growing up, you had just lost
Your job and all your confidence was down;
Yet you hated me and took it out on me
For all that was and all that couldn’t be,
And as I watched the shades of summer turn
I knew I couldn’t leave you on your own.
A dozen seasons later, your new job
Is thriving and your confidence is strong,
The kids are grown up more and anymore
You’ll be all right. You don’t need me around.
I turn to watch the sunlight slip away
And see the time diminish every day
And still I stay with you, but now because
I dread the thought of being left alone.
The equinox is fleeting, but I try
To hold on to its balance for as long
As tilting worlds allow; we lean away
From warmth and I can feel the harder ground
Of colder days to come, and even now
I know I should move on, or move somehow,
But as the autumn winds blow through the leaves
Of September my cold feet turn into stone.
I hope that there may never be an end
To anything, from dawn to dusk to dawn;
That fall is just a stop along the way
To winter; that beyond this we are bound
Eventually to see another spring
And then wherever time and fate will bring
Us, traveling together or apart
But never, through these autumn woods, alone.
09/22:
Moleskin 5.1: Studio
As I write this, I am sitting on the edge of a river: yes, I am still here. But it is not the same river. My place is the same, for the most part, and my position has barely shifted over time, other than to keep balance and circulation, but the river: maybe this is what my story is really about: the water of seasons, the gravity of upstream, the quiet velocity of now; the accumulation of purpose, the weight of every moment and the immensity of destiny. For the moment, the river seems peaceful enough, but history cuts the river bed and current moves every drop. The course changes without consultation and proceeds past more bends than one can ever see from a random perch. And I, sitting here Siddharta-like, or Huck Finn-like, am constantly thinking of venturing downstream, crossing to the other side or immersing myself and trying not to be seen.
Preparing for Pirate Day
Alas, as Rod Stewart says in probably his best song (certainly one 2L2A3): "It's late September and I really should be back at school"...
In Bohemia, and probably most Catholic lands, the parish prays specifically for students going back to school. Katerina and I have been at it for over a month, international schools usually starting mid-August. Joe and Ben and Em have begun at Kepler Gymnasium, Petriny Art School, Hanspaulka Prep respectively, and it is wonderful to see much care in their curricula.
We pray also for a good senior year at Lake Forest, Andrew, and the new opportunities in Madison, Andrea. Lots of activities in Champagne, from Potter cousins to KC to Tilo. We pray for all of your teachers, too.
And we pray for Brother/Son/Father/Uncle/Ever-with-us Josh. He will be 47 on Monday, celebrating from heaven, praying more steadfastly for us. I realized as I crafted this week's poem that Josh listened to us instinctively, deliberately, gracefully, and among a thousand other things, I'll miss that in face-to-face time. I'll count it more, though, in prayer-time, listening so deep:
http://lostmenagerie.blogspot.cz/2016/09/listen-so-deep.html
In Bohemia, and probably most Catholic lands, the parish prays specifically for students going back to school. Katerina and I have been at it for over a month, international schools usually starting mid-August. Joe and Ben and Em have begun at Kepler Gymnasium, Petriny Art School, Hanspaulka Prep respectively, and it is wonderful to see much care in their curricula.
We pray also for a good senior year at Lake Forest, Andrew, and the new opportunities in Madison, Andrea. Lots of activities in Champagne, from Potter cousins to KC to Tilo. We pray for all of your teachers, too.
And we pray for Brother/Son/Father/Uncle/Ever-with-us Josh. He will be 47 on Monday, celebrating from heaven, praying more steadfastly for us. I realized as I crafted this week's poem that Josh listened to us instinctively, deliberately, gracefully, and among a thousand other things, I'll miss that in face-to-face time. I'll count it more, though, in prayer-time, listening so deep:
http://lostmenagerie.blogspot.cz/2016/09/listen-so-deep.html
Friday, September 9, 2016
No Argument But The Wind Itself
Every Thought...
Week 37: Spirit
Spirit is the quintessential element. It transforms the dirt, fills the air, sparks the flame and brings new life through water. Spirit gives hope gives faith gives peace: beyond all understanding.
09/09:
TWL, Part V: Understanding
321.5 V. What The Thunder Said
321.5. ACT FIVE: Eliot: “In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book) and the present decay of eastern Europe.”
For the journey to Emmaus, see lines 328-330 and then 360-366; for the decay of eastern Europe, see lines 367-385; and for the approach to the Chapel Perilous, see lines 386-395. See also Weston, From Ritual To Romance (note 0.2). These themes, and the more prominent emergence of Eliot’s own voice without allusions (see lines 331-359), will lead to the poem’s “thunder” culmination, beginning at line 396. After the sections of earth, air, fire and water, this might be called the quintessential “spirit” section of the poem, in which the poet begins to find understanding, or more properly a peace that passes understanding (see note 434).
THE VOICE OF THUNDER is the culminating metaphor of Prajapati’s lesson in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (see note 400), but thunder is also heard at lines 327 and 342. It is also called upon by Flamineo in note 44, precedes the witches’ entrance at Macbeth 4.1.1 (notes 0.1 and 308) and, while not alluded to directly, is the opening and prevailing “tempestuous sound” in The Tempest (1.1.1).
Thunder’s voice is also heard in Revelation 10:4 (note 0.5):
“And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and write them not.”
See also John 12:27-30 (note 0.5):
“Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say ? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name. Then came there a voice from heaven, saying, I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again. The people therefore, that stood by, and heard it, said that it thundered: others said, An angel spake to him. Jesus answered and said, This voice came not because of me, but for your sakes.”
And see Job 26:14 (note 0.5):
“Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him? but the thunder of his power who can understand?”
Finally, see the "thunder of infinite ululations" in Dante (note 0.1), Inferno 4.1-9:
“Broke the deep lethargy within my head
A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted,
Like to a person who by force is wakened;
And round about I moved my rested eyes,
Uprisen erect, and steadfastly I gazed,
To recognise the place wherein I was.
True is it, that upon the verge I found me
Of the abysmal valley dolorous,
That gathers thunder of infinite ululations.”
09/10:
Kissing the Earth
Dostoevsky Final (Russian 141, 11/30/90, Prof. Rubchak)
“Go at once...stand at the crossroads, bow down, [and] kiss the earth,” instructed Sonya (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment 433, 1866, tr. David Magarshack, 1951). It was a command heavy with implications, and at first Raskolnikov refused to comply. What was she asking?
First, to stand at the crossroads implied that he was to stand at the center of Haymarket Square, the busiest part of the busiest city in Russia. There he would be where the whole world could see him, making himself completely vulnerable to whatever reaction his confession would bring. They might laugh, they might scorn and jeer, they might attack him there, or even stone him; they might just pick him up and take him away, never to return again. But he would have no way of knowing their reaction until he carried out the instruction.
At the crossroads he would be at St. Petersburg’s point of orientation, where there would be street signs and mileage and direction signs; and this would also be his own orientation point. There, based on all the resulting changes in perspective, he would be able to sort things out.
And he would be able to determine the path before him, for it is at the crossroads that one decides direction. As much as one tries to plan such decisions ahead of time, it is only at the crossroads that the choices are actually made and the steps actually taken for the journey’s continuation.
After Sonya spoke these words she offered Raskolnikov a cyprus cross to hang around his neck. “We’ll suffer together, so let us also bear our cross together,” she said (435). Here then was another implication of “crossroads.” Confessing and asking the world for forgiveness is a praiseworthy religious act and a testimony of faith, and yet it is not an easy step to take. The cross to bear along this road is heavy and entails a deep humiliation; it conjures no magic remedy before the symbolic crucifixion, no preview of the resurrection. Yet, Sonya inferred, it was a necessary step for the sinner to take.
Thus Raskolnikov was to stand at the crossroads: he was to bear his cross of repentance, stand in front of all people, recognize where he stood, and determine his future.
And he was to kiss the earth: “...the earth which you have defiled,” Sonya said in full (433), implying that at the crossroads he would be making his apology directly to the world. By murdering, he had not only wronged his particular victims, who now lay under the soil, he had also sinned against all humankind across the globe.
Furthermore, kissing the earth was a demonstration of the deepest humility. He was to bow down and prostrate to the world as low as he possibly could, showing with face to the ground that he deferred to everyone.
By touching the soil this way he would also atune himself with “Holy Mother Earth,” from whence he came, upon which he walked, and whither he was going. Thus, in one action he would recognize his origin, his existence and his mortality, acknowledging his defilement with respect to all three.
But finally, kissing the earth is more than a humble, atoning apology. It is experiencing a purgatory cleansing by bringing sensuality to its fullest: the taste, the smell, the feel of city dirt next to one’s nose and on one’s lips would stir the soul. And indeed, when Raskolnikov put Sonya’s directions into practice, his sensuality was so dramatic that one observer remarked that he was drunk. “He simply plunged... into this new and overwhelming sensation... tears gushed from his eyes... and [he] kissed the earth with joy and rapture” (537).
09/11:
Waking The Wind
from Walled Gardens
Those unable to speak their love
are as cold as hammered steel;
Those unable to grieve
are a vacant wind;
Those who are ungrateful
are frightened of themselves;
and those who cannot remember God
have grown older than the hills.
Say the name, O wild rose,
speak the unpronounceable;
Moisten your lips, move your tongue
and praise the indescribable;
Utter the words of every spring
waking the divine;
Open your mouth, O wild rose,
and reveal your hidden gold.
09/12:
Tending The Fire
from Walled Gardens
I have no argument
for you, my friend;
no matter how the fires of
conviction burn within,
I shall remain
conspicuously calm,
let others recommend the course
of conversation,
let them render
judgment on us all:
no less convicted,
they of the open air,
until the flicker of their flame
surrenders to the wind.
For you, my friend,
I have no argument
but the wind itself:
may it ever fuel your dance
and feed your soul
and start your turbines turning;
and that inner fire,
may it be your self content:
even as the wind begins
to rage against you,
may you ever keep your spirits
trimmed and burning.
09/13:
Parting The Waters
A child asked, where was God
when the Red Sea waters drowned
the Pharaoh’s men? Never mind
Moses and the Pharaoh,
where was God for the soldiers
who had no choice but to do
what they were told to do?
where was God for those
who didn’t know the rules
of Passover, whose children
were killed for the ignorance
of their parents?
This from the mouth of a baptized babe:
Where? Where was God
for the unchosen, those
who were drowned before they had
a chance to be baptized?
God leads his sheep to drink
from still waters, but sends
his enemies to drown in
a stormy sea,
but where was God for the soldiers
without a promised land?
This from a little lamb, carried
so long in the shepherd’s arms:
I do believe in God
who created all water
and quenches all thirst
and cleanses all impurities,
but where was God
in the desert and the dirt
of those who did not know
where to turn
when the impartial waters fell?
This from a child who turns to me,
and what am I to say?
My mouth, my faith is parched
and dry and without words,
except to admit how much
I do not know,
but I try to find words anyway:
Let it be said that in this house
we talk about God,
and every thought is a prayer.
09/14:
Elements
Fire, wind, ground and water: we
have thrived on these, would hold and harness these.
Science, passion, faith, philosophy:
we turn to these and would depend on these
to understand small sparks, short gusts, the mist
and dust of east and west, of north and south;
we cling, we clutch and to the death defend
the corners of existence of and in
a universe we cannot comprehend,
nor are these elements we can control,
the warmth, the breath, the earth, the very blood,
of fire and wind, of ground and water: we,
for all we grasp, remain beholden to
the God of time and space and land and sea.
09/15:
Moleskin 4.9: To Be Continued
The bus rides were round trip tangents, though, that always seemed to bring me back to my summer of unwanted change. But pardon these flash-forwards and circling back again: I am getting ahead of myself and forgetting my lines. And now, my dear other, the point. These shoes you are being asked to try, just to get their feel and fit, will never be your own footwear; maybe they pinch too much or don’t look like anything you’d ever wear. Maybe they’re too old and boring, or maybe they smell with age. So take them off now, and put your own shoes back on: slip into what you know, the life I do not know, and be on your way. Return to your own summer of twelve, or thirteen or fourteen or forty: but please, let me continue. There is still more to the story.
Week 37: Spirit
Spirit is the quintessential element. It transforms the dirt, fills the air, sparks the flame and brings new life through water. Spirit gives hope gives faith gives peace: beyond all understanding.
09/09:
TWL, Part V: Understanding
321.5 V. What The Thunder Said
321.5. ACT FIVE: Eliot: “In the first part of Part V three themes are employed: the journey to Emmaus, the approach to the Chapel Perilous (see Miss Weston's book) and the present decay of eastern Europe.”
For the journey to Emmaus, see lines 328-330 and then 360-366; for the decay of eastern Europe, see lines 367-385; and for the approach to the Chapel Perilous, see lines 386-395. See also Weston, From Ritual To Romance (note 0.2). These themes, and the more prominent emergence of Eliot’s own voice without allusions (see lines 331-359), will lead to the poem’s “thunder” culmination, beginning at line 396. After the sections of earth, air, fire and water, this might be called the quintessential “spirit” section of the poem, in which the poet begins to find understanding, or more properly a peace that passes understanding (see note 434).
THE VOICE OF THUNDER is the culminating metaphor of Prajapati’s lesson in the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad (see note 400), but thunder is also heard at lines 327 and 342. It is also called upon by Flamineo in note 44, precedes the witches’ entrance at Macbeth 4.1.1 (notes 0.1 and 308) and, while not alluded to directly, is the opening and prevailing “tempestuous sound” in The Tempest (1.1.1).
Thunder’s voice is also heard in Revelation 10:4 (note 0.5):
“And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and write them not.”
See also John 12:27-30 (note 0.5):
“Now is my soul troubled; and what shall I say ? Father, save me from this hour: but for this cause came I unto this hour. Father, glorify thy name. Then came there a voice from heaven, saying, I have both glorified it, and will glorify it again. The people therefore, that stood by, and heard it, said that it thundered: others said, An angel spake to him. Jesus answered and said, This voice came not because of me, but for your sakes.”
And see Job 26:14 (note 0.5):
“Lo, these are parts of his ways: but how little a portion is heard of him? but the thunder of his power who can understand?”
Finally, see the "thunder of infinite ululations" in Dante (note 0.1), Inferno 4.1-9:
“Broke the deep lethargy within my head
A heavy thunder, so that I upstarted,
Like to a person who by force is wakened;
And round about I moved my rested eyes,
Uprisen erect, and steadfastly I gazed,
To recognise the place wherein I was.
True is it, that upon the verge I found me
Of the abysmal valley dolorous,
That gathers thunder of infinite ululations.”
09/10:
Kissing the Earth
Dostoevsky Final (Russian 141, 11/30/90, Prof. Rubchak)
“Go at once...stand at the crossroads, bow down, [and] kiss the earth,” instructed Sonya (Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment 433, 1866, tr. David Magarshack, 1951). It was a command heavy with implications, and at first Raskolnikov refused to comply. What was she asking?
First, to stand at the crossroads implied that he was to stand at the center of Haymarket Square, the busiest part of the busiest city in Russia. There he would be where the whole world could see him, making himself completely vulnerable to whatever reaction his confession would bring. They might laugh, they might scorn and jeer, they might attack him there, or even stone him; they might just pick him up and take him away, never to return again. But he would have no way of knowing their reaction until he carried out the instruction.
At the crossroads he would be at St. Petersburg’s point of orientation, where there would be street signs and mileage and direction signs; and this would also be his own orientation point. There, based on all the resulting changes in perspective, he would be able to sort things out.
And he would be able to determine the path before him, for it is at the crossroads that one decides direction. As much as one tries to plan such decisions ahead of time, it is only at the crossroads that the choices are actually made and the steps actually taken for the journey’s continuation.
After Sonya spoke these words she offered Raskolnikov a cyprus cross to hang around his neck. “We’ll suffer together, so let us also bear our cross together,” she said (435). Here then was another implication of “crossroads.” Confessing and asking the world for forgiveness is a praiseworthy religious act and a testimony of faith, and yet it is not an easy step to take. The cross to bear along this road is heavy and entails a deep humiliation; it conjures no magic remedy before the symbolic crucifixion, no preview of the resurrection. Yet, Sonya inferred, it was a necessary step for the sinner to take.
Thus Raskolnikov was to stand at the crossroads: he was to bear his cross of repentance, stand in front of all people, recognize where he stood, and determine his future.
And he was to kiss the earth: “...the earth which you have defiled,” Sonya said in full (433), implying that at the crossroads he would be making his apology directly to the world. By murdering, he had not only wronged his particular victims, who now lay under the soil, he had also sinned against all humankind across the globe.
Furthermore, kissing the earth was a demonstration of the deepest humility. He was to bow down and prostrate to the world as low as he possibly could, showing with face to the ground that he deferred to everyone.
By touching the soil this way he would also atune himself with “Holy Mother Earth,” from whence he came, upon which he walked, and whither he was going. Thus, in one action he would recognize his origin, his existence and his mortality, acknowledging his defilement with respect to all three.
But finally, kissing the earth is more than a humble, atoning apology. It is experiencing a purgatory cleansing by bringing sensuality to its fullest: the taste, the smell, the feel of city dirt next to one’s nose and on one’s lips would stir the soul. And indeed, when Raskolnikov put Sonya’s directions into practice, his sensuality was so dramatic that one observer remarked that he was drunk. “He simply plunged... into this new and overwhelming sensation... tears gushed from his eyes... and [he] kissed the earth with joy and rapture” (537).
09/11:
Waking The Wind
from Walled Gardens
Those unable to speak their love
are as cold as hammered steel;
Those unable to grieve
are a vacant wind;
Those who are ungrateful
are frightened of themselves;
and those who cannot remember God
have grown older than the hills.
Say the name, O wild rose,
speak the unpronounceable;
Moisten your lips, move your tongue
and praise the indescribable;
Utter the words of every spring
waking the divine;
Open your mouth, O wild rose,
and reveal your hidden gold.
09/12:
Tending The Fire
from Walled Gardens
I have no argument
for you, my friend;
no matter how the fires of
conviction burn within,
I shall remain
conspicuously calm,
let others recommend the course
of conversation,
let them render
judgment on us all:
no less convicted,
they of the open air,
until the flicker of their flame
surrenders to the wind.
For you, my friend,
I have no argument
but the wind itself:
may it ever fuel your dance
and feed your soul
and start your turbines turning;
and that inner fire,
may it be your self content:
even as the wind begins
to rage against you,
may you ever keep your spirits
trimmed and burning.
09/13:
Parting The Waters
A child asked, where was God
when the Red Sea waters drowned
the Pharaoh’s men? Never mind
Moses and the Pharaoh,
where was God for the soldiers
who had no choice but to do
what they were told to do?
where was God for those
who didn’t know the rules
of Passover, whose children
were killed for the ignorance
of their parents?
This from the mouth of a baptized babe:
Where? Where was God
for the unchosen, those
who were drowned before they had
a chance to be baptized?
God leads his sheep to drink
from still waters, but sends
his enemies to drown in
a stormy sea,
but where was God for the soldiers
without a promised land?
This from a little lamb, carried
so long in the shepherd’s arms:
I do believe in God
who created all water
and quenches all thirst
and cleanses all impurities,
but where was God
in the desert and the dirt
of those who did not know
where to turn
when the impartial waters fell?
This from a child who turns to me,
and what am I to say?
My mouth, my faith is parched
and dry and without words,
except to admit how much
I do not know,
but I try to find words anyway:
Let it be said that in this house
we talk about God,
and every thought is a prayer.
09/14:
Elements
Fire, wind, ground and water: we
have thrived on these, would hold and harness these.
Science, passion, faith, philosophy:
we turn to these and would depend on these
to understand small sparks, short gusts, the mist
and dust of east and west, of north and south;
we cling, we clutch and to the death defend
the corners of existence of and in
a universe we cannot comprehend,
nor are these elements we can control,
the warmth, the breath, the earth, the very blood,
of fire and wind, of ground and water: we,
for all we grasp, remain beholden to
the God of time and space and land and sea.
09/15:
Moleskin 4.9: To Be Continued
The bus rides were round trip tangents, though, that always seemed to bring me back to my summer of unwanted change. But pardon these flash-forwards and circling back again: I am getting ahead of myself and forgetting my lines. And now, my dear other, the point. These shoes you are being asked to try, just to get their feel and fit, will never be your own footwear; maybe they pinch too much or don’t look like anything you’d ever wear. Maybe they’re too old and boring, or maybe they smell with age. So take them off now, and put your own shoes back on: slip into what you know, the life I do not know, and be on your way. Return to your own summer of twelve, or thirteen or fourteen or forty: but please, let me continue. There is still more to the story.
Friday, September 2, 2016
1,000 Words, Pt. 2
Every Thought...
Week 36: Jonleby the Scrivener
I translate without knowing the language, restate without following the transcript, transcribe without corrections, write without understanding. On errands of life, these letters speed to death.
09/02:
TWL, Lines 312-321: Translating the Water Section
312 Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
313 Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
314 And the profit and loss.
315 A current under sea
316 Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
317 He passed the stages of his age and youth
318 Entering the whirlpool.
319 Gentile or Jew
320 O you who turn the wheel and look windward,
321 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
312. THE PHOENICIAN, it seems, has been dead since his opening appearance (see line 47); and from the start he was also given an enigmatic identity. See note 39, and see lines 47-52, when Madame Sosostris successively introduced the already drowned and pearly-eyed Phoenician Sailor and the one-eyed merchant. Eliot later suggested, at note 219, that the merchant would melt into the sailor. Eliot also associated the Phoenician with the hyacinth girl (see note 125) and with the originally pearly eyed Prince Ferdinand (see note 218, referring to Shakespeare, The Tempest (note 0.1) 1.2.376-402)). See also note 12 for the Phoenician origins of Queen Dido. Phoenicia literally means “land of purple” in Greek, so named for its purple dye trade. See note 380.
314. FORGETTING: A sailor who has drowned is like a merchant who is undone by the mechanics of profit and loss; he has not only lost the mastery of his environment, he has succumbed to it.
318. THE WHIRLPOOL: The dead body, rising and falling with the waves, begins to decompose, or “melt,” into the pool of the undercurrents. Compare the cauldrons of St. Augustine and MacBeth (notes 307 and 308). The stages of age and youth are behind him now, as are the identities of gender and religion.
GENTILE OR JEW: The speaker now turns ambivalently to the Gentile or Jew, i.e., one without distinction whether one is in the faith or out of it; compare line 365 (“I do not know whether a man or a woman”). See also Romans 3: 9-10 (note 0.5):
“What then? are we better than they? No, in no wise: for we have before proved both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all under sin; As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one.”
320. TURNING THE WHEEL: The whirlpool imagery of line 318 continues. Recall the Wheel card drawn by Madame Sosostris (line 51), but now “you,” the reader, are said to be turning it and looking windward as you go; see note 311.5.
321. PHLEBAS alludes to Plato’s Philebas, one who held pleasure over intellect, in contrast to Socrates, who put knowledge first. See Plato, Philebus (360 BCE), tr. Harold N. Fowler (1925), 48e:
“Socrates: ‘And there are still more who think they are taller and handsomer than they are...’”
DANS LE RESTAURANT: The entire water section loosely restates the third stanza of Dans le Restaurant (1920), a poem Eliot had originally written in French. Here is my translation, prompted by Eliot’s partial restatement and adding my own take of the “Dans” variations:
“Phlebas the Phoenician, fifteen days dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls and the swell of Cornwall
And the profits and losses and the cargo of tin:
A current under sea took him far away,
Past the stages of his former life.
You have to consider, it was a painful exit;
All the same, he was a man who once was
handsome and tall.”
09/03:
5. Weblog
(...better than your cell phone’s“can you hear me now?”...)
suddenly walking ruins shoes, driving turns weary chore, it’s
all souls / machines can do keeping rubber feet / wheels moving
simply getting home, housed, parked, finding anywhere dry,
accepting anything, settling, seeking temporary cover like
poor tired refugees, huddled under square box umbrellas
with fogged windows, streaked panes: our world’s eyes,
distorted from unwanted tears, saltlessly wondering why
09/04:
6. Quicknote
(...taking the time, waiting for lighting...)
yet, everpresent, effervescent reason shows itself now, hinted
within renegade rays of subtlest sunlight revealing rain-
water’s constant beauty: sparkling, living, even as it falls:
you will see green grass again, these angels say, speaking,
singing hard working droplets they: we’ll roll those heavy
clouds away, restore your great forgiven sky, clean slated,
blue, more breathable, renewed. holy, fresh, clear water!
09/05:
7. Clipboard
(..., adjusting the speed and exposure...)
cleansing, cleaning, washing, rinsing. (repeating,
remembering how mother / other, taught, still teaches me)
necessary, yes, she says this was, shall always be,
evermore her favorite time, season, place: praying amen,
hearing “heavenagain,” feeling particulate waves,
letting herself become immobilized, moved, emotional,
willingly becoming elementary, simplified, soothed.
09/06:
8. Facepost
(...and then looking for reason you discover the art...)
reflection...premise...perception...truth, fundamentally faith
alone explains God’s nature; thus, man’s (woman’s, child’s)
ritual immersion, each gender, age, every creed’s splash
therapy, aqua conscience, awakening, rejuvenation; believe:
reincarnation, return, rebirth, baptism; sprinkling; accept:
drowning, spiritual surrender inwards, outwards, upwards:
replacement...promise...permission...life, sacramentally.
09/07:
9. Scratchpad
(...ofa thousand five hundred words.)
indent. empty space. leftover poetry, endless stories,
Yahweh (simple self pronoun, present tense being)
variations. free association. blank verse. filler. everything
matters, articles, prepositions, objects, conjunctions,
interjections, river bed metaphors, parched desert similes...
consciousness streams, trickles, floods, sates, holds. final
judgment awaits. stillwater, someday. we’re halfway there.
09/08:
Moleskin 4.8: Shortening The Distance
Our original dad was still in our lives, but from a distance now that was usually shortened to phone calls and letters and a few weeks of vacation time. But suddenly, one Christmas break, I was deemed old enough to get on a Greyhound for the first of a series of year-end visits. It was a sixteen hour night run from Chicago to Minneapolis to Detroit Lakes. The bus culture was more than my siblings could endure, at least not in my care, but for a kid turning thirteen and fourteen it was an adventure my mother and stepfather were willing to allow. On the other end my real dad never questioned their wisdom and was simply happy to see me. And I enjoyed those bus rides, talking for hours with whomever I was seated beside, learning how to sleep sitting up, eating more vending machine food than was good for me, taking curious note of the people who seemed to live in and around bus terminals, but best of all, going to see my dad.
Week 36: Jonleby the Scrivener
I translate without knowing the language, restate without following the transcript, transcribe without corrections, write without understanding. On errands of life, these letters speed to death.
09/02:
TWL, Lines 312-321: Translating the Water Section
312 Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead,
313 Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell
314 And the profit and loss.
315 A current under sea
316 Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell
317 He passed the stages of his age and youth
318 Entering the whirlpool.
319 Gentile or Jew
320 O you who turn the wheel and look windward,
321 Consider Phlebas, who was once handsome and tall as you.
312. THE PHOENICIAN, it seems, has been dead since his opening appearance (see line 47); and from the start he was also given an enigmatic identity. See note 39, and see lines 47-52, when Madame Sosostris successively introduced the already drowned and pearly-eyed Phoenician Sailor and the one-eyed merchant. Eliot later suggested, at note 219, that the merchant would melt into the sailor. Eliot also associated the Phoenician with the hyacinth girl (see note 125) and with the originally pearly eyed Prince Ferdinand (see note 218, referring to Shakespeare, The Tempest (note 0.1) 1.2.376-402)). See also note 12 for the Phoenician origins of Queen Dido. Phoenicia literally means “land of purple” in Greek, so named for its purple dye trade. See note 380.
314. FORGETTING: A sailor who has drowned is like a merchant who is undone by the mechanics of profit and loss; he has not only lost the mastery of his environment, he has succumbed to it.
318. THE WHIRLPOOL: The dead body, rising and falling with the waves, begins to decompose, or “melt,” into the pool of the undercurrents. Compare the cauldrons of St. Augustine and MacBeth (notes 307 and 308). The stages of age and youth are behind him now, as are the identities of gender and religion.
GENTILE OR JEW: The speaker now turns ambivalently to the Gentile or Jew, i.e., one without distinction whether one is in the faith or out of it; compare line 365 (“I do not know whether a man or a woman”). See also Romans 3: 9-10 (note 0.5):
“What then? are we better than they? No, in no wise: for we have before proved both Jews and Gentiles, that they are all under sin; As it is written, There is none righteous, no, not one.”
320. TURNING THE WHEEL: The whirlpool imagery of line 318 continues. Recall the Wheel card drawn by Madame Sosostris (line 51), but now “you,” the reader, are said to be turning it and looking windward as you go; see note 311.5.
321. PHLEBAS alludes to Plato’s Philebas, one who held pleasure over intellect, in contrast to Socrates, who put knowledge first. See Plato, Philebus (360 BCE), tr. Harold N. Fowler (1925), 48e:
“Socrates: ‘And there are still more who think they are taller and handsomer than they are...’”
DANS LE RESTAURANT: The entire water section loosely restates the third stanza of Dans le Restaurant (1920), a poem Eliot had originally written in French. Here is my translation, prompted by Eliot’s partial restatement and adding my own take of the “Dans” variations:
“Phlebas the Phoenician, fifteen days dead,
Forgot the cry of gulls and the swell of Cornwall
And the profits and losses and the cargo of tin:
A current under sea took him far away,
Past the stages of his former life.
You have to consider, it was a painful exit;
All the same, he was a man who once was
handsome and tall.”
09/03:
5. Weblog
(...better than your cell phone’s“can you hear me now?”...)
suddenly walking ruins shoes, driving turns weary chore, it’s
all souls / machines can do keeping rubber feet / wheels moving
simply getting home, housed, parked, finding anywhere dry,
accepting anything, settling, seeking temporary cover like
poor tired refugees, huddled under square box umbrellas
with fogged windows, streaked panes: our world’s eyes,
distorted from unwanted tears, saltlessly wondering why
09/04:
6. Quicknote
(...taking the time, waiting for lighting...)
yet, everpresent, effervescent reason shows itself now, hinted
within renegade rays of subtlest sunlight revealing rain-
water’s constant beauty: sparkling, living, even as it falls:
you will see green grass again, these angels say, speaking,
singing hard working droplets they: we’ll roll those heavy
clouds away, restore your great forgiven sky, clean slated,
blue, more breathable, renewed. holy, fresh, clear water!
09/05:
7. Clipboard
(..., adjusting the speed and exposure...)
cleansing, cleaning, washing, rinsing. (repeating,
remembering how mother / other, taught, still teaches me)
necessary, yes, she says this was, shall always be,
evermore her favorite time, season, place: praying amen,
hearing “heavenagain,” feeling particulate waves,
letting herself become immobilized, moved, emotional,
willingly becoming elementary, simplified, soothed.
09/06:
8. Facepost
(...and then looking for reason you discover the art...)
reflection...premise...perception...truth, fundamentally faith
alone explains God’s nature; thus, man’s (woman’s, child’s)
ritual immersion, each gender, age, every creed’s splash
therapy, aqua conscience, awakening, rejuvenation; believe:
reincarnation, return, rebirth, baptism; sprinkling; accept:
drowning, spiritual surrender inwards, outwards, upwards:
replacement...promise...permission...life, sacramentally.
09/07:
9. Scratchpad
(...of
indent. empty space. leftover poetry, endless stories,
Yahweh (simple self pronoun, present tense being)
variations. free association. blank verse. filler. everything
matters, articles, prepositions, objects, conjunctions,
interjections, river bed metaphors, parched desert similes...
consciousness streams, trickles, floods, sates, holds. final
judgment awaits. stillwater, someday. we’re halfway there.
09/08:
Moleskin 4.8: Shortening The Distance
Our original dad was still in our lives, but from a distance now that was usually shortened to phone calls and letters and a few weeks of vacation time. But suddenly, one Christmas break, I was deemed old enough to get on a Greyhound for the first of a series of year-end visits. It was a sixteen hour night run from Chicago to Minneapolis to Detroit Lakes. The bus culture was more than my siblings could endure, at least not in my care, but for a kid turning thirteen and fourteen it was an adventure my mother and stepfather were willing to allow. On the other end my real dad never questioned their wisdom and was simply happy to see me. And I enjoyed those bus rides, talking for hours with whomever I was seated beside, learning how to sleep sitting up, eating more vending machine food than was good for me, taking curious note of the people who seemed to live in and around bus terminals, but best of all, going to see my dad.
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