a poem by estlin cummings
there are possibly 2½ or impossibly 3
individuals every several fat
thousand years. Expecting more would be
neither fantastic nor pathological but
dumb. The number of times a wheel turns
doesn't determine its roundness:if swallows tryst
in your barn be glad; nobody ever earns
anything,everthing little looks big in a mist
and if(by Him Whose blood was for us spilled)
than all mankind something more small occurs
or something more distorting than socalled
civilization i'll kiss a stalinist arse
in hitler's window on Wednesday next at 1
E.S.T. bring the kiddies let's all have fun
Tuesday, November 19, 2002
Yes, Mr Rothwell!
... and Fr Nichols ...
On Anglican-Catholic ecumenical dialogue.
Other names that could be mentioned among the orthodox Anglicans : William Law and Thomas Traherne of earlier centuries, Eric Milner-White, Austin Farrer, and (Archbishop of Canterbury 1961-74) Michael Ramsey in our own time.
... and Fr Nichols ...
On Anglican-Catholic ecumenical dialogue.
Other names that could be mentioned among the orthodox Anglicans : William Law and Thomas Traherne of earlier centuries, Eric Milner-White, Austin Farrer, and (Archbishop of Canterbury 1961-74) Michael Ramsey in our own time.
Kat Lively's right
direct link not working : check today at 10:43 am
In many of his roles, he played an unlovable sort, but in interviews he seemed to be a sweet guy.
direct link not working : check today at 10:43 am
In many of his roles, he played an unlovable sort, but in interviews he seemed to be a sweet guy.
Mark Steyn (via JWR)
on the differences between Muslim fundamentalists and Christian fundamentalists, differences routinely ignored by the deep thinkers at the New York Times. From October.
on the differences between Muslim fundamentalists and Christian fundamentalists, differences routinely ignored by the deep thinkers at the New York Times. From October.
Morrissey really loved disco, didn't he?
Chanson par les Smiths. We can apply the more memorable lyrics to so many different things ...
Chanson par les Smiths. We can apply the more memorable lyrics to so many different things ...
With a REB-el yell
or, We aren't family : Reprimanding the translators of the Revised English Bible
Consider the first epistle of Saint John, chapter 2, verses 9 ff., as rendered in the REB :
9 Whoever says, 'I am in the light,' but hates his fellow-Christian, is still in darkness. 10 He who loves his fellow-Christian dwells in light : there is no cause of stumbling in him. 11 But anyone who hates his fellow is in darkness; he walks in the dark and has no idea where he is going, because the darkness has made him blind.
No, no, no, no, no. Not!
You see, make the passage inclusive if you like ... "his brother or sister," "his kinfolk," what have you. ... But don't eliminate the familial dimension of "brother" for the sake of gender-inclusivity.
It's like the Gomer Pyle version of "Let there be peace on earth" : Neighbors all are we. Gag.
Are we really just a community? No kinship? We aren't family? We're just another one of those associations, the teacher's union, the New England Poetry Club, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance? We have fellow members, but not brothers and sisters?
And a few verses later, the REB impairs euphony and defies concision (1 John 2.16), with the classic :
Everything in the world, all that panders to the appetites or entices the eyes, all the arrogance based on wealth, these spring not from the Father but from the world.
I guess "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life" had a bit too much oomph, or was impenetrably obscure.
or, We aren't family : Reprimanding the translators of the Revised English Bible
Consider the first epistle of Saint John, chapter 2, verses 9 ff., as rendered in the REB :
9 Whoever says, 'I am in the light,' but hates his fellow-Christian, is still in darkness. 10 He who loves his fellow-Christian dwells in light : there is no cause of stumbling in him. 11 But anyone who hates his fellow is in darkness; he walks in the dark and has no idea where he is going, because the darkness has made him blind.
No, no, no, no, no. Not!
You see, make the passage inclusive if you like ... "his brother or sister," "his kinfolk," what have you. ... But don't eliminate the familial dimension of "brother" for the sake of gender-inclusivity.
It's like the Gomer Pyle version of "Let there be peace on earth" : Neighbors all are we. Gag.
Are we really just a community? No kinship? We aren't family? We're just another one of those associations, the teacher's union, the New England Poetry Club, the Boston Symphony Orchestra, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance? We have fellow members, but not brothers and sisters?
And a few verses later, the REB impairs euphony and defies concision (1 John 2.16), with the classic :
Everything in the world, all that panders to the appetites or entices the eyes, all the arrogance based on wealth, these spring not from the Father but from the world.
I guess "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life" had a bit too much oomph, or was impenetrably obscure.
On the basis of this bit o' blogging alone, I'm thinking of adding the Oligarch to places oft visited.
Catullus! The sparrow! Huzzah!
Catullus! The sparrow! Huzzah!
From Daily Readings in Orthodox Spirituality (ed. P. Bouteneff, Templegate, 1996, 94 pp)
p 42 The Struggle and the Kingdom
Amma Theodora said, "Let us strive to enter through the narrow gate. Just as the trees, if they have not stood before the winter's storms cannot bear fruit, so it is with us; the present age is a storm and it is only through many trials and temptations that we can obtain an inheritance in the kingdom of heaven."
Amma Synclectica said, "Great endeavors and hard struggles await those who are converted, but afterwards inexpressible joy. If you want to light a fire, you are troubled at first by smoke, and your eyes water. But in the end you achieve your aim. Now it is written : 'Our God is a consuming fire.' So we must light the divine fire in us with tears and struggle."
:: :: :: :: :: ::
p 43 Temptation and Humility
Abba Anthony said to Abba Poemen, "This is the great work of a man : always to take the blame for his own sins before God and to expect temptation to his last breath."
He also said, "Whoever has not experienced temptation cannot enter into the Kingdom of Heaven." He even added, "Without temptations, no one can be saved."
He also said, "I saw all the snares that the enemy spreads out over the world and I said groaning, 'What can get one through such snares?' Then I heard a voice saying to me, 'Humility.'"
p 42 The Struggle and the Kingdom
Amma Theodora said, "Let us strive to enter through the narrow gate. Just as the trees, if they have not stood before the winter's storms cannot bear fruit, so it is with us; the present age is a storm and it is only through many trials and temptations that we can obtain an inheritance in the kingdom of heaven."
Amma Synclectica said, "Great endeavors and hard struggles await those who are converted, but afterwards inexpressible joy. If you want to light a fire, you are troubled at first by smoke, and your eyes water. But in the end you achieve your aim. Now it is written : 'Our God is a consuming fire.' So we must light the divine fire in us with tears and struggle."
:: :: :: :: :: ::
p 43 Temptation and Humility
Abba Anthony said to Abba Poemen, "This is the great work of a man : always to take the blame for his own sins before God and to expect temptation to his last breath."
He also said, "Whoever has not experienced temptation cannot enter into the Kingdom of Heaven." He even added, "Without temptations, no one can be saved."
He also said, "I saw all the snares that the enemy spreads out over the world and I said groaning, 'What can get one through such snares?' Then I heard a voice saying to me, 'Humility.'"
R. I. P., James Coburn
August 31, 1928 - November 18, 2002
Associated Press story from the Fox News website.
Coburn died of a heart attack at home while listening to music with his wife, said his manager, Hillard Elkins.
I remember best his part in Charade, and oddly, the beer commercial in the late 1970s for which, as it was widely reported at the time, he received $500K for two syllables of dialogue ("Schlitz Light").
I haven't seen The Magnificent Seven or In Like Flint or Affliction.
August 31, 1928 - November 18, 2002
Associated Press story from the Fox News website.
Coburn died of a heart attack at home while listening to music with his wife, said his manager, Hillard Elkins.
I remember best his part in Charade, and oddly, the beer commercial in the late 1970s for which, as it was widely reported at the time, he received $500K for two syllables of dialogue ("Schlitz Light").
I haven't seen The Magnificent Seven or In Like Flint or Affliction.
Monday, November 18, 2002
Former Bay State governor William Weld
explains his sense of kinship with the armadillo :
In the bottom corner of Weld's portrait is the small image of an armadillo, a nod to a stuffed armadillo Weld kept on his desk from his days in the U.S. Attorney's office.
''They're slow and stupid,'' Weld, now a lawyer in New York, said of armadillos. ''I'm a guy who never made the basketball team and this reminded me why.''
explains his sense of kinship with the armadillo :
In the bottom corner of Weld's portrait is the small image of an armadillo, a nod to a stuffed armadillo Weld kept on his desk from his days in the U.S. Attorney's office.
''They're slow and stupid,'' Weld, now a lawyer in New York, said of armadillos. ''I'm a guy who never made the basketball team and this reminded me why.''
Tracy Chapman redux
I've heard the first six tracks of Let It Rain, the new disc. And it pains me to say : non mi piace.
With the notable exception of "You're the One," the obvious single, it is (so far) unremittingly lugubrious in an unenticing way. I think the best comparison would be to New Beginning, on which only "Give Me One Reason" is tolerable.
I do recommend Telling Stories. Have recommended, and will continue to recommend.
I've heard the first six tracks of Let It Rain, the new disc. And it pains me to say : non mi piace.
With the notable exception of "You're the One," the obvious single, it is (so far) unremittingly lugubrious in an unenticing way. I think the best comparison would be to New Beginning, on which only "Give Me One Reason" is tolerable.
I do recommend Telling Stories. Have recommended, and will continue to recommend.
Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself,
I am large, I contain multitudes.
Both of these statements are true
There is not enough beauty in the world.
There is too much beauty in the world.
Discuss.
Also, a deep philosophical question :
Why do we tend to think that a beautiful person is somehow responsible for his or her own beauty? (There is a sense in which this is true, but that requires unpacking the several meanings and implications of the word "beauty.") But let's use Dante and Beatrice as the names here. Did Beatrice make herself? Did she say, "Hmm. I've got the choice between being beautiful and average. I'll choose beautiful." Is Beatrice's beauty her own accomplishment?
But it strikes one how inevitably, how ineluctably, how instinctively, we think along those lines. Is there a justification for so thinking? Discuss.
Very well, I contradict myself,
I am large, I contain multitudes.
Both of these statements are true
There is not enough beauty in the world.
There is too much beauty in the world.
Discuss.
Also, a deep philosophical question :
Why do we tend to think that a beautiful person is somehow responsible for his or her own beauty? (There is a sense in which this is true, but that requires unpacking the several meanings and implications of the word "beauty.") But let's use Dante and Beatrice as the names here. Did Beatrice make herself? Did she say, "Hmm. I've got the choice between being beautiful and average. I'll choose beautiful." Is Beatrice's beauty her own accomplishment?
But it strikes one how inevitably, how ineluctably, how instinctively, we think along those lines. Is there a justification for so thinking? Discuss.
Quotidian meanderings & explorations of the blogosphere
Discovered whilst scanning the oft-visited list of Doxos : this blog-spot, which appears to be one of intellectual alertness, sagacity, and a salutary skepticism toward all things trendy : Religious Left Watch.
Discovered whilst scanning the oft-visited list of Doxos : this blog-spot, which appears to be one of intellectual alertness, sagacity, and a salutary skepticism toward all things trendy : Religious Left Watch.
Credit to Mr Sullivan, once again
An interesting sign of peace from West Marin, California.
As another blogger pointed out, such things don't happen in Islamic countries very often. Women who aren't cocooned in the requisite layers of mummification tend to be stoned to death, or something.
An interesting sign of peace from West Marin, California.
As another blogger pointed out, such things don't happen in Islamic countries very often. Women who aren't cocooned in the requisite layers of mummification tend to be stoned to death, or something.
Sunday, November 17, 2002
Caroline Knapp's alcoholic equations
to which I've added a few
Fear + Drink = Bravery
Discomfort + Drink = No Discomfort
Pain + Drink = Self-obliteration.
And here are mine :
Irritability + Drink = Exuberance
Introvert + Drink = Extrovert
Kurt-Cobain-cum-Thomas-Hardy + Drink = Estlin-Cummings-cum-Fats-Waller
Desolation Sonnets + Drink = "The world is charged with the grandeur of God"
Diffidence + Drink = Confidence
Anxiety + Drink = Joyful Hope
Fretfulness + Drink = Blithesome Insouciance
Gloom + Drink = Effervescence
And so on.
to which I've added a few
Fear + Drink = Bravery
Discomfort + Drink = No Discomfort
Pain + Drink = Self-obliteration.
And here are mine :
Irritability + Drink = Exuberance
Introvert + Drink = Extrovert
Kurt-Cobain-cum-Thomas-Hardy + Drink = Estlin-Cummings-cum-Fats-Waller
Desolation Sonnets + Drink = "The world is charged with the grandeur of God"
Diffidence + Drink = Confidence
Anxiety + Drink = Joyful Hope
Fretfulness + Drink = Blithesome Insouciance
Gloom + Drink = Effervescence
And so on.
Stainless steal
a bit o' pilferage from Steven Riddle's transcendental Flos
Here are :
Russell Kirk's Six Canons of Conservative Thought
the first, the second, the sixth especially delight
-- Belief in a transcendent order, or body of natural law, which rules society as well as conscience.
-- Affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence, as opposed to the narrowing uniformity, egalitarianism, and utilitarian aims of most radical systems.
-- Conviction that civilized society requires orders and classes, as against the notion of a 'classless society'.
-- Persuasion that freedom and property are closely linked: separate property from private possession, and the Leviathan becomes master of all.
-- Faith in prescription and distrust of 'sophisters, calculators, and economists' who would reconstruct society upon abstract designs.
-- Recognition that change may not be salutary reform: hasty innovation may be a devouring conflagration, rather than a torch of progress.
I think it was via Mr Kirk's Portable Conservative Reader that I first became acquaint with Phyllis McGinley's splendid poem "The Angry Man" and Lord Falkland's archetypically conservative maxim, "If it is not necessary to change, it is necessary not to change."
a bit o' pilferage from Steven Riddle's transcendental Flos
Here are :
Russell Kirk's Six Canons of Conservative Thought
the first, the second, the sixth especially delight
-- Belief in a transcendent order, or body of natural law, which rules society as well as conscience.
-- Affection for the proliferating variety and mystery of human existence, as opposed to the narrowing uniformity, egalitarianism, and utilitarian aims of most radical systems.
-- Conviction that civilized society requires orders and classes, as against the notion of a 'classless society'.
-- Persuasion that freedom and property are closely linked: separate property from private possession, and the Leviathan becomes master of all.
-- Faith in prescription and distrust of 'sophisters, calculators, and economists' who would reconstruct society upon abstract designs.
-- Recognition that change may not be salutary reform: hasty innovation may be a devouring conflagration, rather than a torch of progress.
I think it was via Mr Kirk's Portable Conservative Reader that I first became acquaint with Phyllis McGinley's splendid poem "The Angry Man" and Lord Falkland's archetypically conservative maxim, "If it is not necessary to change, it is necessary not to change."
Iconically luminous, ineffably splendid
I'm falling back in love in a really big way with Tracy Chapman. Here's a cool website, with scores of really wonderful photographs.
I can't praise Telling Stories (2000) highly enough. As for her politics ... well, just don't tell her about mine!
I'm falling back in love in a really big way with Tracy Chapman. Here's a cool website, with scores of really wonderful photographs.
I can't praise Telling Stories (2000) highly enough. As for her politics ... well, just don't tell her about mine!
Political survey
via Res et Rationes, weblog of the irrepressible Mr Roesch, who got it via doctrinaire.net, which also rocks -- there, check out the cool pic of a renowned jurist, and the even cooler caption ...
Political Party/affiliation: Republican.
Favorite Political, er, Person: Currently, W. Of differing ideas : Pat Moynihan (alas, emeritus).
Favorite Political Quote: Among them, "I'm not perfect, but I'm honest" (Paul E. Tsongas to Bill Clinton in a 1992 primary debate).
Pet Issue: Hindering the Dems on their nihilistic rampage through everything sacred, noble and true. Illegalize abortion. Legalize pot. Start making cars without radios. Make the radio an optional feature that will triple the cost of the car. Insure public places (trains, churches, restaurants especially) are never heated above 65 degrees, by big-government federal ukase. We need a vice president named Elaine. We need a Secretary of State named Condoleezza. I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way ...
Ideal Presidential Ticket 2004: W & Big Time.
Ideal Presidential Candidate 2008: I like the sound of Rice/Chao, but Condi ain't pro-life, so : Ashcroft/Chao or Santorum/Chao.
Who will the Democrats run in 2004? Whom? Clear Eyes Lieberman and Dollar Bill Bradley.
Favorite Gun: The "warm gun" in the "Happiness Is a Warm Gun" song on the Beatles' "white album." And the Peter Gunn theme. And maybe the poet Thom Gunn, because his name sounds tough.
Least Favorite Politico: hollery redham, shannon o'brien, coe lynn powell, this list could continue for thrice the length of the G'burg address
Favorite Political Periodical: I never liked the "hard copy" of the Weekly Standard, but I like their website. Jewish World Review, OpinionJournal.com, National Review ... does First Things count?
Favorite Columnist(s): William F. Buckley Jr., Peggy Noonan, George F. Will, George F. Will (yes, he needed two mentions), Don Feder, Joe Fitzgerald (Boston Herald, & he does more than politics). Michelle Malkin is gaining fast.
Favorite President: W, Reagan, Cal Coolidge.
Least Favorite President: Clinton for his nihilism; Carter for his maladministration.
Favorite Supreme: Thomas and Scalia are obvious choices. I'll go with the late "Whizzer" White (John F. Kennedy -- 1 for 1 in appointing pro-lifers to the US Supreme Court. Contrast Nixon, 1 for 4.)
Favorite Senator: Santorum, Nickles, any New Hampshire Republican.
Favorite Governor: Can I pick governors-elect? Or past governors? By Bay State standards, Bill Weld wasn't bad. He lived by four simple tenets: (1) Cut taxes. (2) Stay out of the way of economic recovery. (3) Pour yourself several drinks. (4) Go fishing. Don't, under any circumstances, try to govern all the time.
Favorite Political Book: The Morning After, a collection of colums from 1981-85 by George F. Will; What I Saw at the Revolution, by Peggy Noonan; Kennedy and Nixon by Christopher Matthews; Miles to Go by Pat Moynihan; Happy Days Were Here Again, WFB.
Favorite Political Simpsons Episode: Oh, I remember one where Gerald Ford moved in next door ...
Favorite Conservative Polemicist: George Will.
Have you ever been assaulted by a former Weatherman or Black Panther member? No.
Favorite Experience Being Oppressed By a Liberal Teacher/Professor: I was a moderately liberal soul during my college days. College helped to change that.
Favorite out of the closet conservative/Republican celebrity? Don't know her political affiliation, but I'll give a few points to Patricia Heaton for being pro-life. Literary Republicans : E E Cummings and Marianne Moore.
Favorite Feminazi to Make Fun of: To make fun of them requires that one (1) pays attention to them; (2) doesn't think they're all that dangerous.
Were you ever a member of the Communist Party? No.
Secret Political Shame: Never voted for Bush 41. What's worse, my "moderate liberalism" persisted until about a year into the Clinton era. Which means that I did, once, vote for you-know-who.
How Satanic is John McCain? It's the iron triangle of special interests that are satanic. I favor leaving him alone, if he promises never to run for President again.
Political Organization(s) that Scares You More than Death, Spiders, and Death by Spiders: Mr R says the UN; I'll go with that, faute de mieux.
dylan adds a list ...
Things that made me Republican
three "biggies" and two honorable mentions
1. The University of Marxichusetts at Amhearse. Dreadful little place.
2. The intelligence and gentility and irrefutable logic, the good-humored uncompromise of George F. Will.
3. The first year or 14 months of the kaiser blythe / hollery redham epoch.
Honorable mention :
The writings of William F. Buckley, Jr., although it is possible to admire the grace and elegance of the language without adopting the writer's views. In my early 20s, I regarded him as an aberration of wit and intelligence in a predominantly scowling, brawling, unlettered political movement.
via Res et Rationes, weblog of the irrepressible Mr Roesch, who got it via doctrinaire.net, which also rocks -- there, check out the cool pic of a renowned jurist, and the even cooler caption ...
Political Party/affiliation: Republican.
Favorite Political, er, Person: Currently, W. Of differing ideas : Pat Moynihan (alas, emeritus).
Favorite Political Quote: Among them, "I'm not perfect, but I'm honest" (Paul E. Tsongas to Bill Clinton in a 1992 primary debate).
Pet Issue: Hindering the Dems on their nihilistic rampage through everything sacred, noble and true. Illegalize abortion. Legalize pot. Start making cars without radios. Make the radio an optional feature that will triple the cost of the car. Insure public places (trains, churches, restaurants especially) are never heated above 65 degrees, by big-government federal ukase. We need a vice president named Elaine. We need a Secretary of State named Condoleezza. I believe the children are our future. Teach them well and let them lead the way ...
Ideal Presidential Ticket 2004: W & Big Time.
Ideal Presidential Candidate 2008: I like the sound of Rice/Chao, but Condi ain't pro-life, so : Ashcroft/Chao or Santorum/Chao.
Who will the Democrats run in 2004? Whom? Clear Eyes Lieberman and Dollar Bill Bradley.
Favorite Gun: The "warm gun" in the "Happiness Is a Warm Gun" song on the Beatles' "white album." And the Peter Gunn theme. And maybe the poet Thom Gunn, because his name sounds tough.
Least Favorite Politico: hollery redham, shannon o'brien, coe lynn powell, this list could continue for thrice the length of the G'burg address
Favorite Political Periodical: I never liked the "hard copy" of the Weekly Standard, but I like their website. Jewish World Review, OpinionJournal.com, National Review ... does First Things count?
Favorite Columnist(s): William F. Buckley Jr., Peggy Noonan, George F. Will, George F. Will (yes, he needed two mentions), Don Feder, Joe Fitzgerald (Boston Herald, & he does more than politics). Michelle Malkin is gaining fast.
Favorite President: W, Reagan, Cal Coolidge.
Least Favorite President: Clinton for his nihilism; Carter for his maladministration.
Favorite Supreme: Thomas and Scalia are obvious choices. I'll go with the late "Whizzer" White (John F. Kennedy -- 1 for 1 in appointing pro-lifers to the US Supreme Court. Contrast Nixon, 1 for 4.)
Favorite Senator: Santorum, Nickles, any New Hampshire Republican.
Favorite Governor: Can I pick governors-elect? Or past governors? By Bay State standards, Bill Weld wasn't bad. He lived by four simple tenets: (1) Cut taxes. (2) Stay out of the way of economic recovery. (3) Pour yourself several drinks. (4) Go fishing. Don't, under any circumstances, try to govern all the time.
Favorite Political Book: The Morning After, a collection of colums from 1981-85 by George F. Will; What I Saw at the Revolution, by Peggy Noonan; Kennedy and Nixon by Christopher Matthews; Miles to Go by Pat Moynihan; Happy Days Were Here Again, WFB.
Favorite Political Simpsons Episode: Oh, I remember one where Gerald Ford moved in next door ...
Favorite Conservative Polemicist: George Will.
Have you ever been assaulted by a former Weatherman or Black Panther member? No.
Favorite Experience Being Oppressed By a Liberal Teacher/Professor: I was a moderately liberal soul during my college days. College helped to change that.
Favorite out of the closet conservative/Republican celebrity? Don't know her political affiliation, but I'll give a few points to Patricia Heaton for being pro-life. Literary Republicans : E E Cummings and Marianne Moore.
Favorite Feminazi to Make Fun of: To make fun of them requires that one (1) pays attention to them; (2) doesn't think they're all that dangerous.
Were you ever a member of the Communist Party? No.
Secret Political Shame: Never voted for Bush 41. What's worse, my "moderate liberalism" persisted until about a year into the Clinton era. Which means that I did, once, vote for you-know-who.
How Satanic is John McCain? It's the iron triangle of special interests that are satanic. I favor leaving him alone, if he promises never to run for President again.
Political Organization(s) that Scares You More than Death, Spiders, and Death by Spiders: Mr R says the UN; I'll go with that, faute de mieux.
dylan adds a list ...
Things that made me Republican
three "biggies" and two honorable mentions
1. The University of Marxichusetts at Amhearse. Dreadful little place.
2. The intelligence and gentility and irrefutable logic, the good-humored uncompromise of George F. Will.
3. The first year or 14 months of the kaiser blythe / hollery redham epoch.
Honorable mention :
The writings of William F. Buckley, Jr., although it is possible to admire the grace and elegance of the language without adopting the writer's views. In my early 20s, I regarded him as an aberration of wit and intelligence in a predominantly scowling, brawling, unlettered political movement.
From the Episcopal News Service
Stories about two retiring bishops -- the outgoing Archbishop of Canterbury visits Illinois, and distinguishes between "godly liberalism" and "radical liberalism"; and a suffragan bishop of Massachusetts retires.
Stories about two retiring bishops -- the outgoing Archbishop of Canterbury visits Illinois, and distinguishes between "godly liberalism" and "radical liberalism"; and a suffragan bishop of Massachusetts retires.
Psalm 68. Exsurgat Deus.
From the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. Link to be added to left-hand margin.
LET God arise, and let his enemies be scattered; * let them also that hate him flee before him.
2 Like as the smoke vanisheth, so shalt thou drive them away; * and like as wax melteth at the fire, so let the ungodly perish at the presence of God.
3 But let the righteous be glad, and rejoice before God; * let them also be merry and joyful.
4 O sing unto God, and sing praises unto his Name; magnify him that rideth upon the heavens; * praise him in his Name JAH, and rejoice before him.
5 He is a Father of the fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widows; * even God in his holy habitation.
6 He is the God that maketh men to be of one mind in an house, and bringeth the prisoners out of captivity; * but letteth the runagates continue in scarceness.
7 O God, when thou wentest forth before the people; * when thou wentest through the wilderness,
8 The earth shook, and the heavens dropped at the presence of God; * even as Sinai also was moved at the presence of God, who is the God of Israel.
9 Thou, O God, sentest a gracious rain upon thine inheritance, * and refreshedst it when it was weary.
10 Thy congregation shall dwell therein; * for thou, O God, hast of thy goodness prepared for the poor.
11 The Lord gave the word; * great was the company of women that bare the tidings.
12 Kings with their armies did flee, and were discomfited, * and they of the household divided the spoil.
13 Though ye have lain among the sheep-folds, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove * that is covered with silver wings, and her feathers like gold.
14 When the Almighty scattered kings for their sake, * then were they as white as snow in Salmon.
15 As the hill of Bashan, so is God's hill; * even an high hill, as the hill of Bashan.
16 Why mock ye so, ye high hills? this is God's hill, in the which it pleaseth him to dwell; * yea, the LORD will abide in it for ever.
17 The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels; * and the Lord is among them as in the holy place of Sinai.
18 Thou art gone up on high, thou hast led captivity captive, and received gifts from men; * yea, even from thine enemies, that the LORD God might dwell among them.
19 Praised be the Lord daily, * even the God who helpeth us, and poureth his benefits upon us.
20 He is our God, even the God of whom cometh salvation: * GOD is the Lord, by whom we escape death.
21 God shall wound the head of his enemies, * and the hairy scalp of such a one as goeth on still in his wickedness.
22 The Lord hath said, I will bring my people again, as I did from Bashan; * mine own will I bring again, as I did sometime from the deep of the sea.
23 That thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine enemies, * and that the tongue of thy dogs may be red through the same.
24 It is well seen, O God, how thou goest; * how thou, my God and King, goest in the sanctuary.
25 The singers go before, the minstrels follow after, * in the midst of the damsels playing with the timbrels.
26 Give thanks unto God the Lord in the congregation, * ye that are of the fountain of Israel.
27 There is little Benjamin their ruler, and the princes of Judah their council; * the princes of Zebulon, and the princes of Naphthali.
28 Thy God hath sent forth strength for thee; * stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us,
29 For thy temple's sake at Jerusalem; * so shall kings bring presents unto thee.
30 Rebuke thou the dragon and the bull, with the leaders of the heathen, so that they humbly bring pieces of silver; * scatter thou the peoples that delight in war;
31 Then shall the princes come out of Egypt; * the Morians' land shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.
32 Sing unto God, O ye kingdoms of the earth; * O sing praises unto the Lord;
33 Who sitteth in the heavens over all, from the beginning: * lo, he doth send out his voice; yea, and that a mighty voice.
34 Ascribe ye the power to God over Israel; * his worship and strength is in the clouds.
35 O God, wonderful art thou in thy holy places: * even the God of Israel, he will give strength and power unto his people. Blessed be God.
From the 1928 Book of Common Prayer. Link to be added to left-hand margin.
LET God arise, and let his enemies be scattered; * let them also that hate him flee before him.
2 Like as the smoke vanisheth, so shalt thou drive them away; * and like as wax melteth at the fire, so let the ungodly perish at the presence of God.
3 But let the righteous be glad, and rejoice before God; * let them also be merry and joyful.
4 O sing unto God, and sing praises unto his Name; magnify him that rideth upon the heavens; * praise him in his Name JAH, and rejoice before him.
5 He is a Father of the fatherless, and defendeth the cause of the widows; * even God in his holy habitation.
6 He is the God that maketh men to be of one mind in an house, and bringeth the prisoners out of captivity; * but letteth the runagates continue in scarceness.
7 O God, when thou wentest forth before the people; * when thou wentest through the wilderness,
8 The earth shook, and the heavens dropped at the presence of God; * even as Sinai also was moved at the presence of God, who is the God of Israel.
9 Thou, O God, sentest a gracious rain upon thine inheritance, * and refreshedst it when it was weary.
10 Thy congregation shall dwell therein; * for thou, O God, hast of thy goodness prepared for the poor.
11 The Lord gave the word; * great was the company of women that bare the tidings.
12 Kings with their armies did flee, and were discomfited, * and they of the household divided the spoil.
13 Though ye have lain among the sheep-folds, yet shall ye be as the wings of a dove * that is covered with silver wings, and her feathers like gold.
14 When the Almighty scattered kings for their sake, * then were they as white as snow in Salmon.
15 As the hill of Bashan, so is God's hill; * even an high hill, as the hill of Bashan.
16 Why mock ye so, ye high hills? this is God's hill, in the which it pleaseth him to dwell; * yea, the LORD will abide in it for ever.
17 The chariots of God are twenty thousand, even thousands of angels; * and the Lord is among them as in the holy place of Sinai.
18 Thou art gone up on high, thou hast led captivity captive, and received gifts from men; * yea, even from thine enemies, that the LORD God might dwell among them.
19 Praised be the Lord daily, * even the God who helpeth us, and poureth his benefits upon us.
20 He is our God, even the God of whom cometh salvation: * GOD is the Lord, by whom we escape death.
21 God shall wound the head of his enemies, * and the hairy scalp of such a one as goeth on still in his wickedness.
22 The Lord hath said, I will bring my people again, as I did from Bashan; * mine own will I bring again, as I did sometime from the deep of the sea.
23 That thy foot may be dipped in the blood of thine enemies, * and that the tongue of thy dogs may be red through the same.
24 It is well seen, O God, how thou goest; * how thou, my God and King, goest in the sanctuary.
25 The singers go before, the minstrels follow after, * in the midst of the damsels playing with the timbrels.
26 Give thanks unto God the Lord in the congregation, * ye that are of the fountain of Israel.
27 There is little Benjamin their ruler, and the princes of Judah their council; * the princes of Zebulon, and the princes of Naphthali.
28 Thy God hath sent forth strength for thee; * stablish the thing, O God, that thou hast wrought in us,
29 For thy temple's sake at Jerusalem; * so shall kings bring presents unto thee.
30 Rebuke thou the dragon and the bull, with the leaders of the heathen, so that they humbly bring pieces of silver; * scatter thou the peoples that delight in war;
31 Then shall the princes come out of Egypt; * the Morians' land shall soon stretch out her hands unto God.
32 Sing unto God, O ye kingdoms of the earth; * O sing praises unto the Lord;
33 Who sitteth in the heavens over all, from the beginning: * lo, he doth send out his voice; yea, and that a mighty voice.
34 Ascribe ye the power to God over Israel; * his worship and strength is in the clouds.
35 O God, wonderful art thou in thy holy places: * even the God of Israel, he will give strength and power unto his people. Blessed be God.
Wisdom 7
from the King James Version, incl. Apocrypha
15: God hath granted me to speak as I would, and to conceive as is meet for the things that are given me: because it is he that leadeth unto wisdom, and directeth the wise.
16: For in his hand are both we and our words; all wisdom also, and knowledge of workmanship.
17: For he hath given me certain knowledge of the things that are, namely, to know how the world was made, and the operation of the elements:
18: The beginning, ending, and midst of the times: the alterations of the turning of the sun, and the change of seasons:
19: The circuits of years, and the positions of stars:
20: The natures of living creatures, and the furies of wild beasts: the violence of winds, and the reasonings of men: the diversities of plants and the virtues of roots:
21: And all such things as are either secret or manifest, them I know.
22: For wisdom, which is the worker of all things, taught me: for in her is an understanding spirit holy, one only, manifold, subtil, lively, clear, undefiled, plain, not subject to hurt, loving the thing that is good, quick, which cannot be letted, ready to do good,
23: Kind to man, steadfast, sure, free from care, having all power, overseeing all things, and going through all understanding, pure, and most subtil, spirits.
24: For wisdom is more moving than any motion: she passeth and goeth through all things by reason of her pureness.
25: For she is the breath of the power of God, and a pure influence flowing from the glory of the Almighty: therefore can no defiled thing fall into her.
26: For she is the brightness of the everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of the power of God, and the image of his goodness.
27: And being but one, she can do all things: and remaining in herself, she maketh all things new: and in all ages entering into holy souls, she maketh them friends of God, and prophets.
28: For God loveth none but him that dwelleth with wisdom.
29: For she is more beautiful than the sun, and above all the order of stars: being compared with the light, she is found before it.
30: For after this cometh night: but vice shall not prevail against wisdom.
from the King James Version, incl. Apocrypha
15: God hath granted me to speak as I would, and to conceive as is meet for the things that are given me: because it is he that leadeth unto wisdom, and directeth the wise.
16: For in his hand are both we and our words; all wisdom also, and knowledge of workmanship.
17: For he hath given me certain knowledge of the things that are, namely, to know how the world was made, and the operation of the elements:
18: The beginning, ending, and midst of the times: the alterations of the turning of the sun, and the change of seasons:
19: The circuits of years, and the positions of stars:
20: The natures of living creatures, and the furies of wild beasts: the violence of winds, and the reasonings of men: the diversities of plants and the virtues of roots:
21: And all such things as are either secret or manifest, them I know.
22: For wisdom, which is the worker of all things, taught me: for in her is an understanding spirit holy, one only, manifold, subtil, lively, clear, undefiled, plain, not subject to hurt, loving the thing that is good, quick, which cannot be letted, ready to do good,
23: Kind to man, steadfast, sure, free from care, having all power, overseeing all things, and going through all understanding, pure, and most subtil, spirits.
24: For wisdom is more moving than any motion: she passeth and goeth through all things by reason of her pureness.
25: For she is the breath of the power of God, and a pure influence flowing from the glory of the Almighty: therefore can no defiled thing fall into her.
26: For she is the brightness of the everlasting light, the unspotted mirror of the power of God, and the image of his goodness.
27: And being but one, she can do all things: and remaining in herself, she maketh all things new: and in all ages entering into holy souls, she maketh them friends of God, and prophets.
28: For God loveth none but him that dwelleth with wisdom.
29: For she is more beautiful than the sun, and above all the order of stars: being compared with the light, she is found before it.
30: For after this cometh night: but vice shall not prevail against wisdom.
Saturday, November 16, 2002
George F. Will
whose name will surface again, if I ever blog the list of reasons I became a conservative Republican
on liberals' contempt for the ordinary Joe, dating back to the fabulous fifties.
I'm really falling for the JWR website, in a big way.
whose name will surface again, if I ever blog the list of reasons I became a conservative Republican
on liberals' contempt for the ordinary Joe, dating back to the fabulous fifties.
I'm really falling for the JWR website, in a big way.
Oh, Lord Jeffery Amherst was a soldier of the King
And he came from across the sea
To the Frenchman and the Indians, he didn't do a thing
In the wilds of this wild country,
In the wilds of this wild country
And for his Royal Majesty, he fought with all his might
For he was a solider loyal and true
And he conquered all the enemies that came within his sight
And he looked 'round for more when he was through.
Chorus:
Oh, Amherst! Brave Amherst!
'Twas a name known to fame in days of yore.
May it ever be glorious Till the sun shall climb the heav'ns no more.
Oh, Lord Jeffery Amherst was the man who gave his name
To our college upon the hill
And the story of his loyalty and bravery and fame
Abides here among us still,
Abides here among us still.
You may talk about your Johnnies and your Elis and the rest
For they are names that time can never dim.
But give us our only Jeffery,
He's the noblest and the best
To the end we will stand fast for him.
[Chorus]
And he came from across the sea
To the Frenchman and the Indians, he didn't do a thing
In the wilds of this wild country,
In the wilds of this wild country
And for his Royal Majesty, he fought with all his might
For he was a solider loyal and true
And he conquered all the enemies that came within his sight
And he looked 'round for more when he was through.
Chorus:
Oh, Amherst! Brave Amherst!
'Twas a name known to fame in days of yore.
May it ever be glorious Till the sun shall climb the heav'ns no more.
Oh, Lord Jeffery Amherst was the man who gave his name
To our college upon the hill
And the story of his loyalty and bravery and fame
Abides here among us still,
Abides here among us still.
You may talk about your Johnnies and your Elis and the rest
For they are names that time can never dim.
But give us our only Jeffery,
He's the noblest and the best
To the end we will stand fast for him.
[Chorus]
Doing my part to malkinize the nation
One of the most estimable and venerable bloggers in the blogosphere has said that his least favorite type of blog is the one where someone links to an article and gives you naught but 5 or 6 words telling you why you should read the article -- nothing more. And all the posts of a given day are composed in like wise.
Tenebrae seems to be turning into that type of blog.
Anyway, here's Michelle Malkin via Jewish World Review, who declares :
The era of radical feminist sexual liberation has produced a generation of shameless skanks.
One of the most estimable and venerable bloggers in the blogosphere has said that his least favorite type of blog is the one where someone links to an article and gives you naught but 5 or 6 words telling you why you should read the article -- nothing more. And all the posts of a given day are composed in like wise.
Tenebrae seems to be turning into that type of blog.
Anyway, here's Michelle Malkin via Jewish World Review, who declares :
The era of radical feminist sexual liberation has produced a generation of shameless skanks.
Even though it makes no sense
I always -- 'always' until I found out otherwise -- thought it was I am the sun and the air.
I always -- 'always' until I found out otherwise -- thought it was I am the sun and the air.
The mystifying Peggy Noonan
In this column, the sublime Miss N deplores the lack of courtesy among liberals and praises second-hand smoke.
She points out that when you compare second-hand smoke to things like crack cocaine, abortion, violent rap, pornography, the Democratic Party, etc., it's a comparatively small annoyance, the most indiscernible blemish on the countenance of society. (Actually, she didn't list the Dems.)
The occasion of Noonan's disquisition is an idea by NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg to ban smoking in all bars.
Noonan's article is at her feisty & lyrical best when she describes the atmosphere of your average place-where-everybody-knows-your-name.
Smoking should continue to be permitted in bars. And forbidden in subway stations. Well, actually it technically "is" forbidden in the Boston subway -- but the law isn't enforced. I should start carrying a fire extinguisher.
Drinking alcohol should be allowed in subways (following Noonan's logic that greater evils exist). If someone on the subway platform drinks, I don't get drunk. If someone on the platform smokes, I, too, am smoking. Whether I want to or not. It is unlibertarian to compel someone to do something he doesn't want to do. Especially when the someone in question is me.
There's more than lefty puritanism at work here. Noonan should talk to a non-smoking barmaid.
Of course, if your average cig had the aroma of certain pipe tobacco ... as opposed to your average car exhaust ... my objections to smoking on subway platforms would diminish considerably.
Oh, yes, and smoking pot should be legal ... but not on subway platforms.
In this column, the sublime Miss N deplores the lack of courtesy among liberals and praises second-hand smoke.
She points out that when you compare second-hand smoke to things like crack cocaine, abortion, violent rap, pornography, the Democratic Party, etc., it's a comparatively small annoyance, the most indiscernible blemish on the countenance of society. (Actually, she didn't list the Dems.)
The occasion of Noonan's disquisition is an idea by NYC Mayor Michael Bloomberg to ban smoking in all bars.
Noonan's article is at her feisty & lyrical best when she describes the atmosphere of your average place-where-everybody-knows-your-name.
Smoking should continue to be permitted in bars. And forbidden in subway stations. Well, actually it technically "is" forbidden in the Boston subway -- but the law isn't enforced. I should start carrying a fire extinguisher.
Drinking alcohol should be allowed in subways (following Noonan's logic that greater evils exist). If someone on the subway platform drinks, I don't get drunk. If someone on the platform smokes, I, too, am smoking. Whether I want to or not. It is unlibertarian to compel someone to do something he doesn't want to do. Especially when the someone in question is me.
There's more than lefty puritanism at work here. Noonan should talk to a non-smoking barmaid.
Of course, if your average cig had the aroma of certain pipe tobacco ... as opposed to your average car exhaust ... my objections to smoking on subway platforms would diminish considerably.
Oh, yes, and smoking pot should be legal ... but not on subway platforms.
Yesterday's quiz
The answer is (b) 3. In the last fifteen Presidential elections, the Democratic ticket achieved a popular majority thrice : in 1944, with FDR; in 1964, with LBJ; in 1976, with Jimmy Carter (that last, with 50.1%, and winning fewer states than Gerald Ford).
So, since the death of Roosevelt, only twice ... and in my lifetime, only once.
The answer is (b) 3. In the last fifteen Presidential elections, the Democratic ticket achieved a popular majority thrice : in 1944, with FDR; in 1964, with LBJ; in 1976, with Jimmy Carter (that last, with 50.1%, and winning fewer states than Gerald Ford).
So, since the death of Roosevelt, only twice ... and in my lifetime, only once.
Friday, November 15, 2002
Tracy Chapman
Title song from her 2000 cd, perhaps her very best.
Memorandum to self : there's a 2002 cd (Let It Rain) that is as yet unbought. Must remedy that situation.
Telling Stories
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesn't mean
You're not just telling stories
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There's a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
There's no one but you standing
Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between
There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Title song from her 2000 cd, perhaps her very best.
Memorandum to self : there's a 2002 cd (Let It Rain) that is as yet unbought. Must remedy that situation.
Telling Stories
There is fiction in the space between
The lines on your page of memories
Write it down but it doesn't mean
You're not just telling stories
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There is fiction in the space between
You and reality
You will do and say anything
To make your everyday life
Seem less mundane
There is fiction in the space between
You and me
There's a science fiction in the space between
You and me
A fabrication of a grand scheme
Where I am the scary monster
I eat the city and as I leave the scene
In my spaceship I am laughing
In your remembrance of your bad dream
There's no one but you standing
Leave the pity and the blame
For the ones who do not speak
You write the words to get respect and compassion
And for posterity
You write the words and make believe
There is truth in the space between
There is fiction in the space between
You and everybody
Give us all what we need
Give us one more sad sordid story
But in the fiction of the space between
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
Sometimes a lie is the best thing
At #21 in this set of 99 random thoughts, I make mention of a book called Drinking : A Love Story by the late Boston Phoenix columnist Caroline Knapp (1959-2002). I've begun reading it, and it is -- as I suspected it would be, for me -- an essential book, a book in which I readily recognize a certain kinship with the writer.
There will certainly be more on this book later. I've begun underlining certain passages in pencil.
There will certainly be more on this book later. I've begun underlining certain passages in pencil.
a sonnet by
Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)
November
The mellow year is hasting to its close;
The little birds have almost sung their last,
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast --
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows;
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past,
And makes a little summer where it grows.
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they shine;
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define;
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine.
Hartley Coleridge (1796-1849)
November
The mellow year is hasting to its close;
The little birds have almost sung their last,
Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast --
That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows;
The patient beauty of the scentless rose,
Oft with the morn's hoar crystal quaintly glassed,
Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past,
And makes a little summer where it grows.
In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day
The dusky waters shudder as they shine;
The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way
Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define;
And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array,
Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy-twine.
James Thomson (1700-48).
From the "Autumn" section of The Seasons.
But see the fading many-coloured woods,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage dusk and dun,
Of every hue, from wan declining green
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse,
Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strewn walks,
And give the season in its latest view.
Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm
Fleeces unbounded ether : whose least wave
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn
The gentle current; while illumined wide,
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun,
And through their lucid veil his softened force
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time,
For those whom virtue and whom nature charm,
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
And soar above this little scene of things :
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet;
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace;
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.
Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,
And through the saddened grove, where scarce is heard
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil.
Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint,
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse;
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late
Swelled all the music of the swarming shades,
Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock :
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes,
And nought save chattering discord in their note.
O let not, aimed from some inhuman eye,
The gun the music of the coming year
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey
In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground!
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
Oft startling such as studious walk below,
And slowly circles through the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky a leafy deluge streams;
Till choked, and matted with the dreary shower,
The forest walks at every rising gale,
Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak.
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race
Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remained
Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree;
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards all around,
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.
From the "Autumn" section of The Seasons.
But see the fading many-coloured woods,
Shade deepening over shade, the country round
Imbrown; a crowded umbrage dusk and dun,
Of every hue, from wan declining green
To sooty dark. These now the lonesome muse,
Low whispering, lead into their leaf-strewn walks,
And give the season in its latest view.
Meantime, light shadowing all, a sober calm
Fleeces unbounded ether : whose least wave
Stands tremulous, uncertain where to turn
The gentle current; while illumined wide,
The dewy-skirted clouds imbibe the sun,
And through their lucid veil his softened force
Shed o'er the peaceful world. Then is the time,
For those whom virtue and whom nature charm,
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
And soar above this little scene of things :
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet;
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace;
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.
Thus solitary, and in pensive guise,
Oft let me wander o'er the russet mead,
And through the saddened grove, where scarce is heard
One dying strain, to cheer the woodman's toil.
Haply some widowed songster pours his plaint,
Far, in faint warblings, through the tawny copse;
While congregated thrushes, linnets, larks,
And each wild throat, whose artless strains so late
Swelled all the music of the swarming shades,
Robbed of their tuneful souls, now shivering sit
On the dead tree, a dull despondent flock :
With not a brightness waving o'er their plumes,
And nought save chattering discord in their note.
O let not, aimed from some inhuman eye,
The gun the music of the coming year
Destroy; and harmless, unsuspecting harm,
Lay the weak tribes a miserable prey
In mingled murder, fluttering on the ground!
The pale descending year, yet pleasing still,
A gentler mood inspires; for now the leaf
Incessant rustles from the mournful grove;
Oft startling such as studious walk below,
And slowly circles through the waving air.
But should a quicker breeze amid the boughs
Sob, o'er the sky a leafy deluge streams;
Till choked, and matted with the dreary shower,
The forest walks at every rising gale,
Roll wide the withered waste, and whistle bleak.
Fled is the blasted verdure of the fields;
And, shrunk into their beds, the flowery race
Their sunny robes resign. E'en what remained
Of stronger fruits falls from the naked tree;
And woods, fields, gardens, orchards all around,
The desolated prospect thrills the soul.
Stephen Fry
An excerpt from his novel The Liar, quoted by himself in his autobiography Moab Is My Washpot :
For once Adrian had remained silent. Something was terribly wrong.
It had taken him two painful terms to identify the symptoms. He looked them up in all the major textbooks. There was no doubt about it. All the authorities concurred : Shakespeare, Tennyson, Ovid, Keats, Georgette Heyer, Milton, they were of one opinion. It was love. The Big One.
Cartwright of the sapphire eyes and golden hair, Cartwright of the Limbs and Lips : he was Petrarch's Laura, Milton's Lycidas, Catullus's Lesbia, Tennyson's Hallam, Shakespeare's fair boy and dark lady, the moon's Endymion. Cartwright was Garbo's salary, the National Gallery, he was cellophane : he was the tender trap, the blank unholy surprise of it all and the bright golden haze on the meadow : he was honey-honey, sugar-sugar, chirpy chirpy cheep-cheep and his baby-love : the voice of the turtle could be heard in the land, there were angels dining at the Ritz and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
-- Moab, p. 237
This reader speaks, as always, only for himself, and says that it's mighty hard to resist a prose-stylist of such ... effervescence and exuberance.
An excerpt from his novel The Liar, quoted by himself in his autobiography Moab Is My Washpot :
For once Adrian had remained silent. Something was terribly wrong.
It had taken him two painful terms to identify the symptoms. He looked them up in all the major textbooks. There was no doubt about it. All the authorities concurred : Shakespeare, Tennyson, Ovid, Keats, Georgette Heyer, Milton, they were of one opinion. It was love. The Big One.
Cartwright of the sapphire eyes and golden hair, Cartwright of the Limbs and Lips : he was Petrarch's Laura, Milton's Lycidas, Catullus's Lesbia, Tennyson's Hallam, Shakespeare's fair boy and dark lady, the moon's Endymion. Cartwright was Garbo's salary, the National Gallery, he was cellophane : he was the tender trap, the blank unholy surprise of it all and the bright golden haze on the meadow : he was honey-honey, sugar-sugar, chirpy chirpy cheep-cheep and his baby-love : the voice of the turtle could be heard in the land, there were angels dining at the Ritz and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
-- Moab, p. 237
This reader speaks, as always, only for himself, and says that it's mighty hard to resist a prose-stylist of such ... effervescence and exuberance.
Thursday, November 14, 2002
The kibbutz massacre
Jeff Jacoby's column by way of the Jewish World Review (in which he notes a startling coincidence)
and via the Jerusalem Post, a father's eulogy.
Jeff Jacoby's column by way of the Jewish World Review (in which he notes a startling coincidence)
and via the Jerusalem Post, a father's eulogy.
"I've always thought that Catholics were, for the most part, pro-life democrats"
continuing the conversation
With a small "d," to be sure! But the blogger meant capital-D (or D-minus) Democrats, as in the American political party.
I say, huzzah, hoo-ray, and bravissimo! Three cheers, and more than three, for pro-life Democrats! When or if you can find them. They seem to be as rare and strange as spearmint ravioli.
And if the pro-life Dem in question is, let us say, a legislator who undercuts his own pro-life work by voting for an aggressively, unswervingly pro-choice President ...
But when the intellect of man is forced to choose between the "pro-life" and the "Democrat," which term of the binomial, pray tell, which element of the formula, adjective or noun, should carry more weight?
I don't claim to have encyclopedic knowledge of every encyclical, apostolic letter, sermon and allocution penned by His Holiness John Paul II. But I'm fairly sure he hasn't written an encyclical entitled Evangelium Partis Democraticae.
And while the Holy Father certainly endorses moderate capitalism over unfettered Randian libertarianism, and would be the first to stand up for solicitude for the downtrodden, the infirm, elderly, handicapped, impoverished ... and lest we forget, unborn, it's hard to imagine that he would, were he an American citizen, embrace a party which :
(1) attempts to scare people into believing that the other major party is nothing but a cabal of billionaire racists intent on burning down battered women's shelters, bombing U Cal Berkeley, and forcing the elderly to subsist on cat food and $60 a month
(2) indefatigably proposes the pentad of Dubya's Dumb, Raise Taxes, Race Quotas, Kill Babies, and Gay Marriage as an innovative and exciting "improvement" over more conventional, more mainstream ideas.
continuing the conversation
With a small "d," to be sure! But the blogger meant capital-D (or D-minus) Democrats, as in the American political party.
I say, huzzah, hoo-ray, and bravissimo! Three cheers, and more than three, for pro-life Democrats! When or if you can find them. They seem to be as rare and strange as spearmint ravioli.
And if the pro-life Dem in question is, let us say, a legislator who undercuts his own pro-life work by voting for an aggressively, unswervingly pro-choice President ...
But when the intellect of man is forced to choose between the "pro-life" and the "Democrat," which term of the binomial, pray tell, which element of the formula, adjective or noun, should carry more weight?
I don't claim to have encyclopedic knowledge of every encyclical, apostolic letter, sermon and allocution penned by His Holiness John Paul II. But I'm fairly sure he hasn't written an encyclical entitled Evangelium Partis Democraticae.
And while the Holy Father certainly endorses moderate capitalism over unfettered Randian libertarianism, and would be the first to stand up for solicitude for the downtrodden, the infirm, elderly, handicapped, impoverished ... and lest we forget, unborn, it's hard to imagine that he would, were he an American citizen, embrace a party which :
(1) attempts to scare people into believing that the other major party is nothing but a cabal of billionaire racists intent on burning down battered women's shelters, bombing U Cal Berkeley, and forcing the elderly to subsist on cat food and $60 a month
(2) indefatigably proposes the pentad of Dubya's Dumb, Raise Taxes, Race Quotas, Kill Babies, and Gay Marriage as an innovative and exciting "improvement" over more conventional, more mainstream ideas.
Two poems by Emily Dickinson
#525
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow --
It suits his own Austerity
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness --
And in the Desert -- cloy --
An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald --
Lapland's -- necessity --
The Hemlock's nature thrives -- on cold --
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment -- to him --
His best Norwegian Wines --
To satin Races -- he is nought --
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
:: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: ::
#1129
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant --
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind --
#525
I think the Hemlock likes to stand
Upon a Marge of Snow --
It suits his own Austerity
And satisfies an awe
That men, must slake in Wilderness --
And in the Desert -- cloy --
An instinct for the Hoar, the Bald --
Lapland's -- necessity --
The Hemlock's nature thrives -- on cold --
The Gnash of Northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment -- to him --
His best Norwegian Wines --
To satin Races -- he is nought --
But Children on the Don,
Beneath his Tabernacles, play,
And Dnieper Wrestlers, run.
:: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: ::
#1129
Tell all the Truth but tell it slant --
Success in Circuit lies
Too bright for our infirm Delight
The Truth's superb surprise
As Lightning to the Children eased
With explanation kind
The Truth must dazzle gradually
Or every man be blind --
Oh, the devil will find work for idle hands to do ...
and songs for idle tongues to sing.
Two elements of this song compete for primacy of preternatural brilliance : the line "your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight" and the wonderfully sarcastic "oh, ho-ho" flourish at the tail-end of the refrain ...
and songs for idle tongues to sing.
Two elements of this song compete for primacy of preternatural brilliance : the line "your prejudice won't keep you warm tonight" and the wonderfully sarcastic "oh, ho-ho" flourish at the tail-end of the refrain ...
Amherst
Emily Dickinson's house I found to be seriously ordinary. The one surprise came when I saw a portrait of Emily, her brother, and her sister -- a painting of the siblings in their teens or early tens -- through which I learned that the poet's hair was auburn verging on red, a fiery tint especially when contrasted with those colorless daguerreotypes to which we are accustomed.
The real surprises about Emily Dickinson, the genuine excitement, comes by way of the poetry -- we are still discovering arrestingly strange, enticingly extraordinary novelties of phrasing and expression -- after nearly 18 years of owning the Collected Poems. It's possible that I'll be blogging some more of my favorites in the coming days.
When the tour guide wanted to make a point about textual variance between pre-1955 and post-1955 editions of Dickinson's work, one visitor (who has trouble keeping silence about such things) helpfully provided two examples.
Emily apparently kept a herbarium -- pressed leaves, flowers, etc. -- with the names of the specimens in the proper botanical-taxonomical Latin.
We did enjoy lunch, the four of us -- before the homestead visit -- in the Boltwood Tavern of the Lord Jeffery [sic] Amherst Inn. (Something about liberal college towns instills a hunger for turkey sandwiches with strange green stuff -- like avocado or sprouts. Not to mention the tomato, the brie, and the maple-tinted honey-mustard!)
The weather was grey, sporadically rainy, and as dreary as a marriage of a Smiths song and a Thomas Hardy poem -- somehow suitable for a trip to a bailiwick which, for "personal reasons," I quite immoderately despise.
But all in all, not a bad day.
Emily Dickinson's house I found to be seriously ordinary. The one surprise came when I saw a portrait of Emily, her brother, and her sister -- a painting of the siblings in their teens or early tens -- through which I learned that the poet's hair was auburn verging on red, a fiery tint especially when contrasted with those colorless daguerreotypes to which we are accustomed.
The real surprises about Emily Dickinson, the genuine excitement, comes by way of the poetry -- we are still discovering arrestingly strange, enticingly extraordinary novelties of phrasing and expression -- after nearly 18 years of owning the Collected Poems. It's possible that I'll be blogging some more of my favorites in the coming days.
When the tour guide wanted to make a point about textual variance between pre-1955 and post-1955 editions of Dickinson's work, one visitor (who has trouble keeping silence about such things) helpfully provided two examples.
Emily apparently kept a herbarium -- pressed leaves, flowers, etc. -- with the names of the specimens in the proper botanical-taxonomical Latin.
We did enjoy lunch, the four of us -- before the homestead visit -- in the Boltwood Tavern of the Lord Jeffery [sic] Amherst Inn. (Something about liberal college towns instills a hunger for turkey sandwiches with strange green stuff -- like avocado or sprouts. Not to mention the tomato, the brie, and the maple-tinted honey-mustard!)
The weather was grey, sporadically rainy, and as dreary as a marriage of a Smiths song and a Thomas Hardy poem -- somehow suitable for a trip to a bailiwick which, for "personal reasons," I quite immoderately despise.
But all in all, not a bad day.
An address by Bishop Gregory
about which the Boston Globe, in its temperate moderate respectful fashion, screamed : How dare he speak of false prophets? Troot hoyts doughnut.
But to be less glib about it, Bishop Gregory's sentence about "false prophets" was clearly not directed at victims of abuse, nor at other orthodox Catholics who eagerly want to see house cleaned. The Globe decontextualized the words "false prophet" so as to make the irenic prelate seem like a raving lunatic.
Sorry, I don't have the link to the Globe article (so much the better, perhaps); it's already been "archived" & registration is required, etc. etc.
about which the Boston Globe, in its temperate moderate respectful fashion, screamed : How dare he speak of false prophets? Troot hoyts doughnut.
But to be less glib about it, Bishop Gregory's sentence about "false prophets" was clearly not directed at victims of abuse, nor at other orthodox Catholics who eagerly want to see house cleaned. The Globe decontextualized the words "false prophet" so as to make the irenic prelate seem like a raving lunatic.
Sorry, I don't have the link to the Globe article (so much the better, perhaps); it's already been "archived" & registration is required, etc. etc.
Wednesday, November 13, 2002
Ved-dee een-tair-ess-teenk .....
What theologian are you?
A creation of Henderson
... but to be honest I got Augustine the 1st time I tried. Maybe the pre-conversion Augustine, because I feel absolutely no kinship with Gus of Hip whatsoever. (I'd have been happy with Fulton Sheen, who might not be considered by some stuffy folk a "theologian" but no matter.)
The second time I took the quiz I decided, for a lark, to answer in such a way that some mélange, some blend, some tri-animate amalgam of Hans Küng, Jim Morrison and the Tasmanian Devil would be the ineluctable result (by the way, is "ineluctable" one of the St Blog's drinking cues? It ought to be) ... well, this is what came up, and somehow it seems more fitting.
Oh, yes, more on Amherst a bit later. I still execrate the town, but the day-trip out there was not bad at all.
| "We reject the false doctrine that the church could have permission to hand over the form
of its message and of its order to whatever it itself might wish or to the vicissitudes of the prevailing ideological and political convictions of the day." |
| You are Karl Barth! You like your freedom, and are pretty stubborn against authority! You don't care much for other people's opinions either. You can come up with your own fun, and often enough you have too much fun. You are pretty popular because you let people have their way, even when you have things figured out better than them. |
What theologian are you?
A creation of Henderson
... but to be honest I got Augustine the 1st time I tried. Maybe the pre-conversion Augustine, because I feel absolutely no kinship with Gus of Hip whatsoever. (I'd have been happy with Fulton Sheen, who might not be considered by some stuffy folk a "theologian" but no matter.)
The second time I took the quiz I decided, for a lark, to answer in such a way that some mélange, some blend, some tri-animate amalgam of Hans Küng, Jim Morrison and the Tasmanian Devil would be the ineluctable result (by the way, is "ineluctable" one of the St Blog's drinking cues? It ought to be) ... well, this is what came up, and somehow it seems more fitting.
Oh, yes, more on Amherst a bit later. I still execrate the town, but the day-trip out there was not bad at all.
Tuesday, November 12, 2002
A glorious gray day of splendid foliage
Some rain in the afternoon, but otherwise awesome. The kind of gray cool November day for which one yearns all summer with an almost physical lust.
C S Lewis said somewhere in Surprised by Joy that he liked bleak, northern, gray, cold, stark, autumnal-wintry landscapes, and almost lusted for them ... I might be confused; and even if not, I don't have the exact words on hand, because I borrowed Surprised from the library.
Lewis also admits to having liked Longfellow's translation of Tegner's Drapa, a Norse poem, for conveying that kind of scene :
I saw the pallid corpse
Of the dead sun
Borne through the Northern sky.
Amherst tomorrow.
Some rain in the afternoon, but otherwise awesome. The kind of gray cool November day for which one yearns all summer with an almost physical lust.
C S Lewis said somewhere in Surprised by Joy that he liked bleak, northern, gray, cold, stark, autumnal-wintry landscapes, and almost lusted for them ... I might be confused; and even if not, I don't have the exact words on hand, because I borrowed Surprised from the library.
Lewis also admits to having liked Longfellow's translation of Tegner's Drapa, a Norse poem, for conveying that kind of scene :
I saw the pallid corpse
Of the dead sun
Borne through the Northern sky.
Amherst tomorrow.
Words of wisdom, worth the heeding
1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings."
3. There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."
4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.
5. And when God, who created the entire universe with all of its glories, decides to deliver a message to humanity, He WILL NOT use, as His messenger, a person on cable TV with a bad hairstyle.
6. You should not confuse your career with your life.
7. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
8. When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy.
9. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
10. Never lick a steak knife.
11. Take out the fortune before you eat the cookie.
12. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.
13. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.
14. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.
15. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
16. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers. (Not I, says dylan, not I ! )
17. The main accomplishment of almost all organized protests is to annoy people who are not in them.
18. A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person. (This is very important -- Pay attention. It never fails.)
19. Your friends love you anyway.
Thought for the day :
Never be afraid to try something new.
Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark.
A large group of professionals built the Titanic.
1. Never, under any circumstances, take a sleeping pill and a laxative on the same night.
2. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and never will achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings."
3. There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illness."
4. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share yours with them.
5. And when God, who created the entire universe with all of its glories, decides to deliver a message to humanity, He WILL NOT use, as His messenger, a person on cable TV with a bad hairstyle.
6. You should not confuse your career with your life.
7. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously.
8. When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy.
9. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and dance.
10. Never lick a steak knife.
11. Take out the fortune before you eat the cookie.
12. The most destructive force in the universe is gossip.
13. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight savings time.
14. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests that you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment.
15. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age eleven.
16. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that, deep down inside, we ALL believe that we are above average drivers. (Not I, says dylan, not I ! )
17. The main accomplishment of almost all organized protests is to annoy people who are not in them.
18. A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person. (This is very important -- Pay attention. It never fails.)
19. Your friends love you anyway.
Thought for the day :
Never be afraid to try something new.
Remember that a lone amateur built the Ark.
A large group of professionals built the Titanic.
The marginalized left?
I've added a few links to the left-hand margin of this here web-log. To the blog-list, I've added Michael Roesch's recently re-christened Res et Rationes ... and to the Other Sites (Faith, Poetry, Culture, Politics, In No Particular Order) I've added :
-- Jewish World Review
-- The Weekly Standard
-- Poems of Catullus
I'm nothing if not eclectic. To the point of being eccentric!
I've added a few links to the left-hand margin of this here web-log. To the blog-list, I've added Michael Roesch's recently re-christened Res et Rationes ... and to the Other Sites (Faith, Poetry, Culture, Politics, In No Particular Order) I've added :
-- Jewish World Review
-- The Weekly Standard
-- Poems of Catullus
I'm nothing if not eclectic. To the point of being eccentric!
Hope the link works : an article about the Democrats' man of the hour, US Rep. Harold Ford, Jr., first Congressman to have been born in the 1970s. He enjoys a reputation for moderation, and the respect of many Republicans. Which seems to indicate that the apple has fallen a safe distance from the tree.
I love the "has been perceived."
Some Tennessee Democrats say privately that Ford's biggest liability in winning statewide office is his family, which for decades has operated a major political machine in Memphis.
At the top is his father Harold Ford Sr., the first black Tennessee congressman, who defeated a well-entrenched white Republican in 1974. Ford Sr. has been perceived as racially divisive; he once referred to backers of a black Republican opponent as "white devils." But one of Ford's uncles, state Sen. John Ford, could pose a real problem for his nephew, depending on the outcome of state and federal investigations into an alleged kickback scheme involving government payments to childcare centers.
As Democrats ponder how best todeceive the country into thinking they have good ideas present their innovative and exciting new visions for America, it seems that there are two paths they can go by (but in the long run, there's still time to change the road you're on ...). The path of Ford elder -- petulance, arrogance, derision -- or the path of Ford younger -- gentility, good humor, and temperamental moderation. It'll be interesting to see which path they choose.
I love the "has been perceived."
Some Tennessee Democrats say privately that Ford's biggest liability in winning statewide office is his family, which for decades has operated a major political machine in Memphis.
At the top is his father Harold Ford Sr., the first black Tennessee congressman, who defeated a well-entrenched white Republican in 1974. Ford Sr. has been perceived as racially divisive; he once referred to backers of a black Republican opponent as "white devils." But one of Ford's uncles, state Sen. John Ford, could pose a real problem for his nephew, depending on the outcome of state and federal investigations into an alleged kickback scheme involving government payments to childcare centers.
As Democrats ponder how best to
true lovers in each happening of their hearts
by edward estlin cummings (1894-1962)
true lovers in each happening of their hearts
live longer than all which and every who;
despite what fear denies,what hope asserts,
what falsest both disprove by proving true
(all doubts,all certainties,as villains strive
and heroes through the mere mind's poor pretend
--grim comics of duration:only love
immortally occurs beyond the mind)
such a forever is love's any now
and her each here is such an everywhere,
even more true would truest lovers grow
if out of midnight dropped more suns than are
(yes;and if time should ask into his was
all shall,their eyes would never miss a yes)
:: :: :: :: :: ::
The syntax of that couplet is difficult, but having heard the tape of Cummings reading the poem has helped a little. "If time should ask into his was / all shall" or, if this order helps to clarify, "If time should ask All Shall into his Was."
If the whole world's future is to be non-existent. If all tomorrows are dead. If the gods should declare that next year is cancelled, or as defunct as yesteryear. If fate should decree that "futures are obsolete, pasts are unborn" as Cummings said elsewhere, still, the eyes of the "true lovers" would never miss a Yes.
The word "yes" served Estlin Cummings as (at least!) noun, adjective, and verb. Cummings is certainly, to my mind, the poet of the dolce stil nuovo (the new sweet style) of the American 20th century. He is the poet of springtime, of birth and of rebirth.
by edward estlin cummings (1894-1962)
true lovers in each happening of their hearts
live longer than all which and every who;
despite what fear denies,what hope asserts,
what falsest both disprove by proving true
(all doubts,all certainties,as villains strive
and heroes through the mere mind's poor pretend
--grim comics of duration:only love
immortally occurs beyond the mind)
such a forever is love's any now
and her each here is such an everywhere,
even more true would truest lovers grow
if out of midnight dropped more suns than are
(yes;and if time should ask into his was
all shall,their eyes would never miss a yes)
:: :: :: :: :: ::
The syntax of that couplet is difficult, but having heard the tape of Cummings reading the poem has helped a little. "If time should ask into his was / all shall" or, if this order helps to clarify, "If time should ask All Shall into his Was."
If the whole world's future is to be non-existent. If all tomorrows are dead. If the gods should declare that next year is cancelled, or as defunct as yesteryear. If fate should decree that "futures are obsolete, pasts are unborn" as Cummings said elsewhere, still, the eyes of the "true lovers" would never miss a Yes.
The word "yes" served Estlin Cummings as (at least!) noun, adjective, and verb. Cummings is certainly, to my mind, the poet of the dolce stil nuovo (the new sweet style) of the American 20th century. He is the poet of springtime, of birth and of rebirth.
Dante sees Beatrice for the first time
La Vita Nuova, section 2
At that moment
I say most truly that the spirit of life, which hath its dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart, began to tremble so violently that the least pulses of my body shook therewith; and in trembling it said these words : "Here is a deity stronger than I; who, coming, shall rule over me." At that moment the animate spirit, which dwelleth in the lofty chamber whither all the senses carry their perceptions, was filled with wonder, and speaking more especially unto the spirits of the eyes, said these words : "Your beatitude hath now been made manifest unto you." At that moment the natural spirit, which dwelleth there where our nourishment is administered, began to weep, and in weeping said these words : "Alas! how often shall I be disturbed from this time forth." I say that, from that time forward, Love quite governed my soul; which was immediately espoused to him, and with so safe and undisputed a lordship, (by virtue of strong imagination) that I had nothing left for it but to do his bidding continually. He oftentimes commanded me to seek if I might see this youngest of the Angels : wherefore I in my boyhood often went in search of her, and found her so noble and praiseworthy that certainly of her might have been said those words of the poet Homer,
She seemed not to be the daughter of a mortal man, but of God.
Translated into English by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
La Vita Nuova, section 2
At that moment
I say most truly that the spirit of life, which hath its dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart, began to tremble so violently that the least pulses of my body shook therewith; and in trembling it said these words : "Here is a deity stronger than I; who, coming, shall rule over me." At that moment the animate spirit, which dwelleth in the lofty chamber whither all the senses carry their perceptions, was filled with wonder, and speaking more especially unto the spirits of the eyes, said these words : "Your beatitude hath now been made manifest unto you." At that moment the natural spirit, which dwelleth there where our nourishment is administered, began to weep, and in weeping said these words : "Alas! how often shall I be disturbed from this time forth." I say that, from that time forward, Love quite governed my soul; which was immediately espoused to him, and with so safe and undisputed a lordship, (by virtue of strong imagination) that I had nothing left for it but to do his bidding continually. He oftentimes commanded me to seek if I might see this youngest of the Angels : wherefore I in my boyhood often went in search of her, and found her so noble and praiseworthy that certainly of her might have been said those words of the poet Homer,
She seemed not to be the daughter of a mortal man, but of God.
Translated into English by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
The View from the Core 2.10
Poetry page. War poetry and patriotism. And "Harvest Moon : 1916" by Josephine Preston Peabody. Note the Sapphic stanzas!
Poetry page. War poetry and patriotism. And "Harvest Moon : 1916" by Josephine Preston Peabody. Note the Sapphic stanzas!
Monday, November 11, 2002
Ah, yes, the tolerant left.
They're just so much more c-o-m-p-a-s-s-i-o-n-a-t-e than us viciousmeanspiritedintolerantinsensitive right-wingers.
I feel so guilty for having voted for the Gruesome Oppression Party (GOP). Why not vote for those open-minded civilized Democrats instead?
They're just so much more c-o-m-p-a-s-s-i-o-n-a-t-e than us viciousmeanspiritedintolerantinsensitive right-wingers.
I feel so guilty for having voted for the Gruesome Oppression Party (GOP). Why not vote for those open-minded civilized Democrats instead?
God bless Barry Crimmins
The Boston-based arch-leftist makes Fidel Castro look like Jack Kemp. He once observed that an "intellectual conservative" is a thug with excellent grammar. Here is a link to his quips, sententiae & obiter dicta.
I must admit. This bit -- apparently written on Election Night -- gave me a mighty chuckle :
About 10:30, my dog Lloyd went out and demonstrated his solidarity for Democrats by getting skunked.
The Boston-based arch-leftist makes Fidel Castro look like Jack Kemp. He once observed that an "intellectual conservative" is a thug with excellent grammar. Here is a link to his quips, sententiae & obiter dicta.
I must admit. This bit -- apparently written on Election Night -- gave me a mighty chuckle :
About 10:30, my dog Lloyd went out and demonstrated his solidarity for Democrats by getting skunked.
A reader asks
eagerly, almost impatiently, in reference to one of the bloggings herebelow, "Who is Cynthia?"
And with appropriate borrowings from Wisdom chapter 7, Sirach chapter 24, and the Song of Songs, I answer :
We speak with reticence about the holy mysteries of our lives; it is quite possible that in attempting to communicate who she is, something will get lost in the translation, or one will resort to oft-heard poetic platitudes.
Suffice it to say that the name stands for the one who is inspiratrix of every noble impulse of the heart, every love poem of the last decade (both the written and the unwritten); she is the earthly and enfleshed embodiment of every grace and every blessing, sweeter than honey from the honeycomb and terrible as an army with banners : dark and beautiful as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Salma; the dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the hills, to whom we plead, "Let us see your face, let us hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely." Sweet, but also, as said before : "terrible as an army with banners."
She is, in short, if you must know la vita nuova. Nuova? Perduta. The newness of life that seems, from this vantage point, irrevocably lost. I shall not look upon her like again.
She is the one of whom all poems, all sonnets, all symphonies, all art in the world's museums constitute but the faintest and feeblest prefigurement. C'est le premier matin du monde, we thought at the first glimpse, comme une fleur confuse exhalée dans la nuit. Un souffle nouveau qui se lève des ondes. Un jardin bleu s'épanouit.
She is a certain pure emanation of the glory of God, and a vapour of the power of God. She gives birth to honourable love and to reverence, to peace and to holy hope. To the sweetest meditations of the mind. She is the radiance that streams from the everlasting Light, the flawless mirror of the active power of God, and the image of his goodness. She is the rose of Sharon and a lily among the thorns.
Please forgive the brevity and inadequacy of our answer.
eagerly, almost impatiently, in reference to one of the bloggings herebelow, "Who is Cynthia?"
And with appropriate borrowings from Wisdom chapter 7, Sirach chapter 24, and the Song of Songs, I answer :
We speak with reticence about the holy mysteries of our lives; it is quite possible that in attempting to communicate who she is, something will get lost in the translation, or one will resort to oft-heard poetic platitudes.
Suffice it to say that the name stands for the one who is inspiratrix of every noble impulse of the heart, every love poem of the last decade (both the written and the unwritten); she is the earthly and enfleshed embodiment of every grace and every blessing, sweeter than honey from the honeycomb and terrible as an army with banners : dark and beautiful as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Salma; the dove in the clefts of the rock, in the secret places of the hills, to whom we plead, "Let us see your face, let us hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and your face is lovely." Sweet, but also, as said before : "terrible as an army with banners."
She is, in short, if you must know la vita nuova. Nuova? Perduta. The newness of life that seems, from this vantage point, irrevocably lost. I shall not look upon her like again.
She is the one of whom all poems, all sonnets, all symphonies, all art in the world's museums constitute but the faintest and feeblest prefigurement. C'est le premier matin du monde, we thought at the first glimpse, comme une fleur confuse exhalée dans la nuit. Un souffle nouveau qui se lève des ondes. Un jardin bleu s'épanouit.
She is a certain pure emanation of the glory of God, and a vapour of the power of God. She gives birth to honourable love and to reverence, to peace and to holy hope. To the sweetest meditations of the mind. She is the radiance that streams from the everlasting Light, the flawless mirror of the active power of God, and the image of his goodness. She is the rose of Sharon and a lily among the thorns.
Please forgive the brevity and inadequacy of our answer.
Oh, please forgive me
but I'm in one of those Smiths moods again. What she asked of me at the end of the day ...
but I'm in one of those Smiths moods again. What she asked of me at the end of the day ...
The Weekly Standard's Top Ten Letters
Scroll down to #10.
People like the President. Running as the Dubya Sucks candidate, by and large, did not translate to victory.
Politeness counts. In tennis lingo, (2) Romney def. (1) O'Brien. Also, in this connection : people avoid the shrill and arrogant.
Scroll down to #10.
People like the President. Running as the Dubya Sucks candidate, by and large, did not translate to victory.
Politeness counts. In tennis lingo, (2) Romney def. (1) O'Brien. Also, in this connection : people avoid the shrill and arrogant.
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Stephen Fry
on his beloved, who
was even more beautiful than I had supposed. Even more beautiful than I had ever imagined it was possible to imagine imagining beauty. Beautiful in a way that made me realise that I had never even known before what beautiful really meant : not in people, nature, taste or sound.
There are many in Norfolk for whom "big city" means Norwich.
"I been to Norwich once and I didn't like it," they say. "Swaffham's big enough for me." They can only guess at what London, Los Angeles or Manhattan might be like.
I realised at this moment that I had only ever experienced the townships of Charming, Pretty, Attractive, Comely, Sweet, Delicious, Handsome and Cute and now I had finally penetrated the city limits of Beautiful. I was instantly aware of Beauty and the whole Greek and Keatsian fuss about it made sense.
Just as when an artist shows you a new view of something -- as Matisse for example might show you a quality in an apple that you had never noticed before and from then on you are able to see that same quality in every apple you encounter -- so I would from this second onwards be able forever to see beauty, real beauty, in familiar things all around me. Before this moment I may have thought a particular sunrise or hillside was stunning or attractive but after this moment I would be able to see beauty there. Absolute beauty.
-- Moab, pp. 225-6
(With the painter and the apple, I think Fry confuses Matisse with Cézanne, but no matter.)
on his beloved, who
was even more beautiful than I had supposed. Even more beautiful than I had ever imagined it was possible to imagine imagining beauty. Beautiful in a way that made me realise that I had never even known before what beautiful really meant : not in people, nature, taste or sound.
There are many in Norfolk for whom "big city" means Norwich.
"I been to Norwich once and I didn't like it," they say. "Swaffham's big enough for me." They can only guess at what London, Los Angeles or Manhattan might be like.
I realised at this moment that I had only ever experienced the townships of Charming, Pretty, Attractive, Comely, Sweet, Delicious, Handsome and Cute and now I had finally penetrated the city limits of Beautiful. I was instantly aware of Beauty and the whole Greek and Keatsian fuss about it made sense.
Just as when an artist shows you a new view of something -- as Matisse for example might show you a quality in an apple that you had never noticed before and from then on you are able to see that same quality in every apple you encounter -- so I would from this second onwards be able forever to see beauty, real beauty, in familiar things all around me. Before this moment I may have thought a particular sunrise or hillside was stunning or attractive but after this moment I would be able to see beauty there. Absolute beauty.
-- Moab, pp. 225-6
(With the painter and the apple, I think Fry confuses Matisse with Cézanne, but no matter.)
A sonnet by Jorge Luis Borges
which makes me wish I knew a little more Spanish
La Cierva Blanca
¿De qué agreste balada de la verde Inglaterra,
de qué lámina persa, de qué región arcana
de las noches y dÃas que nuestro ayer encierra,
vino la cierva blanca que soñé esta mañana?
DurarÃa un segundo. La vi cruzar el prado
y perderse en el oro de una tarde ilusoria,
leve criatura hecha de un poco de memoria
y de un poco de olvido, cierva de un solo lado.
Los númenes que rigen este curioso mundo
me dejaron soñarte pero no ser tu dueño;
tal vez en un recodo del porvenir profundo
te encontraré de nuevo, cierva blanca de un sueño.
Yo también soy un sueño fugitivo que dura
un tiempo más que el sueño del prado y la blancura.
:: :: :: :: :: :: ::
Via fotos del apocalipsis.
which makes me wish I knew a little more Spanish
La Cierva Blanca
¿De qué agreste balada de la verde Inglaterra,
de qué lámina persa, de qué región arcana
de las noches y dÃas que nuestro ayer encierra,
vino la cierva blanca que soñé esta mañana?
DurarÃa un segundo. La vi cruzar el prado
y perderse en el oro de una tarde ilusoria,
leve criatura hecha de un poco de memoria
y de un poco de olvido, cierva de un solo lado.
Los númenes que rigen este curioso mundo
me dejaron soñarte pero no ser tu dueño;
tal vez en un recodo del porvenir profundo
te encontraré de nuevo, cierva blanca de un sueño.
Yo también soy un sueño fugitivo que dura
un tiempo más que el sueño del prado y la blancura.
:: :: :: :: :: :: ::
Via fotos del apocalipsis.
The antidote to Miss Gulch's theme
A beautiful version of this song was featured in the 1992 film Peter's Friends, a film with one big flaw (it seems predicated on the assumption that all one needs is a good sex life, and one will be happier than the saints in heaven) and several virtues, among them the able mostly-British cast of Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Thompson's mum Phyllida Law, Hugh Laurie, Imelda Staunton, American comedienne Rita Rudner, and -- stop me if you think that you've heard this name before -- Stephen Fry.
Not all members of St Blog's would approve of the film. They'd definitely approve of the song. So beautifully arranged in that film.
I often ask myself which character in the film I most resemble. It breaks down thus :
42% Peter
42% Andrew
10% Maggie
6% everybody else
A beautiful version of this song was featured in the 1992 film Peter's Friends, a film with one big flaw (it seems predicated on the assumption that all one needs is a good sex life, and one will be happier than the saints in heaven) and several virtues, among them the able mostly-British cast of Kenneth Branagh, Emma Thompson, Thompson's mum Phyllida Law, Hugh Laurie, Imelda Staunton, American comedienne Rita Rudner, and -- stop me if you think that you've heard this name before -- Stephen Fry.
Not all members of St Blog's would approve of the film. They'd definitely approve of the song. So beautifully arranged in that film.
I often ask myself which character in the film I most resemble. It breaks down thus :
42% Peter
42% Andrew
10% Maggie
6% everybody else
Title of autobiography
If I write one -- and it'll be read by no one except its author, that's for sure -- the title will likely be A Misanthrope's Concerto : Monologue of a Stand-up Tragedian.
Concise, isn't it?
The epigraph would be these lines from Walt Whitman, in "Song of Myself," section 51 :
Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes.
I love that third line.
I am large.
It's got such honesty and confidence and endaring brashness. I'll leave "en-daring" for "endearing."
I contain multitudes.
You can say that again!
If I write one -- and it'll be read by no one except its author, that's for sure -- the title will likely be A Misanthrope's Concerto : Monologue of a Stand-up Tragedian.
Concise, isn't it?
The epigraph would be these lines from Walt Whitman, in "Song of Myself," section 51 :
Do I contradict myself?
Very well, I contradict myself.
I am large, I contain multitudes.
I love that third line.
I am large.
It's got such honesty and confidence and endaring brashness. I'll leave "en-daring" for "endearing."
I contain multitudes.
You can say that again!
Continuing the conversation
and in my case, taking it down a notch (but not changing positions)
At Ono's Thoughts, Mr Ekeh blogs passionately -- and compassionately -- about, as he sees it, the need for Republicans to adopt some Democratic values : solicitude toward the downtrodden, the elderly, battered women. And he is certainly right.
But I think that his argument does present us with, in some cases, the fallacy of the false alternative. And in one case, with the term "pro-life Nazi" -- a term that rather wants explaining. (I guess he means candidates like David Duke. Note from 6 years ago, the last time that scoundrel sought office. He lost big time in the Republican primaries. And if Mr Ekeh is remotely aware of all the associations that obtain to the word "Nazi," he couldn't smack the adjective "pro-life" onto it without a keen sense of the ridiculous.)
I know of no Republican candidate who is campaigning against battered women's shelters, and precious few Republican candidates who do not have a plan to reduce the cost of prescription drugs.
The Democrats might more ably defend these life issues, themselves, if they were not funding programs that are either needless or harmful, or what have you.
-- Should there be bilingual education or English immersion? A recent referendum in Massachusetts went 70-30 in favor of the latter.
-- Should there be any funds directed toward programs to promote gay and lesbian awareness in the public schools? Consider : we have a sitcom like Will & Grace. Tolerance is compulsory. We're in no danger, not since Culture Club crooned "Karma Chameleon," of being unaware of gay folks. Do we need the evangelists for homosexuality to be preaching in public schools? If a state is using money for that purpose, is the money being misallocated?
-- How often, and by how much, should public officials raise their own salaries?
-- Has education improved at all in the less than 30 years that this country has had a Dept. of Education?
-- Is universal health care truly universal if it excludes the unborn as Lebens unwürdig (speaking of Nazis) ?
We could, to coin a plagiarism, multiply examples.
and in my case, taking it down a notch (but not changing positions)
At Ono's Thoughts, Mr Ekeh blogs passionately -- and compassionately -- about, as he sees it, the need for Republicans to adopt some Democratic values : solicitude toward the downtrodden, the elderly, battered women. And he is certainly right.
But I think that his argument does present us with, in some cases, the fallacy of the false alternative. And in one case, with the term "pro-life Nazi" -- a term that rather wants explaining. (I guess he means candidates like David Duke. Note from 6 years ago, the last time that scoundrel sought office. He lost big time in the Republican primaries. And if Mr Ekeh is remotely aware of all the associations that obtain to the word "Nazi," he couldn't smack the adjective "pro-life" onto it without a keen sense of the ridiculous.)
I know of no Republican candidate who is campaigning against battered women's shelters, and precious few Republican candidates who do not have a plan to reduce the cost of prescription drugs.
The Democrats might more ably defend these life issues, themselves, if they were not funding programs that are either needless or harmful, or what have you.
-- Should there be bilingual education or English immersion? A recent referendum in Massachusetts went 70-30 in favor of the latter.
-- Should there be any funds directed toward programs to promote gay and lesbian awareness in the public schools? Consider : we have a sitcom like Will & Grace. Tolerance is compulsory. We're in no danger, not since Culture Club crooned "Karma Chameleon," of being unaware of gay folks. Do we need the evangelists for homosexuality to be preaching in public schools? If a state is using money for that purpose, is the money being misallocated?
-- How often, and by how much, should public officials raise their own salaries?
-- Has education improved at all in the less than 30 years that this country has had a Dept. of Education?
-- Is universal health care truly universal if it excludes the unborn as Lebens unwürdig (speaking of Nazis) ?
We could, to coin a plagiarism, multiply examples.
Well, that's about right ...
Which Beatles Album Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
:: :: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: :: ::
Memorandum to self
so please, no one else read it!
Get the "love story " out of the library. That is, if it isn't such a good book that every copy has been stolen from the library already. This seems to happen to Cummings.
Might also have to read (pace the NaNoWriMo crew) Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird.
:: :: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: :: ::
Commonweal discovers St Blog's
Can't link to it, because it ain't up yet, but Commonweal has a decent-ish article on St Blog's by Peter Feuerherd entitled "Catholics Online." The customary condescension toward the tight world of Catholic "orthodoxy" (as if C'weal were somehow one-fourteenth as popular as EWTN!), but a few of the big names are mentioned with varying degrees of praise. The author's attention turns favorably toward Ms Welborn, Mr Shea, and Mr Sullivan.
It's a gift susbscription I have. I think it runs out with the next issue. Fitting, methinks, that the last issue of Commonweal I receive will likely contain the coverage on the recent plebiscite.
Commonweal has the lamentable tendency of putting a question mark where holy Church has put a period, or even where God Almighty has put an exclamation point!
Which Beatles Album Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
:: :: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: :: ::
Memorandum to self
so please, no one else read it!
Get the "love story " out of the library. That is, if it isn't such a good book that every copy has been stolen from the library already. This seems to happen to Cummings.
Might also have to read (pace the NaNoWriMo crew) Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird.
:: :: :: :: :: ::
:: :: :: :: :: ::
Commonweal discovers St Blog's
Can't link to it, because it ain't up yet, but Commonweal has a decent-ish article on St Blog's by Peter Feuerherd entitled "Catholics Online." The customary condescension toward the tight world of Catholic "orthodoxy" (as if C'weal were somehow one-fourteenth as popular as EWTN!), but a few of the big names are mentioned with varying degrees of praise. The author's attention turns favorably toward Ms Welborn, Mr Shea, and Mr Sullivan.
It's a gift susbscription I have. I think it runs out with the next issue. Fitting, methinks, that the last issue of Commonweal I receive will likely contain the coverage on the recent plebiscite.
Commonweal has the lamentable tendency of putting a question mark where holy Church has put a period, or even where God Almighty has put an exclamation point!
Confiteor Deo omnipotenti,
beatae Mariae semper virgini,
beato Michaeli archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae,
sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo,
omnibus Sanctis et vobis fratres,
quia peccavi nimis
cogitatione, verbo, et opere,
mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper virginem,
beatum Michaelem archangelum, beatum Joannem Baptistam,
sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum,
omnes Sanctos, et vos fratres,
orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.
Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus,
et dimissis peccatis vestris,
perducat vos ad vitam aeternam.
Amen.
beatae Mariae semper virgini,
beato Michaeli archangelo, beato Joanni Baptistae,
sanctis Apostolis Petro et Paulo,
omnibus Sanctis et vobis fratres,
quia peccavi nimis
cogitatione, verbo, et opere,
mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Ideo precor beatam Mariam semper virginem,
beatum Michaelem archangelum, beatum Joannem Baptistam,
sanctos Apostolos Petrum et Paulum,
omnes Sanctos, et vos fratres,
orare pro me ad Dominum Deum nostrum.
Misereatur vestri omnipotens Deus,
et dimissis peccatis vestris,
perducat vos ad vitam aeternam.
Amen.
Stephen Fry
Please indulge me. At least two more brief passages of his sublimely profane autobiography Moab Is My Washpot, given a perceptive and laudatory notice (a "rave review") by one of the nation's most prominent and hallowed journals of conservatism (National Review).
In Moab, Fry devotes many a page to discussing the greatest love of his adolescence. That love was another young lad.
My sense of kinship with Fry is in no wise impaired by this. For his Matthew, one can for oneself readily substitute any other name (Amanda, Beatrice, Cynthia, Deborah, Emily) ... Besides, when Fry writes about Matthew, twenty-five years after the fact, it is evident that the primarily impulse in his reminiscence is not eroticism -- though he doesn't in any way deny that that's there -- but awe.
This book is in no danger of being found in the library of a Camaldolese monastery, as I wrote in a review of it elsewhere. But it is, to my mind, a gem. It's been described as "a gay coming-of-age memoir," not inaccurately, but too reductively. It's a Stephen Fry coming-of-age memoir. He wins us over with his ebullient dexterity of language, his honesty, his charm ... and passages on the beauty of his beloved that could be, with a slight adjustment of idiom -- and yes, orientation -- Dante writing about Beatrice, Petrarch about Laura, dylan_tm618 about Cynthia ... etcetera etcetera etcetera.
Here is Fry, describing how his universe changed one bright September day. I empathize and sympathize beyond completely.
And then I saw him and nothing was ever the same again.
The sky was never the same colour, the moon never the same shape : the air never smelt the same, food never tasted the same. Every word I knew changed its meaning, everything that was once stable and firm became as insubstantial as a puff of wind, and every puff of wind became a solid thing I could feel and touch.
This is where language is so far behind music. The chord that Max Steiner brings in when Bogart catches sight of Bergman in his bar in Casablanca, how can I bring that into a book of black ink marks on white paper? The swell and surge of the Liebestod from Tristan, Liszt's Sonata in B minor -- even Alfred Brendel can't conjure that up from this keyboard, this alphanumeric piano beneath my fingers. Maybe, because sometimes pop music can hit the mark as well as anything, I could write you out a playlist. We would start with the Monkees :
And then I saw her face, and now I'm a believer
Naaah ... it's no use.
There's nothing for it but old words and cold print. Besides, you've been there yourself. You've been in love. Why am I getting so hysterical? Just about every film, every book, every poem, every song is a love story. This is not a genre with which you are unfamiliar even if by some fluke (whether a cursed fluke or a blessed one I would be the last able to decide) you have never been there yourself.
-- Moab Is My Washpot : An Autobiography (US edition Random House, 1999), pp. 217-8
Another excerpt soon to follow.
Please indulge me. At least two more brief passages of his sublimely profane autobiography Moab Is My Washpot, given a perceptive and laudatory notice (a "rave review") by one of the nation's most prominent and hallowed journals of conservatism (National Review).
In Moab, Fry devotes many a page to discussing the greatest love of his adolescence. That love was another young lad.
My sense of kinship with Fry is in no wise impaired by this. For his Matthew, one can for oneself readily substitute any other name (Amanda, Beatrice, Cynthia, Deborah, Emily) ... Besides, when Fry writes about Matthew, twenty-five years after the fact, it is evident that the primarily impulse in his reminiscence is not eroticism -- though he doesn't in any way deny that that's there -- but awe.
This book is in no danger of being found in the library of a Camaldolese monastery, as I wrote in a review of it elsewhere. But it is, to my mind, a gem. It's been described as "a gay coming-of-age memoir," not inaccurately, but too reductively. It's a Stephen Fry coming-of-age memoir. He wins us over with his ebullient dexterity of language, his honesty, his charm ... and passages on the beauty of his beloved that could be, with a slight adjustment of idiom -- and yes, orientation -- Dante writing about Beatrice, Petrarch about Laura, dylan_tm618 about Cynthia ... etcetera etcetera etcetera.
Here is Fry, describing how his universe changed one bright September day. I empathize and sympathize beyond completely.
And then I saw him and nothing was ever the same again.
The sky was never the same colour, the moon never the same shape : the air never smelt the same, food never tasted the same. Every word I knew changed its meaning, everything that was once stable and firm became as insubstantial as a puff of wind, and every puff of wind became a solid thing I could feel and touch.
This is where language is so far behind music. The chord that Max Steiner brings in when Bogart catches sight of Bergman in his bar in Casablanca, how can I bring that into a book of black ink marks on white paper? The swell and surge of the Liebestod from Tristan, Liszt's Sonata in B minor -- even Alfred Brendel can't conjure that up from this keyboard, this alphanumeric piano beneath my fingers. Maybe, because sometimes pop music can hit the mark as well as anything, I could write you out a playlist. We would start with the Monkees :
And then I saw her face, and now I'm a believer
Naaah ... it's no use.
There's nothing for it but old words and cold print. Besides, you've been there yourself. You've been in love. Why am I getting so hysterical? Just about every film, every book, every poem, every song is a love story. This is not a genre with which you are unfamiliar even if by some fluke (whether a cursed fluke or a blessed one I would be the last able to decide) you have never been there yourself.
-- Moab Is My Washpot : An Autobiography (US edition Random House, 1999), pp. 217-8
Another excerpt soon to follow.
Pondering a post of the Professio Fidei
Recently, I thought of posting the Professio here at Tenebrae. A number of reasons why I think of doing so, but a number of reasons why I probably won't.
One reason I thought of posting was that I encountered some disaffecting rhetoric about the Roman Catholic Church on the web-page of a fellow who identifies himself as Orthodox, and out of something more than simple reactionary impulse, I wanted to show solidarity with my Church, and with the Universal Pontiff, and with the Magisterium.
I also want to show solidarity with my fellow Catholic bloggers who are out there defending the faith against misconceptions with able and good-humored apologetics. And I also find myself (not quite a reason for posting the Professio, but perhaps connected somehow) in urgent need of the prayers of my fellow Catholics -- and, heck, of everyone. But I need the prayers of the Church, liturgical and private. I need the prayers of my brothers and sisters -- and I hope I have them, whether or not I post the Professio here!
Reasons why I will probably not post the Professio :
Neither this web-log, nor its predecessor (error503 : La vita nuova) could be considered an apologetics web-log. It comes from a Catholic standpoint, inevitably, ineluctably, instinctively -- but it also contains matter that might seem out of place in a Catholic weblog (e.g., snippets from the autobiography of a gay British actor).
Eastern Orthodoxy continues to exert an attraction for this believer, almost to the point where one ponders conversion. I believe that the Western Church, in terms of liturgy especially, needs to recover what the East (both Orthodox and Catholic) has never lost. Join me in praying that amity will increase, and enmity will decrease, between Catholics and Orthodox.
If I posted the Professio, it could be interpreted as either yielding to a kind of "peer pressure," or as exerting pressure for others to do so.
It might also lead some folks to think that I am trying to create the impression of being more virtuous than others. Trust me here. I am not more virtuous than others!
Also, I note the words "the power of" in the English version of the Professio seen at one web-log; and in a post many days ago, I mentioned that I don't see why those words are there. Incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine.
And, as seen immediately herebelow, there is my unclarity on what the Church teaches about the death penalty, and my resistance to certain ways of opposing the death penalty, and to certain arguments against the death penalty.
And there is the feeling, quite often, that it is sheer effrontery to consider myself a Christian at all!
I'd end by saying, as others have said, that I don't want my non-posting of the Professio to be interpreted as a kind of militancy against, or disloyalty to, the Holy See. I'm not a theologian, just a lowly blogger whose aim here at Tenebrae is to share poetry and meditation and personal insight, nourished (it is hoped) by the Church of one's baptism. For all the factors listed above, and for at least one more reason, one hesitates to post the Professio.
But I repeat to my readers : Please pray for me, a poor sinner. Thank you, all, and God be with you all, to maintain you in hope and holiness of life both now and always.
Recently, I thought of posting the Professio here at Tenebrae. A number of reasons why I think of doing so, but a number of reasons why I probably won't.
One reason I thought of posting was that I encountered some disaffecting rhetoric about the Roman Catholic Church on the web-page of a fellow who identifies himself as Orthodox, and out of something more than simple reactionary impulse, I wanted to show solidarity with my Church, and with the Universal Pontiff, and with the Magisterium.
I also want to show solidarity with my fellow Catholic bloggers who are out there defending the faith against misconceptions with able and good-humored apologetics. And I also find myself (not quite a reason for posting the Professio, but perhaps connected somehow) in urgent need of the prayers of my fellow Catholics -- and, heck, of everyone. But I need the prayers of the Church, liturgical and private. I need the prayers of my brothers and sisters -- and I hope I have them, whether or not I post the Professio here!
Reasons why I will probably not post the Professio :
Neither this web-log, nor its predecessor (error503 : La vita nuova) could be considered an apologetics web-log. It comes from a Catholic standpoint, inevitably, ineluctably, instinctively -- but it also contains matter that might seem out of place in a Catholic weblog (e.g., snippets from the autobiography of a gay British actor).
Eastern Orthodoxy continues to exert an attraction for this believer, almost to the point where one ponders conversion. I believe that the Western Church, in terms of liturgy especially, needs to recover what the East (both Orthodox and Catholic) has never lost. Join me in praying that amity will increase, and enmity will decrease, between Catholics and Orthodox.
If I posted the Professio, it could be interpreted as either yielding to a kind of "peer pressure," or as exerting pressure for others to do so.
It might also lead some folks to think that I am trying to create the impression of being more virtuous than others. Trust me here. I am not more virtuous than others!
Also, I note the words "the power of" in the English version of the Professio seen at one web-log; and in a post many days ago, I mentioned that I don't see why those words are there. Incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine.
And, as seen immediately herebelow, there is my unclarity on what the Church teaches about the death penalty, and my resistance to certain ways of opposing the death penalty, and to certain arguments against the death penalty.
And there is the feeling, quite often, that it is sheer effrontery to consider myself a Christian at all!
I'd end by saying, as others have said, that I don't want my non-posting of the Professio to be interpreted as a kind of militancy against, or disloyalty to, the Holy See. I'm not a theologian, just a lowly blogger whose aim here at Tenebrae is to share poetry and meditation and personal insight, nourished (it is hoped) by the Church of one's baptism. For all the factors listed above, and for at least one more reason, one hesitates to post the Professio.
But I repeat to my readers : Please pray for me, a poor sinner. Thank you, all, and God be with you all, to maintain you in hope and holiness of life both now and always.
Saturday, November 09, 2002
On the death penalty
Catholicism, the life issues, American politics : perhaps more later
Forbidden or not forbidden? that is the question. And the answer that I come up with, based on reading (and re-reading) The Catechism of the Catholic Church is, Almost but not quite.
Cardinal Mahony was on C-Span a year or two ago and announced with some asperity, "The Catholic view on the death penalty is, there should be no death penalty."
It is clear that the Church's preference is almost always for clemency. But does the CCC, even in the 1997 Modifications to the Editio Typica, issue a clarion call for abolition? "The cases in which execution of the offender is an absolute necessity 'are very rare, if not practically non-existent'" (CCC Mod 2267).
And this sentence, while not overtly endorsing the death penalty, speaks strongly against under-sentencing and is perhaps the most under-noticed sentence in the Catechism : "Legitimate public authority has the right and the duty to inflict punishment proportionate to the gravity of the offense" (CCC Mod 2266, italics mine).
And somewhere around here I have a First Things article by Cardinal Dulles in which he explains why abolition of the death penalty should never be sought to the exclusion of seeking to abolish abortion. I think of self-styled consistent ethic of lifers, who voted insouciantly for Bill Clinton in 1992 and 1996, who fulminate about GOP support for the death penalty, shrug about the abortion license, and who'd vote for the most wayward Green before dreaming of voting for a Republican.
Your ideas, input, observations, and quotations of minds in the Church wiser than mine (that's virtually everyone!) are welcome.
Catholicism, the life issues, American politics : perhaps more later
Forbidden or not forbidden? that is the question. And the answer that I come up with, based on reading (and re-reading) The Catechism of the Catholic Church is, Almost but not quite.
Cardinal Mahony was on C-Span a year or two ago and announced with some asperity, "The Catholic view on the death penalty is, there should be no death penalty."
It is clear that the Church's preference is almost always for clemency. But does the CCC, even in the 1997 Modifications to the Editio Typica, issue a clarion call for abolition? "The cases in which execution of the offender is an absolute necessity 'are very rare, if not practically non-existent'" (CCC Mod 2267).
And this sentence, while not overtly endorsing the death penalty, speaks strongly against under-sentencing and is perhaps the most under-noticed sentence in the Catechism : "Legitimate public authority has the right and the duty to inflict punishment proportionate to the gravity of the offense" (CCC Mod 2266, italics mine).
And somewhere around here I have a First Things article by Cardinal Dulles in which he explains why abolition of the death penalty should never be sought to the exclusion of seeking to abolish abortion. I think of self-styled consistent ethic of lifers, who voted insouciantly for Bill Clinton in 1992 and 1996, who fulminate about GOP support for the death penalty, shrug about the abortion license, and who'd vote for the most wayward Green before dreaming of voting for a Republican.
Your ideas, input, observations, and quotations of minds in the Church wiser than mine (that's virtually everyone!) are welcome.
Four paraphrases
of Basho
The small poems that follow make no pretension to be great poems or great translations, but were written as an exercise on June 12 of this year, to see if Harold Henderson's rhymed translations of certain Japanese haiku could be rendered in the bi-linear 14-syllable form (eight and six) often used by Emily Dickinson, even in her epistolary prose, e.g. :
The Sailor cannot see the North -- but knows the Needle can --
Again, these are merely exercises.
1.
This thoroughfare has walkers none
as falls the autumn night.
2.
Lightning! You hear it, in this dark?
Nightbird's fractious cry.
3.
A "noble" village has ... no bell
to ring at dusk in spring.
4.
Cantankerous most mornings,
but this crow loves the snow!
of Basho
The small poems that follow make no pretension to be great poems or great translations, but were written as an exercise on June 12 of this year, to see if Harold Henderson's rhymed translations of certain Japanese haiku could be rendered in the bi-linear 14-syllable form (eight and six) often used by Emily Dickinson, even in her epistolary prose, e.g. :
The Sailor cannot see the North -- but knows the Needle can --
Again, these are merely exercises.
1.
This thoroughfare has walkers none
as falls the autumn night.
2.
Lightning! You hear it, in this dark?
Nightbird's fractious cry.
3.
A "noble" village has ... no bell
to ring at dusk in spring.
4.
Cantankerous most mornings,
but this crow loves the snow!
Libertarians and Marxists, unite!
It occurs to me that these two groups, ostensibly at the antipodes, have a great deal in common.
Both groups seem to scoff, reflexively and thoughtlessly, that human affairs are ultimately governed by God.
Both groups are very brainy, very literate, very adept in vocabulary and argumentation -- but they're not nearly as smart as they think they are.
Both groups are absolutely obsessed by, if not religiously devoted to, politics. To both, political activity represents the Be-All and the End-All.
Ignore the absolutely irrelevant fact that the Berties believe in "small government" asymptotically approaching the non-existent; that the Marxists believe in "big government," as omnipresent as the Stalinists, and managing every aspect of life. Both groups are chock-full of arid, fevered evangelists for the primacy of the political. We have no souls, we have no hearts; we have only politics and ideology.
Both groups contain persons whom I'd love to bop across the faccia brutta with an instrument at least as potent as a cutting-board.
And even though, in the absence of Republican candidates, I voted for two Libertarians in the most recent election (state auditor; US Senate), I deplore the blindness and narrowness and unpalatability of Libertarians as much as I lament the follies and sins and lunacies of the Marxists.
It occurs to me that these two groups, ostensibly at the antipodes, have a great deal in common.
Both groups seem to scoff, reflexively and thoughtlessly, that human affairs are ultimately governed by God.
Both groups are very brainy, very literate, very adept in vocabulary and argumentation -- but they're not nearly as smart as they think they are.
Both groups are absolutely obsessed by, if not religiously devoted to, politics. To both, political activity represents the Be-All and the End-All.
Ignore the absolutely irrelevant fact that the Berties believe in "small government" asymptotically approaching the non-existent; that the Marxists believe in "big government," as omnipresent as the Stalinists, and managing every aspect of life. Both groups are chock-full of arid, fevered evangelists for the primacy of the political. We have no souls, we have no hearts; we have only politics and ideology.
Both groups contain persons whom I'd love to bop across the faccia brutta with an instrument at least as potent as a cutting-board.
And even though, in the absence of Republican candidates, I voted for two Libertarians in the most recent election (state auditor; US Senate), I deplore the blindness and narrowness and unpalatability of Libertarians as much as I lament the follies and sins and lunacies of the Marxists.
It speaks volumes about my strange sense of humor
that I laughed loudly and raucously at this dreadful pun from Envoy Encore. Beam me up, Scotus!
that I laughed loudly and raucously at this dreadful pun from Envoy Encore. Beam me up, Scotus!
Classic rant
How do they let this fellow stay in San Francisco? Gratitude to the Lady of Shalott for linking to this tongue-in-cheek jeremiad against the axis of Republican "evil."
Sad part is : I have at least one relative to whom the rant would not seem like hyperventilating parodistic exaggeration, but a clear, calm, sober, assessment of the facts.
This relative has denounced Massachusetts Governor-elect Mitt Romney -- moderate, genial, unadventurous, calm, Weldian Ken-doll Mitt Romney -- with as straight a face as his orientation will permit -- as a sworn foe of Catholics, as a demeaner and belittler of women, as a hater of gays; a reactionary enemy of everything good and noble and true. "And he's probably never shopped for his own groceries!"
Yes, but people who do shop for their own groceries found him more normal than his unbecoming opponent.
San Francisco journalist Mark Morford has channeled this relative of mine.
Except for the part where he drops the sarcasm, and shakes his head at the world's oldest party still not getting it.
How do they let this fellow stay in San Francisco? Gratitude to the Lady of Shalott for linking to this tongue-in-cheek jeremiad against the axis of Republican "evil."
Sad part is : I have at least one relative to whom the rant would not seem like hyperventilating parodistic exaggeration, but a clear, calm, sober, assessment of the facts.
This relative has denounced Massachusetts Governor-elect Mitt Romney -- moderate, genial, unadventurous, calm, Weldian Ken-doll Mitt Romney -- with as straight a face as his orientation will permit -- as a sworn foe of Catholics, as a demeaner and belittler of women, as a hater of gays; a reactionary enemy of everything good and noble and true. "And he's probably never shopped for his own groceries!"
Yes, but people who do shop for their own groceries found him more normal than his unbecoming opponent.
San Francisco journalist Mark Morford has channeled this relative of mine.
Except for the part where he drops the sarcasm, and shakes his head at the world's oldest party still not getting it.
And why unblooms the best hope ever sown?
Because, alas, that's the way the world is, and has always been, and will always be. St Thomas the Apostle knew it. Mark Shea speaks of those who are strong enough for tragedy but not strong enough for hope. Read his article at Catholic Exchange.
From a worldly perspective, hope is an absurdity. No one gets out of life alive. Donald Hall's epigraph in that recent book of poems, where his alter-ego poet says that judging solely from how most of us meet our earthly end, the purpose of life sometimes seems to suffer in agony and die.
Worldly joys, blisses, pleasures are all drastically brief and quite often cruelly truncated. I love the realism of this piece by Mr Shea. And am tempted to address this topic, at greater length, from my own personal perspective.
Because, alas, that's the way the world is, and has always been, and will always be. St Thomas the Apostle knew it. Mark Shea speaks of those who are strong enough for tragedy but not strong enough for hope. Read his article at Catholic Exchange.
From a worldly perspective, hope is an absurdity. No one gets out of life alive. Donald Hall's epigraph in that recent book of poems, where his alter-ego poet says that judging solely from how most of us meet our earthly end, the purpose of life sometimes seems to suffer in agony and die.
Worldly joys, blisses, pleasures are all drastically brief and quite often cruelly truncated. I love the realism of this piece by Mr Shea. And am tempted to address this topic, at greater length, from my own personal perspective.
Devotional
My lady's voice could vanquish and entrance,
Enslave the soul and liberate the tears :
A murderous mercy, passionate and fierce
Aimed at the heart. A pagan soldier's lance.
Her footsteps blessed the ground, as April sun
Kisses awake the anaesthetic earth,
Giving all cold-killed life a second birth :
She was an Easter Christ to him with none.
© 2002 by dylan_tm618
My lady's voice could vanquish and entrance,
Enslave the soul and liberate the tears :
A murderous mercy, passionate and fierce
Aimed at the heart. A pagan soldier's lance.
Her footsteps blessed the ground, as April sun
Kisses awake the anaesthetic earth,
Giving all cold-killed life a second birth :
She was an Easter Christ to him with none.
© 2002 by dylan_tm618
Incumbent encumbrances
Signor da Fiesole at Disputations has serendipitously coined the word "encumbent" to describe an incumbent politician who has become something of an encumbrance!
But my cousin's got him beat. She came up with a sublime typographical error, to which she said stet -- "statesmeanship" to describe the tenor of most political campaigns!
Signor da Fiesole at Disputations has serendipitously coined the word "encumbent" to describe an incumbent politician who has become something of an encumbrance!
But my cousin's got him beat. She came up with a sublime typographical error, to which she said stet -- "statesmeanship" to describe the tenor of most political campaigns!
In no Strange Land
by Francis Thompson (1859-1907)
‘The Kingdom of God is within you’
O WORLD invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumb’d conceiving soars!—
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shutter’d doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
’Tis ye, ’tis your estrangèd faces,
That miss the many-splendour’d thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water,
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!
by Francis Thompson (1859-1907)
‘The Kingdom of God is within you’
O WORLD invisible, we view thee,
O world intangible, we touch thee,
O world unknowable, we know thee,
Inapprehensible, we clutch thee!
Does the fish soar to find the ocean,
The eagle plunge to find the air—
That we ask of the stars in motion
If they have rumour of thee there?
Not where the wheeling systems darken,
And our benumb’d conceiving soars!—
The drift of pinions, would we hearken,
Beats at our own clay-shutter’d doors.
The angels keep their ancient places;—
Turn but a stone, and start a wing!
’Tis ye, ’tis your estrangèd faces,
That miss the many-splendour’d thing.
But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)
Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss
Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder
Pitched betwixt Heaven and Charing Cross.
Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter,
Cry,—clinging Heaven by the hems;
And lo, Christ walking on the water,
Not of Gennesareth, but Thames!
The Formidable Fifty-Seventh
chapter of Isaiah
Note : The translation being used here is the Revised English Bible with the Apocrypha. Not the best, but it has its moments of grace, and surpasses other NABysmal translations in fluency and euphony.
Yesterday morning I was reading Scripture at a rather Cistercian hour, and happened upon the 57th chapter of Isaiah. It's not one of the more "famous" chapters of Isaiah, no oft-quoted verse comparable to "Come, let us reason together" or "the lion will lie down with the lamb" or "a bruised reed he shall not break" -- but it is formidable.
It begins with a scathing indictment, full throttle, full force, no holds barred. The Lord, via his prophet, is letting his people have it, with both barrels!
The righteous perish
and no one is concerned;
all who are loyal to their faith are swept away
and no one gives it a thought.
The righteous are swept away by the onset of evil
[ . . .]
3 Come near, you children of a soothsayer.
You spawn of an adulterer and a harlot,
4 who is the target of your jests?
Against whom do you open your months
and stick out your tongues?
Children of sin, spawn of a lie,
5 you are burning with lust under the sacred oaks,
under every spreading tree
and sacrificing children in the wadis,
under the rocky clefts.
Five verses later,
9 You drenched your tresses with oil,
were lavish in your use of perfumes;
you sent out your procurers far and wide
even down to the confines of Sheol.
10 Though worn out by your unending excesses,
you never thought your plight desperate.
You found renewed vigour
and so had no anxiety.
That is dreadfully, typically human. We've sinned but let's keep going. We haven't been gravely harmed by our follies yet. They're practically peccadilloes. And if they were sins, they wouldn't be so much fun. Three cheers for folly! Please God, it's not typical of us as we read it ... but perhaps ...
But we are approaching the changing of the tide, the turning of the movement ... usually in a sonnet, it comes at the start of line 9, with a mighty "But!" ... Shakespeare speaks of fading beauty and short summers and declining grace and nature's changing course untrimmed ... "But thy eternal summer shall not fade."
Isaiah 57 has 21 verses and the "but" comes about two-thirds of the way through.
12-13 Now I shall expose your conduct
that you think so righteous.
Your idols will not help you when you cry;
they will not save you.
The wind will carry them off, one and all,
a puff of air will take them away;
but he who makes me his refuge will possess the land
and inherit my holy hill.
Before we continue.
"Now I shall expose your conduct ... " This is a promise and a threat. And it scares the living daylights out of us, or at least it should. Actually, "living daylights" might not be the right word. It should scare the stuffing out of us. It should shock us out of our security. It should scare the grace into us, so the living God-light can come in.
"Now I shall expose ... " There's a type of exposure that is iniquitous. "Guess what so-and-so did ..." But the "I" of this sentence is God. He's exposing our shams, tricks, excuses, treasons, apostasies, lazinesses, double-dealings, and suicidal addictions to all things sinful, convenient and bad. The first step to recovery or healing is the acknowledgment that something is wrong.
What we should do -- and, speaking for myself, what we don't often do -- is pray for that wind to come, to carry off our idols and our guilty amusements. A wind not like the gentle "new breeze" of the kindly statesman, but the deracinating whirlwind that takes all our edifices of evil, our statues to the glorification of Self, our dying trees of poisonous fruit, and clears them away ... ruthlessly, and yet, mercifully.
Let us proceed.
14 Then the LORD will say :
Build up a highway, clear a road,
remove all that blocks my people's path.
15 These are the words of the high and exalted One,
who is enthroned forever, whose name is holy;
Remove what blocks the path of God into our hearts. And "clear a road"! Sometimes, to clear a road -- well, virtually always -- there's a radical re-shaping of the landscape. How do we clear roads nowadays? With delicate, quiet instruments ... like bulldozers and dynamite! God as dynamite, exploding the rock of deadness -- but not to make a four-lane interstate, but to clear a path into our hearts, for our own soul's health's life's hope's joy's sake.
Verse 15 continues :
I dwell in a high and holy place
and with him who is broken and humble in spirit,
to revive the spirit of the humble,
to revive the courage of the broken.
Stop everything.
Stop breathing, if you must. Stop reading for a few seconds. Clear the mind.
These words bear repeating, and a special particular focus. Let's zoom in.
I dwell in a high and holy place
and with him who is broken and humble in spirit
Here you have the most shocking, the most amazingly concise expression of the inexpressible. The paradox of God being Transcendence (in a high and holy place) AND Immanence (with him who is broken and humble in spirit).
King of Kings and Lord of Lords (pleni sunt caeli ...) and knocking on the hardened hearts, living within the penitent hearts, of prostitutes, addicts, murderers.
Up here AND down here.
God Immeasurable, whom the skies cannot confine. God amid our human dust and bricks and thoroughfares, roaming the city streets at all hours of the night to find someone he loves. Francis Thompson bumped into him more than once in the gutters of London, but let the famous Thompson stand for all the anonymous vagabonds and children of the night. Jacob's ladder is pitched between Heaven and Charing Cross, between Heaven and the South Bronx, between Heaven and Peoria, between Heaven and the nation's capital. "With him who is broken and humble in spirit." With him and in him.
In our Lady's case, in her and with her. Emerging from the blessed womb, into a cold cave, a stable for donkeys and cattle.
King of Kings, the Exalted One, in a high and holy place.
Isaiah gives us "the rest of the story" in the remaining verses of chapter 57. The promise, the pledge, the certain hope of which, alas, we are all too often oblivious.
18 I have seen his conduct,
yet I shall heal him and give him relief;
I shall bring him comfort in full measure,
and on the lips of those who mourn him
19 I shall create words of praise.
Peace, peace, for all, both far and near;
I shall heal them, says the LORD.
On the lips of those who mourn him. In other words : "How could we fail to celebrate this happy day? Your brother here was dead and has come back to life; he was lost and has been found."
chapter of Isaiah
Note : The translation being used here is the Revised English Bible with the Apocrypha. Not the best, but it has its moments of grace, and surpasses other NABysmal translations in fluency and euphony.
Yesterday morning I was reading Scripture at a rather Cistercian hour, and happened upon the 57th chapter of Isaiah. It's not one of the more "famous" chapters of Isaiah, no oft-quoted verse comparable to "Come, let us reason together" or "the lion will lie down with the lamb" or "a bruised reed he shall not break" -- but it is formidable.
It begins with a scathing indictment, full throttle, full force, no holds barred. The Lord, via his prophet, is letting his people have it, with both barrels!
The righteous perish
and no one is concerned;
all who are loyal to their faith are swept away
and no one gives it a thought.
The righteous are swept away by the onset of evil
[ . . .]
3 Come near, you children of a soothsayer.
You spawn of an adulterer and a harlot,
4 who is the target of your jests?
Against whom do you open your months
and stick out your tongues?
Children of sin, spawn of a lie,
5 you are burning with lust under the sacred oaks,
under every spreading tree
and sacrificing children in the wadis,
under the rocky clefts.
Five verses later,
9 You drenched your tresses with oil,
were lavish in your use of perfumes;
you sent out your procurers far and wide
even down to the confines of Sheol.
10 Though worn out by your unending excesses,
you never thought your plight desperate.
You found renewed vigour
and so had no anxiety.
That is dreadfully, typically human. We've sinned but let's keep going. We haven't been gravely harmed by our follies yet. They're practically peccadilloes. And if they were sins, they wouldn't be so much fun. Three cheers for folly! Please God, it's not typical of us as we read it ... but perhaps ...
But we are approaching the changing of the tide, the turning of the movement ... usually in a sonnet, it comes at the start of line 9, with a mighty "But!" ... Shakespeare speaks of fading beauty and short summers and declining grace and nature's changing course untrimmed ... "But thy eternal summer shall not fade."
Isaiah 57 has 21 verses and the "but" comes about two-thirds of the way through.
12-13 Now I shall expose your conduct
that you think so righteous.
Your idols will not help you when you cry;
they will not save you.
The wind will carry them off, one and all,
a puff of air will take them away;
but he who makes me his refuge will possess the land
and inherit my holy hill.
Before we continue.
"Now I shall expose your conduct ... " This is a promise and a threat. And it scares the living daylights out of us, or at least it should. Actually, "living daylights" might not be the right word. It should scare the stuffing out of us. It should shock us out of our security. It should scare the grace into us, so the living God-light can come in.
"Now I shall expose ... " There's a type of exposure that is iniquitous. "Guess what so-and-so did ..." But the "I" of this sentence is God. He's exposing our shams, tricks, excuses, treasons, apostasies, lazinesses, double-dealings, and suicidal addictions to all things sinful, convenient and bad. The first step to recovery or healing is the acknowledgment that something is wrong.
What we should do -- and, speaking for myself, what we don't often do -- is pray for that wind to come, to carry off our idols and our guilty amusements. A wind not like the gentle "new breeze" of the kindly statesman, but the deracinating whirlwind that takes all our edifices of evil, our statues to the glorification of Self, our dying trees of poisonous fruit, and clears them away ... ruthlessly, and yet, mercifully.
Let us proceed.
14 Then the LORD will say :
Build up a highway, clear a road,
remove all that blocks my people's path.
15 These are the words of the high and exalted One,
who is enthroned forever, whose name is holy;
Remove what blocks the path of God into our hearts. And "clear a road"! Sometimes, to clear a road -- well, virtually always -- there's a radical re-shaping of the landscape. How do we clear roads nowadays? With delicate, quiet instruments ... like bulldozers and dynamite! God as dynamite, exploding the rock of deadness -- but not to make a four-lane interstate, but to clear a path into our hearts, for our own soul's health's life's hope's joy's sake.
Verse 15 continues :
I dwell in a high and holy place
and with him who is broken and humble in spirit,
to revive the spirit of the humble,
to revive the courage of the broken.
Stop everything.
Stop breathing, if you must. Stop reading for a few seconds. Clear the mind.
These words bear repeating, and a special particular focus. Let's zoom in.
I dwell in a high and holy place
and with him who is broken and humble in spirit
Here you have the most shocking, the most amazingly concise expression of the inexpressible. The paradox of God being Transcendence (in a high and holy place) AND Immanence (with him who is broken and humble in spirit).
King of Kings and Lord of Lords (pleni sunt caeli ...) and knocking on the hardened hearts, living within the penitent hearts, of prostitutes, addicts, murderers.
Up here AND down here.
God Immeasurable, whom the skies cannot confine. God amid our human dust and bricks and thoroughfares, roaming the city streets at all hours of the night to find someone he loves. Francis Thompson bumped into him more than once in the gutters of London, but let the famous Thompson stand for all the anonymous vagabonds and children of the night. Jacob's ladder is pitched between Heaven and Charing Cross, between Heaven and the South Bronx, between Heaven and Peoria, between Heaven and the nation's capital. "With him who is broken and humble in spirit." With him and in him.
In our Lady's case, in her and with her. Emerging from the blessed womb, into a cold cave, a stable for donkeys and cattle.
King of Kings, the Exalted One, in a high and holy place.
Isaiah gives us "the rest of the story" in the remaining verses of chapter 57. The promise, the pledge, the certain hope of which, alas, we are all too often oblivious.
18 I have seen his conduct,
yet I shall heal him and give him relief;
I shall bring him comfort in full measure,
and on the lips of those who mourn him
19 I shall create words of praise.
Peace, peace, for all, both far and near;
I shall heal them, says the LORD.
On the lips of those who mourn him. In other words : "How could we fail to celebrate this happy day? Your brother here was dead and has come back to life; he was lost and has been found."
Also, from the JWR
Michelle Malkin ruminates on the disparity of media attention between Winona Ryder's legal trouble and something that is becoming known as the Wichita Massacre (sure, blame the city rather than the perpetrators -- see also 7th December 1993, "Long Island Railroad Massacre").
Michelle Malkin ruminates on the disparity of media attention between Winona Ryder's legal trouble and something that is becoming known as the Wichita Massacre (sure, blame the city rather than the perpetrators -- see also 7th December 1993, "Long Island Railroad Massacre").
Friday, November 08, 2002
"In an off-year election in which the opposition is headed by a sitting president who lost the popular vote by half a million votes in 2000, and whose administration is presiding over recession and war, the Democrats should have cleaned up. At the very least they should have lost nothing. And yet they lost almost everything. They lost Massachusetts to a Mormon! They lost Maryland with a Kennedy! The president and his party picked up support from one end of the country to the other, and the Democrats lost their one national power base, the Senate. Now they have only the media. That's a lot, but Paula Zahn is not a state, at least not yet, and she doesn't get a vote in the Senate."
The latest from Peggy Noonan.
The latest from Peggy Noonan.
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