Recent reading

Touched with Fire: Manic-Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament by Dr. Kay Redfield Jamison. Fascinating. Two "skimmable" chapters of too much jargon, charts and graphs -- skimmable for me, perhaps of interest to the diagnostician -- and a whole chapter dedicated to Lord Byron, whose poetry I've never cared for -- but an interesting study, citing the lives of many poets, painters, and composers. It poses the question: Is a certain amount of mania necessary to the creative process? It raises concerns about eugenics: how, in the not too distant past, the mentally ill were sterilized. I didn't regret reading this book.

Saint Benedict on the Freeway by Corinne Ware. Contemplative "chic" by a modern Episcopalian. It has its silly moments, which, alas, outnumber the moments of genuine insight.

Cushing of Boston: A Candid Portrait by Joseph Dever. From 1965. A very enthralling biography, and a time-machine of American (and especially, Bostonian) Catholicism. For instance, we read about "the hard-shell conservatism of the New England Jesuit province" (!). I'm a little more than halfway through this one, and I'm enjoying it thoroughly. For instance, when the biographer mentions the prelate's "sometimes too lengthy eloquence of pulpit and platform," I'm reminded of my mom's anecdote about Cardinal Cushing speaking to her high-school graduating class. It was June 4, 1963 -- the day after Pope John XXIII died. The archbishop kept the graduates in the sweltering 90-degree heat as he eulogized the late pontiff at sesquipedalian length. To most readers of this blog, this book will be unfindable. But it is highly recommended.

The Letters of Vincent van Gogh. I've often heard that this is a literary masterpiece, but for some reason I can't quite get into this one. To anyone who has read the collection of the painter's letters and derived enjoyment therefrom: Should I give it another chance?

C. S. Lewis: Letters to an American Lady and Mere Christianity. I found myself wishing that the Letters occupied more than the scant 120 pages. I was thoroughly edified, entertained, and instructed by this slim volume. And Mere Christianity has been lauded elsewhere: a salutary reminder of the basics of orthodox Christian faith.

Psalm 122. Laetatus sum.

1 I was glad when they said unto me, * We will go into the house of the LORD.

2 Our feet shall stand in thy gates, * O Jerusalem.

3 Jerusalem is built as a city * that is at unity in itself.

4 For thither the tribes go up, even the tribes of the LORD, * to testify unto Israel, to give thanks unto the Name of the LORD.

5 For there is the seat of judgment, * even the seat of the house of David.

6 O pray for the peace of Jerusalem; * they shall prosper that love thee.

7 Peace be within thy walls, * and plenteousness within thy palaces.

8 For my brethren and companions' sakes, * I will wish thee prosperity.

9 Yea, because of the house of the LORD our God, * I will seek to do thee good.

The 1960s

The Honeycombs' "Have I The Right?" Lower your volume before playing; it is a little loud:

Happy Thanksgiving!

The first snow of the season came to the Boston area on Tuesday ... mixed with a little rain ... no accumulation, alas! (Can you tell I don't drive?)

It's supposed to hit 60 today. I'm glad we've reached the time of the year when such temperatures are considered unseasonable ...

A good day to one and all ...

The Bridge of Sighs
by Thomas Hood (1799-1845)

One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful:
Past all dishonour,
Death has left on her
Only the beautiful.

Still, for all slips of hers,
One of Eve's family
Wipe those poor lips of hers
Oozing so clammily.

Loop up her tresses
Escaped from the comb,
Her fair auburn tresses;
Whilst wonderment guesses
Where was her home?

Who was her father?
Who was her mother?
Had she a sister?
Had she a brother?
Or was there a dearer one
Still, and a nearer one
Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity
Of Christian charity
Under the sun!
O, it was pitiful!
Near a whole city full,
Home she had none.

Sisterly, brotherly,
Fatherly, motherly
Feelings had changed:
Love, by harsh evidence,
Thrown from its eminence;
Even God's providence
Seeming estranged.

Where the lamps quiver
So far in the river,
With many a light
From window and casement,
From garret to basement,
She stood, with amazement,
Houseless by night.

The bleak wind of March
Made her tremble and shiver;
But not the dark arch,
Or the black flowing river:
Mad from life's history,
Glad to death's mystery,
Swift to be hurl'd
Anywhere, anywhere
Out of the world!

In she plunged boldly
No matter how coldly
The rough river ran
Over the brink of it,
Picture it think of it,
Dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it,
Then, if you can!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashion'd so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Ere her limbs frigidly
Stiffen too rigidly,
Decently, kindly,
Smooth and compose them;
And her eyes, close them,
Staring so blindly!

Dreadfully staring
Thro' muddy impurity,
As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fix'd on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurr'd by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Into her rest.
Cross her hands humbly
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,
Her evil behaviour,
And leaving, with meekness,
Her sins to her Saviour!

_______________


I cherish the rhyme of "family" and "clammily" ...

The 1970s

The blogger at Enchiridion has posted the lyrics (in Spanish and English) to the song "Eres tú" by Juan Carlos Calderón. I remember hearing the song on AM radio in the '70s, when I was quite young. Here it is on YouTube as performed by Mocedades:

John Berryman
1914-72

Eleven Addresses to the Lord.

Not a perfect poem -- the record of a man trying to talk himself into faith, or to talk himself into not losing the little faith he has -- but there are some fine moments:

Jonquils respond with wit to the teasing breeze

and

Unite my various soul,
sole watchman of the wide & single stars.

I think continually of those who were truly great
by Stephen Spender (1909-95)

I think continually of those who were truly great.
Who, from the womb, remembered the soul's history
Through corridors of light, where the hours are suns,
Endless and singing. Whose lovely ambition
Was that their lips, still touched with fire,
Should tell of the Spirit, clothed from head to foot in song.
And who hoarded from the Spring branches
The desires falling across their bodies like blossoms.

What is precious, is never to forget
The essential delight of the blood drawn from ageless springs
Breaking through rocks in worlds before our earth.
Never to deny its pleasures in the morning simple light
Nor its grave evening demand for love.
Never to allow gradually the traffic to smother
With noise and fog, the flowering of spirit.

Near the snow, near the sun, in the highest fields
See how these names are fêted by the waving grass
And by the streamers of white cloud
And whispers of wind in the listening sky.
The names of those who in their lives fought for life
Who wore at their hearts the fire's centre.
Born of the sun, they traveled a short while toward the sun
And left the vivid air signed with their honour.

From the 1981 film Arthur

A few Hobsonisms.

Am I alone

in being somewhat mystified by the preposthumous canonization of the group of lads known as the Jena 6?

Especially meaningful or striking Bible passages

Seen at Eve's. I don't know if I can come up with ten, but I'll try.

1. The Magnificat
2. Psalm 51 ("Asperges me hyssopo et mundabor, lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor.")
3. Psalm 8 (in the Coverdale translation, "O Lord our Governor ...")
4. Psalm 148
5. Wisdom 7:7 - 8:1
6. Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 24:18 [Vulgate 24:24, "Ego sum mater pulchrae dilectionis ..."]
7. Sirach 43:17ff. "He sprinkles the snow like fluttering birds" ...
8. Luke 15, the Prodigal Son
9. Isaiah 42:3, "A bruised reed he shall not break, a smoldering wick he shall not quench."
10. The Song of Songs, esp. 2:14.

C. S. Lewis

If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.

-- from "The Weight of Glory" in The Weight of Glory and Other Addresses: Revised and Expanded Edition (Macmillan Paperbacks, 1980), pp. 3-4.

No, this doesn't quite fit

Your Inner European is Dutch!

Open minded and tolerant. You're up for just about anything.

Who's Your Inner European?

Via Dyspeptic Mutterings.

Bumper sticker
seen while riding the #87 bus yesterday

Republicans for Voldemort

Undergrad



Spotted at Clairity Daily.

C. S. Lewis

My brother heard a woman on a 'bus say, as the 'bus passed a church with a Crib outside it, "Oh, Lor'! They bring religion into everything. Look -- they're dragging it even into Christmas now!"

-- from Letters to an American Lady, letter dated Dec 29/58

C. S. Lewis
on St. Mary Magdalene

The allegorical sense of her great action dawned on me the other day. The precious alabaster box which one must break over the Holy Feet is one's heart. Easier said than done. And the contents become perfume only when it is broken. While they are safe inside they are more like sewage. All very alarming.

-- from Letters to an American Lady, letter dated Nov 1st 54

C. S. Lewis

The act which engenders a child ought to be, and usually is attended by pleasure. But it is not the pleasure that produces the child. Where there is pleasure there may be sterility: where there is no pleasure the act may be fertile. And in the spiritual marriage of God and the soul it is the same. It is the actual presence, not the sensation of the presence, of the Holy Ghost that begets Christ in us.

-- from Letters to an American Lady, letter dated 20/2/55

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I missed the question on sanctifying grace ...

November

November, a sonnet by Hartley Coleridge.

Champions!

The Boston Red Sox have won the 2007 World Series in four games straight ...

Congratulations!

Sox are kings of the diamond by Gordon Edes of the Boston Globe.

Three games to nil

All right, it got a little scary tonight in the 7th inning, but a win is a win is a win.

Daisuke's 2 RBI were a nice touch. And the (other) rookies came through when they had to.

The box score.

One more ...

Go Sox!