Saturday, March 08, 2008

The purpose of poetry is to remind us
how difficult it is to remain just one person,
for our house is open, there are no keys in the doors,
and invisible guests come in and out at will.


Scipio blogs "Ars Poetica?" by the late Nobel laureate Czeslaw Milosz.

Also from Scipio ...

... ein theologischer Limerick in English and German.

Friday, March 07, 2008

There was once a very lovely, very frightened girl. She lived alone except for a nameless cat.

a drop of water

Thursday, March 06, 2008

ven a tocar el fuego del azul instantáneo,
ven antes de que sus pétalos se consuman


-- Pablo Neruda, sonnet 24

in the translation of Stephen Tapscott:

come touch the fire of this momentary blue,
before its petals wither
Scenic Boston Common

Mud. Defaced statues. Downed fences. And mud.



The Public Gardens in summer: much, much better.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

Via Mere Comments

Hymns for the Sunday of the Last Judgment in the Orthodox Church.

Monday, March 03, 2008

O little forests, meekly
Touch the snow with low branches!
O covered stones
Hide the house of growth!

Secret
Vegetal words,
Unlettered water,
Daily zero.

Pray undistracted
Curled tree
Carved in steel! --
Buried zenith!

Fire, turn inward
To your weak fort,
To a burly infant spot,
A house of nothing.

O peace, bless this mad place:
Silence, love this growth.

O silence, golden zero
Unsetting sun

Love winter when the plant says nothing.


-- Thomas Merton
The title of this song



came to mind as I was reading the lamentation linked-to immediately below ...
Sullivan's correspondent

Andrew Sullivan blogs some correspondence from someone who laments the fact that some Catholic bishops are actually, you know, Catholic. It's the end of the world, selon lui.