Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Sing lullaby...
A wonderful Basque carol (Douze Noëls populaires en dialecte souletin, 1895), paraphrased Sabine Baring-Gould (1834-1924)
The Infant King
Sing lullaby!
Lullaby baby, now reclining,
sing lullaby!
Hush, do not wake the infant King.
Angels are watching, stars are shining
over the place where He is lying:
sing lullaby!
Sing lullaby!
Lullaby baby, now a-sleeping,
sing lullaby!
Hush, do not wake the infant King.
Soon will come sorrow with the morning,
soon will come bitter grief and weeping:
sing lullaby!
Sing lullaby!
Lullaby baby, now a-dozing,
sing lullaby!
Hush, do not wake the infant King.
Soon comes the cross, the nails, the piercing,
then in the grave at last reposing;
sing lullaby!
Sing lullaby!
Lullaby! is the babe awaking?
Sing lullaby!
Hush, do not stir the infant King.
Dreaming of Easter, gladsome morning.
conquering death, its bondage breaking:
sing lullaby!
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Hardship
I'm not entirely enamored with some of President Obama's initiatives, policies--but do love this remark from 2007:
"I take away the compelling idea that there’s serious evil in the world, and hardship and pain. And we should be humble and modest in our belief we can eliminate those things. But we shouldn’t use that as an excuse for cynicism and inaction. I take away the sense we have to make these efforts knowing they are hard, and not swinging from naïve idealism to bitter realism..."
This reminds me of the honesty and hopefulness in Jesus' words:
"In this world you have many troubles. But don't be afraid: I have overcome the world."
John 16:33
"I take away the compelling idea that there’s serious evil in the world, and hardship and pain. And we should be humble and modest in our belief we can eliminate those things. But we shouldn’t use that as an excuse for cynicism and inaction. I take away the sense we have to make these efforts knowing they are hard, and not swinging from naïve idealism to bitter realism..."
This reminds me of the honesty and hopefulness in Jesus' words:
"In this world you have many troubles. But don't be afraid: I have overcome the world."
John 16:33
Saturday, December 12, 2009
California, 1963: Wisps of age
A terribly double-exposed and poorly transferred video of graduation day at El Centro Elementary, June 1963--a remnant/artifact providing just a wisp of that day--Mr. Edgar our principal, the ceremonial ringing of the bell by students, etc.
The clip also has the images of my family & cousins swimming in Wisconsin on our family vacation later that summer, cavorting in the lake, sliding down the waterslide--the conflation of happy memories, and the beginning of my father's nearly predictable tendency to double-exposure...
Given its poor quality it's best viewed in large format...
The soundtrack is 'Massasoit' penned in 2003 in honor of one of the most magnificent, courageous and beloved friends ever--Dan Swensen. (A tribute to Danny as beloved professor, here.)
The clip also has the images of my family & cousins swimming in Wisconsin on our family vacation later that summer, cavorting in the lake, sliding down the waterslide--the conflation of happy memories, and the beginning of my father's nearly predictable tendency to double-exposure...
Given its poor quality it's best viewed in large format...
The soundtrack is 'Massasoit' penned in 2003 in honor of one of the most magnificent, courageous and beloved friends ever--Dan Swensen. (A tribute to Danny as beloved professor, here.)
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Elizabeth Bishop's Sestina
When son Cameron was in 4th grade, Cam asked teacher Mrs. Gray if his dad could share this lovely poem with the class.
Thanks to the esteemed Donna Gray's invitation, I soon witnessed a class remarkable for its depth of insight, its delight in the sestina structure--we seemed to talk about its meaning forever. An absolutely delightful poem--can't wait to share it with grandchildren, insha'allah!
Elizabeth Bishop
Sestina
Elizabeth Bishop, 1956
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Thanks to the esteemed Donna Gray's invitation, I soon witnessed a class remarkable for its depth of insight, its delight in the sestina structure--we seemed to talk about its meaning forever. An absolutely delightful poem--can't wait to share it with grandchildren, insha'allah!
Elizabeth Bishop
Sestina
Elizabeth Bishop, 1956
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Uncle Bobby
Just home from two weeks in Laguna with family which causes us to reflect on the blessing that family is. Here's a photo of Uncle Bobby with Cam & Jessie, Wheelers' Point, Gloucester, Massachusetts, 1992.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)