Saint Faustina Kowalska
Prayer. -- A soul arms itself by prayer for all kinds of combat. In whatever state the soul may be, it ought to pray. A soul which is pure and beautiful must pray, or else it will lose its beauty; a soul which is striving after this purity must pray, or else it will never attain it; a soul which is newly converted must pray, or else it will fall again; a sinful soul, plunged in sins, must pray so that it might rise again. There is no soul which is not bound to pray, for every single grace comes to the soul through prayer.
From Divine Mercy in My Soul : Diary of [Saint] Faustina Kowalska (Marian Press, 1987), pp. 81-2.
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
From today's Magnificat reflection
We are the people of God who should bring the joy of salvation to everyone. With Baptism and the other sacraments, the world of our heart, our feelings, and our human story becomes cleansed and renewed. We are transformed from simple creatures to children of God!
It is an exceptional event : heaven comes down to earth to work the extraordinary in our hearts. This gift is so unique that we can't keep it to ourselves. We have to announce it!
Too many people still do not know that there is a Savior, who came in our midst to bring us the Mercy and the Love of God. The world remains in darkness, troubled and enslaved by fear, because we Christians are living for empty idols. [...] We who have a vocation, in which there is a close rapport with God, get stuck in the mud of the world's selfishness. Called to the high peaks of a proclamation that liberates, we let ourselves be chained by the superficialities of life.
This is the daily experience that my eyes are contemplating, my hands are touching, and my ears are hearing : the dead are raised, prisoners are freed, and the blind see.
Sister Elvira Petrozzi
We are the people of God who should bring the joy of salvation to everyone. With Baptism and the other sacraments, the world of our heart, our feelings, and our human story becomes cleansed and renewed. We are transformed from simple creatures to children of God!
It is an exceptional event : heaven comes down to earth to work the extraordinary in our hearts. This gift is so unique that we can't keep it to ourselves. We have to announce it!
Too many people still do not know that there is a Savior, who came in our midst to bring us the Mercy and the Love of God. The world remains in darkness, troubled and enslaved by fear, because we Christians are living for empty idols. [...] We who have a vocation, in which there is a close rapport with God, get stuck in the mud of the world's selfishness. Called to the high peaks of a proclamation that liberates, we let ourselves be chained by the superficialities of life.
This is the daily experience that my eyes are contemplating, my hands are touching, and my ears are hearing : the dead are raised, prisoners are freed, and the blind see.
Sister Elvira Petrozzi
"In the marvelous phrase of Archbishop Timothy Dolan of Milwaukee, young people will give their lives for a mystery but not for a question mark."
Read "The Catholic Center" by Fr Neuhaus in the April First Things. In it, we are reminded that there is Catholic continuity (JP2, the Magisterium, Scripture & Tradition, two millennia of apostolic succession, etc.) and a bifurcate party of discontinuity (Lefebvre on the right, Garry Wills on the left). Long read, but it's Fr Neuhaus, and therefore a good read.
Via Gerard Serafin.
Read "The Catholic Center" by Fr Neuhaus in the April First Things. In it, we are reminded that there is Catholic continuity (JP2, the Magisterium, Scripture & Tradition, two millennia of apostolic succession, etc.) and a bifurcate party of discontinuity (Lefebvre on the right, Garry Wills on the left). Long read, but it's Fr Neuhaus, and therefore a good read.
Via Gerard Serafin.
This or that
via Oblique
1. Sexier (female) ... Pamela Anderson or Jennifer Garner? I confuse Jennifer G. with Jessica Alba, so the J-gals beat Pam, by several zillion millimeters or miles.
2. Sexier (male) ... Ben Affleck or Matt Damon? Ben looks like the oddest cross between Springsteen and Adam Sandler, so I'll go with Matt.
3. The better piano player ... Billy Joel or Elton John? We need both in our world.
4. Funnier ... David Letterman or Craig Kilborn? Pas de bloody contest : Dave. (Are you like me, kids? Do you fall asleep early? Still, at last glance ... DL.)
5. The dumber cartoon cat ... Stimpy (of Ren & Stimpy) or Tom (of Tom & Jerry)? Stimpy.
6. A better news anchor ... Tom Brokaw or Dan Rather? More of a mensch -- Bob Dole or Fidel Castro? Brokaw. And it ain't close.
7. A better TV chef ... Emeril Lagasse or Jacques Pepin? Emeril, for the exuberance, and for making "careful" rhyme with "raffle." But the Two Fat Ladies ruled. I miss Jennifer.
8. The trashier talk show host ... Maury Povich or Jerry Springer? Maury bores me stiff, and if you're boring, can you be all that trashy? So : Jerry.
9. The worse fast food burger joint ... McDonald's or Burger King? Dunno. Should I say, "We need both in our world"?
10. Of the following two, which one do you consider to be greater ... Franklin D. Roosevelt or Abraham Lincoln? Why? Lincoln wasn't no commie, and he freed the slaves. FDR tried expanding the Supremes to 15 to pack the high court with socialist clones of himself. Abe, to speak honestly, is greater. [Typed spoeak at a first go ... thought of leaving it that way to get a plug from nihil !!]
via Oblique
1. Sexier (female) ... Pamela Anderson or Jennifer Garner? I confuse Jennifer G. with Jessica Alba, so the J-gals beat Pam, by several zillion millimeters or miles.
2. Sexier (male) ... Ben Affleck or Matt Damon? Ben looks like the oddest cross between Springsteen and Adam Sandler, so I'll go with Matt.
3. The better piano player ... Billy Joel or Elton John? We need both in our world.
4. Funnier ... David Letterman or Craig Kilborn? Pas de bloody contest : Dave. (Are you like me, kids? Do you fall asleep early? Still, at last glance ... DL.)
5. The dumber cartoon cat ... Stimpy (of Ren & Stimpy) or Tom (of Tom & Jerry)? Stimpy.
6. A better news anchor ... Tom Brokaw or Dan Rather? More of a mensch -- Bob Dole or Fidel Castro? Brokaw. And it ain't close.
7. A better TV chef ... Emeril Lagasse or Jacques Pepin? Emeril, for the exuberance, and for making "careful" rhyme with "raffle." But the Two Fat Ladies ruled. I miss Jennifer.
8. The trashier talk show host ... Maury Povich or Jerry Springer? Maury bores me stiff, and if you're boring, can you be all that trashy? So : Jerry.
9. The worse fast food burger joint ... McDonald's or Burger King? Dunno. Should I say, "We need both in our world"?
10. Of the following two, which one do you consider to be greater ... Franklin D. Roosevelt or Abraham Lincoln? Why? Lincoln wasn't no commie, and he freed the slaves. FDR tried expanding the Supremes to 15 to pack the high court with socialist clones of himself. Abe, to speak honestly, is greater. [Typed spoeak at a first go ... thought of leaving it that way to get a plug from nihil !!]
Merton
from vol. 6 of the journals
from November 11, 1966. St Martin
Yesterday -- a very good letter from a young married woman in Cincinnati about my "Apology to an Unbeliever," which is in this month's Harper's. She appreciated it -- and says but she never "hears God." And what about it? I tried to answer her honestly without falling into seven deadly heresies -- and realized the complexity of the problem as I never have before. [...]
[...] So trusting in the Spirit whom I don't know and using words to say only as much as we are capable of seeing together at the moment, I try to speak to her as a Brother.
[...] If I do this, then in our honest rapport God himself speaks without anyone being aware (necessarily) of the fact. And I leave the rest to her.
*
from November 12, 1966
Eliot's essay "What Is a Classic?" is short, brilliant, and absurd. His definition of a Classic is solidly useful, and then he proceeds to make its use impossible except for a few choice spirits -- Virgil, Dante, Racine and for no one in English. Perpetual somersaults of logic in order to make sure that this title must be denied Milton precisely because he is such a genius, but also because he does not completely exhaust the possibilities of language -- etc.
*
from November 13, 1966
Today, for a certain type of person, to "listen" is to be in a position where hearing is impossible -- or deceptive. It is the wrong kind of listening : listening for a limited message, an objective sound, a sensible meaning. Actually, one decides one's life by responding to a word that is not well defined, easily explicable, safely accounted for. One decides to love in the face of an unaccountable void, and from the void comes an unaccountable truth. By this truth, one's existence is sustained in peace -- until the truth is too firmly grasped and too clearly accounted for. Then one is relying on words -- i.e., on his own understanding and his own ingenuity in interpreting existence and its "signs." Then one is lost -- has to be found again in the patient Void.
*
from November 16, 1966
Yesterday once again I was going over the whole situation. Should we remain apart? etc. There are moments when it seems utterly wrong to be without her. Yet I know too that, whatever reasonable arguments one might dream up for it, it would be utterly wrong to leave here and drop everything in order to marry her. Neither of us has the strength to stand the pressure this would involve. And we both know it. Yet we love and can't help loving in our own poor way.
Renewed purpose on my part. [...] In any case I know in my heart that my true call is to solitude with God, however much I may love her. She knows this too.
The objective fact of my vows, more than a juridical obligation. It has deep personal and spiritual roots. I cannot be true to myself if I am not true to so deep a commitment.
And yet I love her.
T. Merton, Learning to Love : Exploring Solitude and Freedom, ed. C. Bochen (HarperSanFrancisco, 1997), pp. 158-62, passim.
from vol. 6 of the journals
from November 11, 1966. St Martin
Yesterday -- a very good letter from a young married woman in Cincinnati about my "Apology to an Unbeliever," which is in this month's Harper's. She appreciated it -- and says but she never "hears God." And what about it? I tried to answer her honestly without falling into seven deadly heresies -- and realized the complexity of the problem as I never have before. [...]
[...] So trusting in the Spirit whom I don't know and using words to say only as much as we are capable of seeing together at the moment, I try to speak to her as a Brother.
[...] If I do this, then in our honest rapport God himself speaks without anyone being aware (necessarily) of the fact. And I leave the rest to her.
*
from November 12, 1966
Eliot's essay "What Is a Classic?" is short, brilliant, and absurd. His definition of a Classic is solidly useful, and then he proceeds to make its use impossible except for a few choice spirits -- Virgil, Dante, Racine and for no one in English. Perpetual somersaults of logic in order to make sure that this title must be denied Milton precisely because he is such a genius, but also because he does not completely exhaust the possibilities of language -- etc.
*
from November 13, 1966
Today, for a certain type of person, to "listen" is to be in a position where hearing is impossible -- or deceptive. It is the wrong kind of listening : listening for a limited message, an objective sound, a sensible meaning. Actually, one decides one's life by responding to a word that is not well defined, easily explicable, safely accounted for. One decides to love in the face of an unaccountable void, and from the void comes an unaccountable truth. By this truth, one's existence is sustained in peace -- until the truth is too firmly grasped and too clearly accounted for. Then one is relying on words -- i.e., on his own understanding and his own ingenuity in interpreting existence and its "signs." Then one is lost -- has to be found again in the patient Void.
*
from November 16, 1966
Yesterday once again I was going over the whole situation. Should we remain apart? etc. There are moments when it seems utterly wrong to be without her. Yet I know too that, whatever reasonable arguments one might dream up for it, it would be utterly wrong to leave here and drop everything in order to marry her. Neither of us has the strength to stand the pressure this would involve. And we both know it. Yet we love and can't help loving in our own poor way.
Renewed purpose on my part. [...] In any case I know in my heart that my true call is to solitude with God, however much I may love her. She knows this too.
The objective fact of my vows, more than a juridical obligation. It has deep personal and spiritual roots. I cannot be true to myself if I am not true to so deep a commitment.
And yet I love her.
T. Merton, Learning to Love : Exploring Solitude and Freedom, ed. C. Bochen (HarperSanFrancisco, 1997), pp. 158-62, passim.
The 2003 Pulitzer Prize for Poetry
goes to Paul Muldoon, born in Co. Armagh, resident in the USA since 1987.
I am, alas, unacquainted with his work. Will raid the library anon!
goes to Paul Muldoon, born in Co. Armagh, resident in the USA since 1987.
I am, alas, unacquainted with his work. Will raid the library anon!
Catherine Doherty writes : My thoughts today
go back 10 years -- to a trip to Montréal. I had the privilege of lecturing to our French Canadian brothers and sisters. Shortly before that, I had spent some time in Chicago, that sprawling city of the Midwest that is pulsating with life. I met a variety of people, talked to various groups, immersed myself ever deeper into the problems of humanity. When I returned to my little Canadian island I tried to sort out the ideas, the feelings, the impressions that I had accumulated during my travels.
Why did I find this sorting so painful? On the one hand, it lifted me up to great heights from which, a heart filled with gratitude, I thanked God. For I witnessed in those cities a new Pentecost. The Holy Spirit, the Wind that blows so freshly across our earth, was spreading his fire everywhere in the hearts of men, bidding them to renew this earth and restore it to God.
On the other hand, while sorting out my impressions, I plummeted into intolerable dark depths of pain, an excruciating pain of the spirit that left me bereft of any words with which to express it. Why did joy, pain, fear, gladness and sorrow weave this strange tapestry in my heart?
As I tried to think this out, an answer came : that I had been living, not in the eye of the hurricane, but in some strange "center" between the mystery of Iniquity and the mystery of Light and Love. It had been given to me, by the grace of God, to realize dimly -- but vividly and painfully -- that the battle between the mystery of Light and the mystery of Darkness was going on in the hearts of all men today in an explosive, intense form, perhaps in a form that has never, or seldom, been experienced by those who call themselves followers of Christ.
This battle is so intense in the hearts of Christians that it spills over, as it were, into the hearts of non-Christians. As a result of this inner battle between these two mysteries, the very existence of the world hangs in the balance.
It came to me also that this is the time when Christians must pray for one another and for the whole world as they have never prayed before. At times like this the fine line of the battle is indeed thin, and souls can tumble onto the wrong side of this battle line. Yes, it came to me that this is the time of fasting, prayer and the mortification of all for all.
On the priesthood
A priest to me is Christ wishing to be present in our midst in and through this man he has called to be his priest. It doesn't seem to affect me at all if priests are sinful or holy, or anything in between. I understand that they are men. But frankly, if I am in need of one of them and know that he is living a sinful life, I would still crawl to him to get absolution for my sins, or to receive Viaticum if I were in danger of death.
There came a day during the Russian revolution when there were no priests -- either Roman or Orthodox -- left in Petrograd. They had all been killed or were in prison. When there are no priests one realizes their value -- and it doesn't matter if they are in sin or not. I think it was then that I realized what a priest meant to me.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, from the "Spring" section of I Live On an Island (Ave Maria Press, 1979), pp. 15-16, 18.
go back 10 years -- to a trip to Montréal. I had the privilege of lecturing to our French Canadian brothers and sisters. Shortly before that, I had spent some time in Chicago, that sprawling city of the Midwest that is pulsating with life. I met a variety of people, talked to various groups, immersed myself ever deeper into the problems of humanity. When I returned to my little Canadian island I tried to sort out the ideas, the feelings, the impressions that I had accumulated during my travels.
Why did I find this sorting so painful? On the one hand, it lifted me up to great heights from which, a heart filled with gratitude, I thanked God. For I witnessed in those cities a new Pentecost. The Holy Spirit, the Wind that blows so freshly across our earth, was spreading his fire everywhere in the hearts of men, bidding them to renew this earth and restore it to God.
On the other hand, while sorting out my impressions, I plummeted into intolerable dark depths of pain, an excruciating pain of the spirit that left me bereft of any words with which to express it. Why did joy, pain, fear, gladness and sorrow weave this strange tapestry in my heart?
As I tried to think this out, an answer came : that I had been living, not in the eye of the hurricane, but in some strange "center" between the mystery of Iniquity and the mystery of Light and Love. It had been given to me, by the grace of God, to realize dimly -- but vividly and painfully -- that the battle between the mystery of Light and the mystery of Darkness was going on in the hearts of all men today in an explosive, intense form, perhaps in a form that has never, or seldom, been experienced by those who call themselves followers of Christ.
This battle is so intense in the hearts of Christians that it spills over, as it were, into the hearts of non-Christians. As a result of this inner battle between these two mysteries, the very existence of the world hangs in the balance.
It came to me also that this is the time when Christians must pray for one another and for the whole world as they have never prayed before. At times like this the fine line of the battle is indeed thin, and souls can tumble onto the wrong side of this battle line. Yes, it came to me that this is the time of fasting, prayer and the mortification of all for all.
On the priesthood
A priest to me is Christ wishing to be present in our midst in and through this man he has called to be his priest. It doesn't seem to affect me at all if priests are sinful or holy, or anything in between. I understand that they are men. But frankly, if I am in need of one of them and know that he is living a sinful life, I would still crawl to him to get absolution for my sins, or to receive Viaticum if I were in danger of death.
There came a day during the Russian revolution when there were no priests -- either Roman or Orthodox -- left in Petrograd. They had all been killed or were in prison. When there are no priests one realizes their value -- and it doesn't matter if they are in sin or not. I think it was then that I realized what a priest meant to me.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, from the "Spring" section of I Live On an Island (Ave Maria Press, 1979), pp. 15-16, 18.
Six months today
of blogging at this URL : a half-year of morelast
Offered in gratitude to the loyal readers, the occasional visitors, and those just dropping in :
*
In Evening Air
by Theodore Roethke (1908-63)
1
A dark theme keeps me here,
Though summer blazes in the vireo's eye.
Who would be half possessed
By his own nakedness?
Waking's my care --
I'll make a broken music, or I'll die.
2
Ye littles, lie more close!
Make me, O Lord, a last, a simple thing
Time cannot overwhelm.
Once I transcended time :
A bud broke to a rose,
And I rose from a last diminishing.
3
I look down the far light
And I behold the dark side of a tree
Far down a billowing plain,
And when I look again,
It's lost upon the night --
Night I embrace, a dear proximity.
4
I stand by a low fire
Counting the wisps of flame, and I watch how
Light shifts upon the wall.
I bid stillness be still.
I see, in evening air,
How slowly dark comes down on what we do.
*
estlin
#94 of 95 poems
being to timelessness as it's to time,
love did no more begin than love did end;
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land
(do lovers suffer?all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad? only their smallest joy's
a universe emerging from a wish)
love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star
--do lovers love?why then,to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools,all's well
of blogging at this URL : a half-year of morelast
Offered in gratitude to the loyal readers, the occasional visitors, and those just dropping in :
*
In Evening Air
by Theodore Roethke (1908-63)
1
A dark theme keeps me here,
Though summer blazes in the vireo's eye.
Who would be half possessed
By his own nakedness?
Waking's my care --
I'll make a broken music, or I'll die.
2
Ye littles, lie more close!
Make me, O Lord, a last, a simple thing
Time cannot overwhelm.
Once I transcended time :
A bud broke to a rose,
And I rose from a last diminishing.
3
I look down the far light
And I behold the dark side of a tree
Far down a billowing plain,
And when I look again,
It's lost upon the night --
Night I embrace, a dear proximity.
4
I stand by a low fire
Counting the wisps of flame, and I watch how
Light shifts upon the wall.
I bid stillness be still.
I see, in evening air,
How slowly dark comes down on what we do.
*
estlin
#94 of 95 poems
being to timelessness as it's to time,
love did no more begin than love did end;
where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim
love is the air the ocean and the land
(do lovers suffer?all divinities
proudly descending put on deathful flesh:
are lovers glad? only their smallest joy's
a universe emerging from a wish)
love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star
--do lovers love?why then,to heaven with hell.
Whatever sages say and fools,all's well
Monday, April 07, 2003
Christianity is Christ!
Dear young people, you know that Christianity is not an opinion nor does it consist of empty words. Christianity is Christ! It is a Person, a Living Person! to meet Jesus, to love him and make him loved : this is the Christian vocation. Mary was given to you to help you enter into a more authentic and personal relationship with Jesus. Through her example, Mary teaches you to gaze on him with love, for He has loved us first. Through her intercession, she forms in you a disciple's heart able to listen to her Son, who reveals the face of his Father and the true dignity of the human person.
5. On 16 October 2002 I proclaimed the "Year of the Rosary", and I invited all the children of the Church to make of this ancient Marian prayer a simple and profound exercise in contemplation of the face of Christ. To recite the Rosary means to learn to gaze on Jesus with his mother's eyes, and to love Jesus with his Mother's heart. Today, my dear young people, I am also, in spirit, handing you the Rosary beads. Through prayer and meditation on the mysteries, Mary leads you safely towards her Son! Do not be ashamed to recite the Rosary alone, while you walk along the streets to school, to the university or to work, or as you commute by public transport. Adopt the habit of reciting it among yourselves, in your groups, movements and associations. Do not hesitate to suggest that it be recited at home by your parents and brothers and sisters, because it rekindles and strengthens the bonds between family members. This prayer will help you to be strong in your faith, constant in charity, joyful and persevering in hope.
With Mary, the handmaiden of the Lord, you will discover the joy and fruitfulness of the hidden life. With her, disciple of the Master, you will follow Jesus along the streets of Palestine, becoming witnesses of his preaching and his miracles. With her, the sorrowful Mother, you will accompany Jesus in his passion and death. With her, Virgin of hope, you will welcome the festive Easter proclamation and the priceless gift of the Holy Spirit.
Pope John Paul II, from the Message for 18th World Youth Day, April 2003.
Dear young people, you know that Christianity is not an opinion nor does it consist of empty words. Christianity is Christ! It is a Person, a Living Person! to meet Jesus, to love him and make him loved : this is the Christian vocation. Mary was given to you to help you enter into a more authentic and personal relationship with Jesus. Through her example, Mary teaches you to gaze on him with love, for He has loved us first. Through her intercession, she forms in you a disciple's heart able to listen to her Son, who reveals the face of his Father and the true dignity of the human person.
5. On 16 October 2002 I proclaimed the "Year of the Rosary", and I invited all the children of the Church to make of this ancient Marian prayer a simple and profound exercise in contemplation of the face of Christ. To recite the Rosary means to learn to gaze on Jesus with his mother's eyes, and to love Jesus with his Mother's heart. Today, my dear young people, I am also, in spirit, handing you the Rosary beads. Through prayer and meditation on the mysteries, Mary leads you safely towards her Son! Do not be ashamed to recite the Rosary alone, while you walk along the streets to school, to the university or to work, or as you commute by public transport. Adopt the habit of reciting it among yourselves, in your groups, movements and associations. Do not hesitate to suggest that it be recited at home by your parents and brothers and sisters, because it rekindles and strengthens the bonds between family members. This prayer will help you to be strong in your faith, constant in charity, joyful and persevering in hope.
With Mary, the handmaiden of the Lord, you will discover the joy and fruitfulness of the hidden life. With her, disciple of the Master, you will follow Jesus along the streets of Palestine, becoming witnesses of his preaching and his miracles. With her, the sorrowful Mother, you will accompany Jesus in his passion and death. With her, Virgin of hope, you will welcome the festive Easter proclamation and the priceless gift of the Holy Spirit.
Pope John Paul II, from the Message for 18th World Youth Day, April 2003.
Jacques Fesch
from today's Magnificat reflection
This execution which frightens you, Mama, is nothing in comparison with what awaits sinners in the next world! It is not for me that you should weep, but for sins which offend God. As for me, I am happy. Jesus is calling me to himself, and great graces have been given me. If you could only taste for a single instant the sweetness of the transports of divine love! And could realize the absolute gravity of the slightest offense! God must come first, do not forget it. He calls you and believes in you. You are rich in his love. Many souls are linked with yours, and you will have an account to render.
You must go to Christ, without whom you can do nothing. If you seek him, you will find him, but you must seek him with all your heart. I'm always afraid that without realizing it you are seeking yourself rather than God. You are the handmaid of the Lord, therefore you owe him complete submission. The Lord is your inheritance, therefore you owe him thanks.
Above all, do not seek your own will, but his.
Jacques Fesch (+1957) was a murderer who experienced a profound conversion before his death by execution.
from today's Magnificat reflection
This execution which frightens you, Mama, is nothing in comparison with what awaits sinners in the next world! It is not for me that you should weep, but for sins which offend God. As for me, I am happy. Jesus is calling me to himself, and great graces have been given me. If you could only taste for a single instant the sweetness of the transports of divine love! And could realize the absolute gravity of the slightest offense! God must come first, do not forget it. He calls you and believes in you. You are rich in his love. Many souls are linked with yours, and you will have an account to render.
You must go to Christ, without whom you can do nothing. If you seek him, you will find him, but you must seek him with all your heart. I'm always afraid that without realizing it you are seeking yourself rather than God. You are the handmaid of the Lord, therefore you owe him complete submission. The Lord is your inheritance, therefore you owe him thanks.
Above all, do not seek your own will, but his.
Jacques Fesch (+1957) was a murderer who experienced a profound conversion before his death by execution.
Sunday, April 06, 2003
Credo ut intelligam
blogs in English and German an excerpt from the epic poem Anathemata by the 20th century English poet David Jones, praised by W. H. Auden. Particularly appropriate excerpt to the season, and we note echoes of Eliot and Chaucer in places.
blogs in English and German an excerpt from the epic poem Anathemata by the 20th century English poet David Jones, praised by W. H. Auden. Particularly appropriate excerpt to the season, and we note echoes of Eliot and Chaucer in places.
both plain and grand; both nobly simple and richly extravagant; both sensuous and pure
A review of what looks like a great book on the making of the King James Bible. Via Video mel.
A review of what looks like a great book on the making of the King James Bible. Via Video mel.
Via Dappled Things
An evangelical Protestant in Western Canada writes in praise of the Most Holy Rosary. Do read this one.
An evangelical Protestant in Western Canada writes in praise of the Most Holy Rosary. Do read this one.
With the azure regions above of nearly evangelical purity, and temperatures more characteristic of northern than southern New England, but tolerable, as we walk the uncharacteristically quiet streets and thoroughfares of the neighborhood, with the occasional white cloud smiling down ...
Let's get high
On the sky.
Let's get high
On the sky.
Psalms in Knox trans. vs. Psalms of 1928 BCP ??
I think old Miles Coverdale has the slight lead, and maybe even more than slight. As I compare (see the left margin) "show my dark speech upon the harp" to Knox's "reveal, with the harp's music, things of deep import" -- I say, with fullness of charity toward the ghost of Msgr Knox, that he mustn't begrudge me if I sneak back to the BCP from time to time !! Knox might be a tad clearer, but the music of the Coverdale is truly momentous and immortal.
But the Knox Bible is attractive in many respects, with the ego mater pulchræ dilectionis verse appearing at Ecclesiasticus 24:24, as it should. I may blog more of the Sapiential Books, the Song of Songs, Job, etc. But I think for future bloggings of psalms, I shall revert to "house usage" & employ the excellency of the tremendous '28 (which is, of course, a translation much older than 1928!).
I think old Miles Coverdale has the slight lead, and maybe even more than slight. As I compare (see the left margin) "show my dark speech upon the harp" to Knox's "reveal, with the harp's music, things of deep import" -- I say, with fullness of charity toward the ghost of Msgr Knox, that he mustn't begrudge me if I sneak back to the BCP from time to time !! Knox might be a tad clearer, but the music of the Coverdale is truly momentous and immortal.
But the Knox Bible is attractive in many respects, with the ego mater pulchræ dilectionis verse appearing at Ecclesiasticus 24:24, as it should. I may blog more of the Sapiential Books, the Song of Songs, Job, etc. But I think for future bloggings of psalms, I shall revert to "house usage" & employ the excellency of the tremendous '28 (which is, of course, a translation much older than 1928!).
A prayer to the Holy Spirit
O Heavenly King, O Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, who art everywhere and fillest all things, the treasure of blessings, and giver of life, come and abide in us. Cleanse us from all impurity, and of thy goodness save our souls.
Addendum
and Mr O'Rama kindly points us in the direction of a page of Byzantine/Eastern prayers where the above invocation, and several others, can be found.
O Heavenly King, O Comforter, the Spirit of Truth, who art everywhere and fillest all things, the treasure of blessings, and giver of life, come and abide in us. Cleanse us from all impurity, and of thy goodness save our souls.
Addendum
and Mr O'Rama kindly points us in the direction of a page of Byzantine/Eastern prayers where the above invocation, and several others, can be found.
Psalm 49 (Psalm 48 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox, who uses the Vulgate's numbering
Listen, you nations far and wide; let all the world give hearing, poor clods of earth, and men nobly born, for rich and poor the same lesson. Here are wise words, thoughts of a discerning heart; mine to overhear mysteries, and reveal, with the harp's music, things of deep import.
What need have I to be afraid in troubled times, when malice dogs my heels and overtakes me, malice of foes who trust in their own strength, and boast of their great possessions? No man can deliver himself from his human lot, paying a ransom-price to God; too great is the cost of a man's soul; never will the means be his to prolong his days eternally and escape death. True it is, wise men die; but reckless fools perish no less; their riches will go to others, and the grave will be their everlasting home. Age after age, they will live on there, under the fields they once called their own. Short is man's enjoyment of earthly goods; match him with the brute beasts, and he is no better than they.
Fatal path, that ensnares the reckless! Pitiful end of the men that love life! There they lie in the world beneath, huddled like sheep, with death for their shepherd, the just for their masters; soon, soon their image fades, the grave for its tenement. But my life God will rescue from the power of that lower darkness, a life that finds acceptance with him. Do not be disturbed, then, when a man grows rich, and there is no end to his household's magnificence; he cannot take all that with him when he dies, magnificence will not follow him to the grave. While life lasts, he calls himself happy : None but will envy my success; but soon he will be made one with the line of his fathers, never again to see the light. Short is man's careless enjoyment of earthly goods; match him with the brute beasts, and he is no better than they.
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox, who uses the Vulgate's numbering
Listen, you nations far and wide; let all the world give hearing, poor clods of earth, and men nobly born, for rich and poor the same lesson. Here are wise words, thoughts of a discerning heart; mine to overhear mysteries, and reveal, with the harp's music, things of deep import.
What need have I to be afraid in troubled times, when malice dogs my heels and overtakes me, malice of foes who trust in their own strength, and boast of their great possessions? No man can deliver himself from his human lot, paying a ransom-price to God; too great is the cost of a man's soul; never will the means be his to prolong his days eternally and escape death. True it is, wise men die; but reckless fools perish no less; their riches will go to others, and the grave will be their everlasting home. Age after age, they will live on there, under the fields they once called their own. Short is man's enjoyment of earthly goods; match him with the brute beasts, and he is no better than they.
Fatal path, that ensnares the reckless! Pitiful end of the men that love life! There they lie in the world beneath, huddled like sheep, with death for their shepherd, the just for their masters; soon, soon their image fades, the grave for its tenement. But my life God will rescue from the power of that lower darkness, a life that finds acceptance with him. Do not be disturbed, then, when a man grows rich, and there is no end to his household's magnificence; he cannot take all that with him when he dies, magnificence will not follow him to the grave. While life lasts, he calls himself happy : None but will envy my success; but soon he will be made one with the line of his fathers, never again to see the light. Short is man's careless enjoyment of earthly goods; match him with the brute beasts, and he is no better than they.
Mother Marie des Douleurs
from today's Magnificat reflection
There are people who, out of fear of suffering, would prefer not to think too much about our Lord crucified. But to avoid thinking of things in no way alters their reality; and those people who would like it if there were only the Incarnation and the entrance into eternal bliss, by falsifying things terribly, are doing an unimaginable wrong to themselves. As a matter of fact, their willful ignorance will not keep them from being put to the test some day, nor will it prevent suffering from embracing the whole world; but it will leave them without an answer, distressed, incoherent.
If, on the contrary, we really want to know our Savior and his redemptive suffering, we acquire, at the same time that we learn about him, the knowledge of how we should respond to all the circumstances of our lives. And there occurs within us a liberation, a lightening of our burdens, I would even say a serenity which those who have refused to see the cross at the center of things will never know.
from today's Magnificat reflection
There are people who, out of fear of suffering, would prefer not to think too much about our Lord crucified. But to avoid thinking of things in no way alters their reality; and those people who would like it if there were only the Incarnation and the entrance into eternal bliss, by falsifying things terribly, are doing an unimaginable wrong to themselves. As a matter of fact, their willful ignorance will not keep them from being put to the test some day, nor will it prevent suffering from embracing the whole world; but it will leave them without an answer, distressed, incoherent.
If, on the contrary, we really want to know our Savior and his redemptive suffering, we acquire, at the same time that we learn about him, the knowledge of how we should respond to all the circumstances of our lives. And there occurs within us a liberation, a lightening of our burdens, I would even say a serenity which those who have refused to see the cross at the center of things will never know.
Saturday, April 05, 2003
Via Quenta Nârwenion
"Someday I'm going to make an honest woman out of her" -- and he did. Seventy-seven years later.
"Someday I'm going to make an honest woman out of her" -- and he did. Seventy-seven years later.
Attentive to the complexities,
sensitive to the solemnity and the sorrow, compassionate to all, and never flippant or facile, Mr Riddle records a meditation on the current war, prompted by a comment left by a visitor chez lui. He thinks, as always, clearly and with sobriety : and it is impossible not to be in solidarity with him in prayer.
sensitive to the solemnity and the sorrow, compassionate to all, and never flippant or facile, Mr Riddle records a meditation on the current war, prompted by a comment left by a visitor chez lui. He thinks, as always, clearly and with sobriety : and it is impossible not to be in solidarity with him in prayer.
A good poem
for the seasonally indecisive, sleety weather here in Boston today : by the estimable & highly esteemed Lane Core.
Via his poetry page : Some Poetry by E. L. Core.
for the seasonally indecisive, sleety weather here in Boston today : by the estimable & highly esteemed Lane Core.
Via his poetry page : Some Poetry by E. L. Core.
Joseph Manton, C SS R (1904-1998)
Boston's legendary Redemptorist on Our Lady of Walsingham
You can forsake the Mother of God. You can forget her. You can (in a dictator role) forbid other people to honor her. But you can never bury her. Her assumption into heaven proved that. How often bigotry's persecution is like a cloud that temporarily obscures the moon. For a short while the moon seems lost; but the cloud turns out to have been only a ragged chamois cloth that has polished the moon into a gleaming silver tray, brighter than before.
History can tell of times when the very stones that had battered down our Lady's image were gathered up by a repentant posterity and piled up to build a pedestal for the triumphant return of the new Madonna.
Take Walsingham, where the pilgrims have begun to return. There is even a place along the road called the Slipper Chapel where the more devout remove their shoes and plod the last two miles barefoot. But the main point is that they pray the old prayers, sing the old hymns, paying honor once more to the not-old but the ever-young Mary, Our Lady of Walsingham.
J. Manton, from "The King's Candle," in Stumbling Toward Heaven (Our Sunday Visitor, 1979), pp. 169-70.
Boston's legendary Redemptorist on Our Lady of Walsingham
You can forsake the Mother of God. You can forget her. You can (in a dictator role) forbid other people to honor her. But you can never bury her. Her assumption into heaven proved that. How often bigotry's persecution is like a cloud that temporarily obscures the moon. For a short while the moon seems lost; but the cloud turns out to have been only a ragged chamois cloth that has polished the moon into a gleaming silver tray, brighter than before.
History can tell of times when the very stones that had battered down our Lady's image were gathered up by a repentant posterity and piled up to build a pedestal for the triumphant return of the new Madonna.
Take Walsingham, where the pilgrims have begun to return. There is even a place along the road called the Slipper Chapel where the more devout remove their shoes and plod the last two miles barefoot. But the main point is that they pray the old prayers, sing the old hymns, paying honor once more to the not-old but the ever-young Mary, Our Lady of Walsingham.
J. Manton, from "The King's Candle," in Stumbling Toward Heaven (Our Sunday Visitor, 1979), pp. 169-70.
Wilfred Owen (1893-1918)
A different side of the war poet
From My Diary, July 1914
Leaves
Murmuring by myriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling gold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water-brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
A different side of the war poet
From My Diary, July 1914
Leaves
Murmuring by myriads in the shimmering trees.
Lives
Wakening with wonder in the Pyrenees.
Birds
Cheerily chirping in the early day.
Bards
Singing of summer scything thro' the hay.
Bees
Shaking the heavy dews from bloom and frond.
Boys
Bursting the surface of the ebony pond.
Flashes
Of swimmers carving thro' the sparkling gold.
Fleshes
Gleaming with wetness to the morning gold.
A mead
Bordered about with warbling water-brooks.
A maid
Laughing the love-laugh with me; proud of looks.
The heat
Throbbing between the upland and the peak.
Her heart
Quivering with passion to my pressed cheek.
Braiding
Of floating flames across the mountain brow.
Brooding
Of stillness; and a sighing of the bough.
Stirs
Of leaflets in the gloom; soft petal-showers;
Stars
Expanding with the starr'd nocturnal flowers.
Golf!
You can play online, you know. Wait for it to load. And have yourself a pleasantly vexing eighteen.
You can play online, you know. Wait for it to load. And have yourself a pleasantly vexing eighteen.
estlin
via i : six nonlectures, p. 86
life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose:higher than have
--but beauty is more each than living's all
multiplied with infinity sans if
the mightiest meditations of mankind
cancelled are by one merely opening leaf
(beyond whose nearness there is no beyond)
or does some littler bird than eyes can learn
look up to silence and completely sing?
futures are obsolete;pasts are unborn
(here less than nothing's more than everything)
death,as men call him,ends what they call men
--but beauty is more now than dying's when
via i : six nonlectures, p. 86
life is more true than reason will deceive
(more secret or than madness did reveal)
deeper is life than lose:higher than have
--but beauty is more each than living's all
multiplied with infinity sans if
the mightiest meditations of mankind
cancelled are by one merely opening leaf
(beyond whose nearness there is no beyond)
or does some littler bird than eyes can learn
look up to silence and completely sing?
futures are obsolete;pasts are unborn
(here less than nothing's more than everything)
death,as men call him,ends what they call men
--but beauty is more now than dying's when
Kathy the Carmelite
over at Gospel M*I*N*E*F*I*E*L*D
psalmodizes on the virtue of cigars.
Here at more-last, we have had a few furtive and limited encounters with this particular form of sessile and sedative smoking, and for the most part they have been cordial.
I can't smoke too often as I relish unimpaired breathing of comparatively smoke-free air.
over at Gospel M*I*N*E*F*I*E*L*D
psalmodizes on the virtue of cigars.
Here at more-last, we have had a few furtive and limited encounters with this particular form of sessile and sedative smoking, and for the most part they have been cordial.
I can't smoke too often as I relish unimpaired breathing of comparatively smoke-free air.
Steps for meeting Christ in the midst of doubt
by Ronda Chervin
marvellously (uncommonly?) commonsensical, these!
1. Continue to pray to the Jesus you knew before the onslaught of doubt, taking part in religious practices of the past.
2. Proclaim the truths of the faith, even sing of them. (It is remarkable how often the singing of holy songs is mentioned in the lives of the saints as a way to meet Christ in suffering.)
3. Engage in works of love of neighbor. In extending love we dwell in love, and abiding in love we dwell in God even if we don't feel it. This increases the love in our hearts so that after the crisis of faith, we will be even closer to God than before.
4. Understand doubt as a trial that will bring us to a new and greater level of supernatural faith, not dependent on any previous support we might have found in our own reasonings or the faith of others in the community.
5. Offer the sufferings of doubt for those who have not known God at all.
R. Chervin, The Kiss from the Cross : Saints for Every Kind of Suffering (Charis/Servant, 1994), pp. 17-18.
by Ronda Chervin
marvellously (uncommonly?) commonsensical, these!
1. Continue to pray to the Jesus you knew before the onslaught of doubt, taking part in religious practices of the past.
2. Proclaim the truths of the faith, even sing of them. (It is remarkable how often the singing of holy songs is mentioned in the lives of the saints as a way to meet Christ in suffering.)
3. Engage in works of love of neighbor. In extending love we dwell in love, and abiding in love we dwell in God even if we don't feel it. This increases the love in our hearts so that after the crisis of faith, we will be even closer to God than before.
4. Understand doubt as a trial that will bring us to a new and greater level of supernatural faith, not dependent on any previous support we might have found in our own reasonings or the faith of others in the community.
5. Offer the sufferings of doubt for those who have not known God at all.
R. Chervin, The Kiss from the Cross : Saints for Every Kind of Suffering (Charis/Servant, 1994), pp. 17-18.
In the distant hills
here and there
I can see lights in the windows of the little farmhouses that dot the wooded hills. The night is dark except for the dancing stars in the waters of my river and the light that springs so suddenly in the darkness. It reminds me of the Easter Vigil, the Paschal Candle, the Holy Fire lit by the priest.
Soon! my heart cries. Soon! say the lights in the hills. Soon! say the stars dancing in the river. Soon life will appear, as the Lord came forth from the tomb. Yes, yes, soon!
But the next day comes and the earth of my island is still brown, lifeless. The trees have not budded yet. The sun barely shines. There is a mystery and a greyness about the island, as if it wanted to tell me that this is the time of sorrow, the time of conflict between light and darkness. A time of pain that stems from a passionate love. This is Holy Time, hushed time, the time of God's passion in which he writes in characters of blood a love letter to all of us.
It is a time of silence, a time of recollection, a time of prayer. The trees wait to bud. The brown earth longs to sprout its fine greenery, and I learn from it tremendous lessons about God, about love, about time, about eternity.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, I Live on an Island (Ave Maria Press, 1979), pp. 11-12.
here and there
I can see lights in the windows of the little farmhouses that dot the wooded hills. The night is dark except for the dancing stars in the waters of my river and the light that springs so suddenly in the darkness. It reminds me of the Easter Vigil, the Paschal Candle, the Holy Fire lit by the priest.
Soon! my heart cries. Soon! say the lights in the hills. Soon! say the stars dancing in the river. Soon life will appear, as the Lord came forth from the tomb. Yes, yes, soon!
But the next day comes and the earth of my island is still brown, lifeless. The trees have not budded yet. The sun barely shines. There is a mystery and a greyness about the island, as if it wanted to tell me that this is the time of sorrow, the time of conflict between light and darkness. A time of pain that stems from a passionate love. This is Holy Time, hushed time, the time of God's passion in which he writes in characters of blood a love letter to all of us.
It is a time of silence, a time of recollection, a time of prayer. The trees wait to bud. The brown earth longs to sprout its fine greenery, and I learn from it tremendous lessons about God, about love, about time, about eternity.
Catherine de Hueck Doherty, I Live on an Island (Ave Maria Press, 1979), pp. 11-12.
Saint Vincent Ferrer, OP (+1419)
excerpts from today's Magnificat reflection
All the holy Fathers assure us, and daily experience clearly teaches, that resorting to the passion and cross of the Savior is one of the most excellent remedies against the assaults of the enemy. Saint Bonaventure even says that God permits us to be tempted in order that we may have recourse to it.
"O great God, " he says, "of wondrous and exceedingly loving kindness, who permits us to be tempted, not that we may perish, but that, fearing to offend you, we may have recourse to you, our most secure harbor! ... O you who are tempted," he adds a little further on, "meditate on the wounds of the Savior, hide yourselves in them, and they will ever be to you a comfort and refreshment. [...]"
Nor is this to be wondered at, since they are the weapons he made use of to overthrow and vanquish that satanic horde. They are the instruments of their destruction, disablement, and subjugation; they are the glorious standards of the triumph of the Son of God [...] They are our place of refuge, our safe asylum.
excerpts from today's Magnificat reflection
All the holy Fathers assure us, and daily experience clearly teaches, that resorting to the passion and cross of the Savior is one of the most excellent remedies against the assaults of the enemy. Saint Bonaventure even says that God permits us to be tempted in order that we may have recourse to it.
"O great God, " he says, "of wondrous and exceedingly loving kindness, who permits us to be tempted, not that we may perish, but that, fearing to offend you, we may have recourse to you, our most secure harbor! ... O you who are tempted," he adds a little further on, "meditate on the wounds of the Savior, hide yourselves in them, and they will ever be to you a comfort and refreshment. [...]"
Nor is this to be wondered at, since they are the weapons he made use of to overthrow and vanquish that satanic horde. They are the instruments of their destruction, disablement, and subjugation; they are the glorious standards of the triumph of the Son of God [...] They are our place of refuge, our safe asylum.
Friday, April 04, 2003
Anyone else
who has Haloscan commenting
getting an Access Denied message, for no good reason at all, when trying to go to View/Delete Posts?
Apparently so!
This, from the Haloscan homepage :
"If you have problems logging into the members section for the next 30 minutes, please don't email me. I'll have it sorted out soon."
Okey-dokey.
who has Haloscan commenting
getting an Access Denied message, for no good reason at all, when trying to go to View/Delete Posts?
Apparently so!
This, from the Haloscan homepage :
"If you have problems logging into the members section for the next 30 minutes, please don't email me. I'll have it sorted out soon."
Okey-dokey.
Psalm 121 (Psalm 120 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
I lift up my eyes to the hills, to find deliverance; from the Lord deliverance comes to me, the Lord who made heaven and earth. Never will he who guards thee allow thy foot to stumble; never fall asleep at his post! Such a guardian has Israel, one who is never weary, never sleeps; it is the Lord that guards thee, the Lord that stands at thy right hand to give thee shelter. The sun's rays by day, the moon's by night, shall have no power to hurt thee. The Lord will guard thee from all evil; the Lord will protect thee in danger; the Lord will protect thy journeying and thy home-coming, henceforth and for ever.
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
I lift up my eyes to the hills, to find deliverance; from the Lord deliverance comes to me, the Lord who made heaven and earth. Never will he who guards thee allow thy foot to stumble; never fall asleep at his post! Such a guardian has Israel, one who is never weary, never sleeps; it is the Lord that guards thee, the Lord that stands at thy right hand to give thee shelter. The sun's rays by day, the moon's by night, shall have no power to hurt thee. The Lord will guard thee from all evil; the Lord will protect thee in danger; the Lord will protect thy journeying and thy home-coming, henceforth and for ever.
from Almost April
by Hayden Carruth (b. 1921)
North winter
month after month.
From early November till now,
almost April,
snow has fallen and fallen,
drifting upon us
in seethe and murmur.
Month after month
air hobbled with snowflakes.
Hour after hour, all hours
of snow searching, hopeless,
aimless in dark hemlock
or light intricate birch.
I have seen snowflakes
all winter
like blurred stars in the air,
queer tumultuous lights
as if in a mist,
soft bodies
like dead moths falling
from the crowns of poisoned trees.
Stars falling, stars
in multitude, the universe
drifting down --
lights without sound or almost
without sound.
And no end to it.
[...]
H. Carruth, From Snow and Rock, from Chaos (New Directions Paperbook 349, 1973), pp. 50-1.
by Hayden Carruth (b. 1921)
North winter
month after month.
From early November till now,
almost April,
snow has fallen and fallen,
drifting upon us
in seethe and murmur.
Month after month
air hobbled with snowflakes.
Hour after hour, all hours
of snow searching, hopeless,
aimless in dark hemlock
or light intricate birch.
I have seen snowflakes
all winter
like blurred stars in the air,
queer tumultuous lights
as if in a mist,
soft bodies
like dead moths falling
from the crowns of poisoned trees.
Stars falling, stars
in multitude, the universe
drifting down --
lights without sound or almost
without sound.
And no end to it.
[...]
H. Carruth, From Snow and Rock, from Chaos (New Directions Paperbook 349, 1973), pp. 50-1.
Psalm 42 (Psalm 41 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
O God, my whole soul longs for thee, as a deer for running water; my whole soul thirsts for God, the living God; shall I never again make my pilgrimage into God's presence? Morning and evening, my diet still of tears! Daily I must listen to the taunt, Where is thy God now? Memories come back to me yet, melting the heart; how once I would join with the throng, leading the way to God's house, amid cries of joy and thanksgiving, and all the bustle of holiday. Soul, art thou still downcast? Wilt thou never be at peace? Wait for God's help; I will not cease to cry out in thankfulness, My champion and my God.
In my sad mood I will think of thee, here in this land of Jordan and Hermon, here on Misar mountain. One depth makes answer to another amid the roar of the floods thou sendest; wave after wave, crest after crest overwhelms me. Would he but lighten the day with his mercy, what praise would I sing at evening to the Lord God who is life for me! Thou art my strong-hold, I cry out to him still; hast thou never a thought for me? Must I go mourning, with enemies pressing me hard; racked by the ceaseless taunts of my persecutors, Where is thy God now? Soul, art thou still downcast? Wilt thou never be at peace? Wait for God's help; I will not cease to cry out in thankfulness, My champion and my God.
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
O God, my whole soul longs for thee, as a deer for running water; my whole soul thirsts for God, the living God; shall I never again make my pilgrimage into God's presence? Morning and evening, my diet still of tears! Daily I must listen to the taunt, Where is thy God now? Memories come back to me yet, melting the heart; how once I would join with the throng, leading the way to God's house, amid cries of joy and thanksgiving, and all the bustle of holiday. Soul, art thou still downcast? Wilt thou never be at peace? Wait for God's help; I will not cease to cry out in thankfulness, My champion and my God.
In my sad mood I will think of thee, here in this land of Jordan and Hermon, here on Misar mountain. One depth makes answer to another amid the roar of the floods thou sendest; wave after wave, crest after crest overwhelms me. Would he but lighten the day with his mercy, what praise would I sing at evening to the Lord God who is life for me! Thou art my strong-hold, I cry out to him still; hast thou never a thought for me? Must I go mourning, with enemies pressing me hard; racked by the ceaseless taunts of my persecutors, Where is thy God now? Soul, art thou still downcast? Wilt thou never be at peace? Wait for God's help; I will not cease to cry out in thankfulness, My champion and my God.
Prayer to St Mary (2)
by St Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033-1109)
Virgin venerated throughout the world,
Mother dear to the human race,
Woman, marvel of the angels,
Mary, most holy.
By your blessed virginity you have made all integrity sacred,
and by your glorious child-bearing
you have brought salvation to all fruitfulness.
Great Lady,
to you the joyous company of the saints gives thanks;
to you the fearful crowd of the accused flee;
and to you, Lady of might and mercy,
I flee, a sinner in every way, beyond measure distressed.
*
Lady, it seems to me as if I were already
before the all-powerful justice of the stern judge
facing the intolerable vehemence of his wrath,
while hanging over me is the enormity of my sins,
and the huge torments they deserve.
Most gentle Lady,
whose intercession should I implore
when I am troubled with horror, and shake with fear,
but hers, whose womb embraced
the reconciliation of the world?
Whence should I most surely hope for help quickly in need,
but from her whence I know came the world's propitiation?
Who can more easily gain pardon for the accused
by her intercession,
than she who gave milk to him
who justly punishes or mercifully pardons all and each one?
Most blessed Lady, it is not possible for you to forget
that those merits which are so specially yours
are very necessary to us.
Most gentle Lady, it is not credible that you should not pity
such pitiable suppliants.
The Prayers and Meditations of Saint Anselm with the Proslogion, trans. Benedicta Ward, SLG (Penguin Books, 1973), pp. 110-1.
by St Anselm of Canterbury (c. 1033-1109)
Virgin venerated throughout the world,
Mother dear to the human race,
Woman, marvel of the angels,
Mary, most holy.
By your blessed virginity you have made all integrity sacred,
and by your glorious child-bearing
you have brought salvation to all fruitfulness.
Great Lady,
to you the joyous company of the saints gives thanks;
to you the fearful crowd of the accused flee;
and to you, Lady of might and mercy,
I flee, a sinner in every way, beyond measure distressed.
*
Lady, it seems to me as if I were already
before the all-powerful justice of the stern judge
facing the intolerable vehemence of his wrath,
while hanging over me is the enormity of my sins,
and the huge torments they deserve.
Most gentle Lady,
whose intercession should I implore
when I am troubled with horror, and shake with fear,
but hers, whose womb embraced
the reconciliation of the world?
Whence should I most surely hope for help quickly in need,
but from her whence I know came the world's propitiation?
Who can more easily gain pardon for the accused
by her intercession,
than she who gave milk to him
who justly punishes or mercifully pardons all and each one?
Most blessed Lady, it is not possible for you to forget
that those merits which are so specially yours
are very necessary to us.
Most gentle Lady, it is not credible that you should not pity
such pitiable suppliants.
The Prayers and Meditations of Saint Anselm with the Proslogion, trans. Benedicta Ward, SLG (Penguin Books, 1973), pp. 110-1.
Saint Thomas Aquinas
from today's Magnificat reflection
To hand over an innocent man to suffering and death, against his will, compelling him to die as it were, would indeed be cruel and wicked. But it was not in this way that God the Father handed over Christ. He handed over Christ by inspiring him with the will to suffer for us. By so doing the severity of God is made clear to us, that no sin is forgiven without punishment undergone, which Saint Paul again teaches when he says, "God spared not his own Son."
At the same time God's good-heartedness is shown in the fact that whereas man could not, no matter what the punishment, sufficiently make satisfaction, God has given man someone who can make that satisfaction for him ...
from today's Magnificat reflection
To hand over an innocent man to suffering and death, against his will, compelling him to die as it were, would indeed be cruel and wicked. But it was not in this way that God the Father handed over Christ. He handed over Christ by inspiring him with the will to suffer for us. By so doing the severity of God is made clear to us, that no sin is forgiven without punishment undergone, which Saint Paul again teaches when he says, "God spared not his own Son."
At the same time God's good-heartedness is shown in the fact that whereas man could not, no matter what the punishment, sufficiently make satisfaction, God has given man someone who can make that satisfaction for him ...
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Whose Gesture Summons
a revision : earlier version here
1.
A season of ice-storms it has been :
Love-pangs, anger, dark infernal rages,
Strong drink and tears that will not come.
But heaven's wisdom walks
In the bleak December night
Past the black nerves of trees
Under the cold and speechless stars.
We dare not speak. We know not how.
2.
Instructed, awed and purified
By the burning mercy of her voice;
Vanquished by the ineffable
Justice of her countenance :
To him who sings her praise
Her eyes give life.
Lady of light, teach us to honor thee,
Forsaking our wonted rebellion,
Each base desire and all brash chatter,
All ignoble thought.
2002
a revision : earlier version here
1.
A season of ice-storms it has been :
Love-pangs, anger, dark infernal rages,
Strong drink and tears that will not come.
But heaven's wisdom walks
In the bleak December night
Past the black nerves of trees
Under the cold and speechless stars.
We dare not speak. We know not how.
2.
Instructed, awed and purified
By the burning mercy of her voice;
Vanquished by the ineffable
Justice of her countenance :
To him who sings her praise
Her eyes give life.
Lady of light, teach us to honor thee,
Forsaking our wonted rebellion,
Each base desire and all brash chatter,
All ignoble thought.
2002
Abbey road!
This abbey, to be specific.
+++++++++++++++
Note
added this day to Places Oft
under "Catholic Sites," three abbeys (all Trappist) and a page in praise of Merton.
Perhaps more Cistercian things to come!
This abbey, to be specific.
+++++++++++++++
Note
added this day to Places Oft
under "Catholic Sites," three abbeys (all Trappist) and a page in praise of Merton.
Perhaps more Cistercian things to come!
Chiara Lubich
from today's Magnificat reflection
What ruins some souls is a false "prudence." They call it prudence, but it's a human prudence, and it springs up every time the divine surfaces. It has the appearance of virtue but is more aggravating than vice. It does not want to shake anyone up. It lets the rich go to hell [...] by not enlightening them. Who knows what might happen? It lets the neighbors beat each other up, and even kill, because someone might accuse you of meddling in other people's affairs. You could even end up as a witness in a trial. Why bother to get involved? It advises moderation to the saints, lest something happen to them. [...] It's especially scared of God. [...]
It's a counterfeit virtue. I think it's planted or fertilized by the devil. He can do a lot of business in that climate. There once lived a man who had none of it. That was Christ Jesus. When he went out to preach, at the first lesson they wanted to kill him, there and then. "But he went straight through their midst and walked away" (Lk 4:30).
Look at his life with the eyes of this sort of prudent person and you would call the whole thing an imprudence. Not just that : If these prudent persons were logical in their reasoning, they would draw the conclusion that his death, his crucifixion ... he asked for it ... with his imprudence.
I don't believe there's a word spoken by Jesus that does not jar against these people. [...]
from today's Magnificat reflection
What ruins some souls is a false "prudence." They call it prudence, but it's a human prudence, and it springs up every time the divine surfaces. It has the appearance of virtue but is more aggravating than vice. It does not want to shake anyone up. It lets the rich go to hell [...] by not enlightening them. Who knows what might happen? It lets the neighbors beat each other up, and even kill, because someone might accuse you of meddling in other people's affairs. You could even end up as a witness in a trial. Why bother to get involved? It advises moderation to the saints, lest something happen to them. [...] It's especially scared of God. [...]
It's a counterfeit virtue. I think it's planted or fertilized by the devil. He can do a lot of business in that climate. There once lived a man who had none of it. That was Christ Jesus. When he went out to preach, at the first lesson they wanted to kill him, there and then. "But he went straight through their midst and walked away" (Lk 4:30).
Look at his life with the eyes of this sort of prudent person and you would call the whole thing an imprudence. Not just that : If these prudent persons were logical in their reasoning, they would draw the conclusion that his death, his crucifixion ... he asked for it ... with his imprudence.
I don't believe there's a word spoken by Jesus that does not jar against these people. [...]
estlin
from etc
now winging selves sing sweetly,while ghosts(there
and here)of snow cringe;dazed an earth shakes sleep
out of her brightening mind:now everywhere
space tastes of the amazement which is hope
gone are those hugest hours of dark and cold
when blood and flesh to inexistence bow
(all that was doubtful's certain,timid's bold;
old's youthful and reluctant's eager now)
anywhere upward somethings yearn and stir
piercing a tangled wrack of wishless known:
nothing is like this keen(who breathes us)air
immortal with the fragrance of begin
winter is over--now(for me and you,
darling!)life's star prances the blinding blue
from etc
now winging selves sing sweetly,while ghosts(there
and here)of snow cringe;dazed an earth shakes sleep
out of her brightening mind:now everywhere
space tastes of the amazement which is hope
gone are those hugest hours of dark and cold
when blood and flesh to inexistence bow
(all that was doubtful's certain,timid's bold;
old's youthful and reluctant's eager now)
anywhere upward somethings yearn and stir
piercing a tangled wrack of wishless known:
nothing is like this keen(who breathes us)air
immortal with the fragrance of begin
winter is over--now(for me and you,
darling!)life's star prances the blinding blue
Oxtail soup, commencement addresses, grandiloquence, scorn & shrewdness
and a prayer for safe passage
WFB eulogizes his fellow titan, DPM. Via Ad Orientem.
and a prayer for safe passage
WFB eulogizes his fellow titan, DPM. Via Ad Orientem.
Mertoniana
from vol. 6 of the journals
from November 1, 1966
Heavy rain in the morning. Went down in the dark to concelebrate. Came back with the pocket of my rain coat full of eggs and had me a super breakfast.
*
Rain cleared in late morning. I went for a walk to the Lake Knob, with a great new sense of freedom and discovery -- and determination never to get caught again by a love affair and not let this one flare up again. Only now do I begin to see the state of the ruins! What an embarrassing mess!
*
from November 2, 1966
About four this morning it began to snow. And it turned into a real storm, by evening it was one of the heaviest storms I have ever seen here, though since it was above freezing the snow did not lie as thick as it otherwise might have. But now it is night and still snowing and I think by tomorrow there will be quite a bit of it -- and this only All Souls' Day! I went down in the dark and snow to say my three masses early (others are not saying the 3 Masses anymore -- a few of the older priests are).
*
After dinner I walked out to the woods in the snowstorm. Then back and settled down for the afternoon, let myself be enclosed in the snow and silence, and it has been marvelous. [...] Place quiet and cozy, and I am utterly alone. It is a pure delight, I thank God for it! And again I am overcome with embarrassment to think how I have trifled with this grace.
*
Boughs of evergreen out there in the dark cracking under the weight of the snow!
Merton, Learning to Love (HarperCollins, 1997), pp. 155-7.
from vol. 6 of the journals
from November 1, 1966
Heavy rain in the morning. Went down in the dark to concelebrate. Came back with the pocket of my rain coat full of eggs and had me a super breakfast.
*
Rain cleared in late morning. I went for a walk to the Lake Knob, with a great new sense of freedom and discovery -- and determination never to get caught again by a love affair and not let this one flare up again. Only now do I begin to see the state of the ruins! What an embarrassing mess!
*
from November 2, 1966
About four this morning it began to snow. And it turned into a real storm, by evening it was one of the heaviest storms I have ever seen here, though since it was above freezing the snow did not lie as thick as it otherwise might have. But now it is night and still snowing and I think by tomorrow there will be quite a bit of it -- and this only All Souls' Day! I went down in the dark and snow to say my three masses early (others are not saying the 3 Masses anymore -- a few of the older priests are).
*
After dinner I walked out to the woods in the snowstorm. Then back and settled down for the afternoon, let myself be enclosed in the snow and silence, and it has been marvelous. [...] Place quiet and cozy, and I am utterly alone. It is a pure delight, I thank God for it! And again I am overcome with embarrassment to think how I have trifled with this grace.
*
Boughs of evergreen out there in the dark cracking under the weight of the snow!
Merton, Learning to Love (HarperCollins, 1997), pp. 155-7.
Psalm 25 (Psalm 24 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
All my heart goes out to thee, O Lord, my God. Belie not the trust I have in thee, let not my enemies boast of my downfall. Can any that trust in thee be disappointed, as they are disappointed who lightly break their troth? Direct my way, O Lord, as thou wilt, teach me thy own paths. Ever let thy truth guide me and teach me, O God my deliverer, my abiding hope. Forget not, Lord, thy pity, thy mercies of long ago. Give heed no more to the sins and frailties of my youth, but think mercifully of me, as thou, Lord, art ever gracious. How gracious is the Lord, how faithful, guiding our strayed feet back to the path! In his own laws he will train the humble, in his own paths the humble he will guide. Jealous be thy keeping of covenant and ordinance, and the Lord's dealings will be ever gracious, ever faithful with thee. Kindly be thy judgement of my sin, for thy own honour's sake, my grievous sin.
Let a man but fear the Lord, what path to choose he doubts no longer. Much joy he shall have of his lands and to his heirs leave them. No stranger the Lord is, no secret his covenant, to his true worshippers. On the Lord I fix my eyes continually, trusting him to save my feet from the snare. Pity me, Lord, as thou seest me friendless and forlorn. Quit my heart of its burden, deliver me from my distress. Restless and forlorn, I claim thy pity, to my sins be merciful. See how many are my foes, and how bitter is the grudge they bear me. Take my soul into thy keeping; come to my resuce, do not let me be disappointed of my trust in thee. Uprightness and purity be my shield, as I wait patiently for thy help. When wilt thou deliver Israel, my God, from all his troubles?
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
All my heart goes out to thee, O Lord, my God. Belie not the trust I have in thee, let not my enemies boast of my downfall. Can any that trust in thee be disappointed, as they are disappointed who lightly break their troth? Direct my way, O Lord, as thou wilt, teach me thy own paths. Ever let thy truth guide me and teach me, O God my deliverer, my abiding hope. Forget not, Lord, thy pity, thy mercies of long ago. Give heed no more to the sins and frailties of my youth, but think mercifully of me, as thou, Lord, art ever gracious. How gracious is the Lord, how faithful, guiding our strayed feet back to the path! In his own laws he will train the humble, in his own paths the humble he will guide. Jealous be thy keeping of covenant and ordinance, and the Lord's dealings will be ever gracious, ever faithful with thee. Kindly be thy judgement of my sin, for thy own honour's sake, my grievous sin.
Let a man but fear the Lord, what path to choose he doubts no longer. Much joy he shall have of his lands and to his heirs leave them. No stranger the Lord is, no secret his covenant, to his true worshippers. On the Lord I fix my eyes continually, trusting him to save my feet from the snare. Pity me, Lord, as thou seest me friendless and forlorn. Quit my heart of its burden, deliver me from my distress. Restless and forlorn, I claim thy pity, to my sins be merciful. See how many are my foes, and how bitter is the grudge they bear me. Take my soul into thy keeping; come to my resuce, do not let me be disappointed of my trust in thee. Uprightness and purity be my shield, as I wait patiently for thy help. When wilt thou deliver Israel, my God, from all his troubles?
from Altarwise by owl-light
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Hairs of your head, then said the hollow agent,
Are but the roots of nettles and of feathers
Over these groundworks thrusting through a pavement
And hemlock-headed in the wood of weathers.
*
The black ram, shuffling of the year, old winter,
Alone alive among his mutton fold,
We rung our weathering changes on the ladder,
Said the antipodes, and twice spring chimed.
*
Time is the tune my ladies lend their heartbreak,
From bald pavilions and the house of bread
Time tracks the sound of shape on man and cloud,
On rose and icicle the ringing handprint.
*
Green as beginning, let the garden diving
Soar, with its two bark towers, to that Day
When the worm builds with the gold straw of venom
My nest of mercies in the rude, red tree.
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
Hairs of your head, then said the hollow agent,
Are but the roots of nettles and of feathers
Over these groundworks thrusting through a pavement
And hemlock-headed in the wood of weathers.
*
The black ram, shuffling of the year, old winter,
Alone alive among his mutton fold,
We rung our weathering changes on the ladder,
Said the antipodes, and twice spring chimed.
*
Time is the tune my ladies lend their heartbreak,
From bald pavilions and the house of bread
Time tracks the sound of shape on man and cloud,
On rose and icicle the ringing handprint.
*
Green as beginning, let the garden diving
Soar, with its two bark towers, to that Day
When the worm builds with the gold straw of venom
My nest of mercies in the rude, red tree.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
a poem by
William Carlos Williams
(1883-1963)
This is just to say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
+++++++++++++++
a poem by
Kenneth Koch
(1925-2002)
Variations on a Theme by Wiliam Carlos Williams
1
I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next
summer.
I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do
and its wooden beams were so inviting.
2
We laughed at the hollyhocks together
and then I sprayed them with lye.
Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.
3
I gave away the money that you had been saving to live on for the next ten
years.
The man who asked for it was shabby
and the firm March wind on the porch was so juicy and cold.
4
Last evening we went dancing and I broke your leg.
Forgive me. I was clumsy, and
I wanted you here in the wards, where I am the doctor!
William Carlos Williams
(1883-1963)
This is just to say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
+++++++++++++++
a poem by
Kenneth Koch
(1925-2002)
Variations on a Theme by Wiliam Carlos Williams
1
I chopped down the house that you had been saving to live in next
summer.
I am sorry, but it was morning, and I had nothing to do
and its wooden beams were so inviting.
2
We laughed at the hollyhocks together
and then I sprayed them with lye.
Forgive me. I simply do not know what I am doing.
3
I gave away the money that you had been saving to live on for the next ten
years.
The man who asked for it was shabby
and the firm March wind on the porch was so juicy and cold.
4
Last evening we went dancing and I broke your leg.
Forgive me. I was clumsy, and
I wanted you here in the wards, where I am the doctor!
Raniero Cantalamessa, OFM Cap
excerpts from today's Magnificat reflection
Faced with the mystery of the heavenly Father's tenderness we spontaneously turn to Jesus and say to him : "Jesus, you are our elder brother, tell us what we can do to show ourselves worthy of so much love ... on the Father's part!" And Jesus answers us through his Gospel and life. "There is," he says, "something you can do, something I also did and which pleases the Father : have confidence in him, trust in him, and do him credit! Against everything, against everyone, and against yourselves!"
*
When therefore we are in darkness or distress, when we can see nothing ahead of us but absurdity and we are on the point of giving in, let us pull ourselves together and cry out with faith : "Father, I no longer understand you, but I trust you!" Jesus, too, cried out like this in the Garden of Olives. He said : "Father, let this cup pass from me!" The cup did not pass but Jesus did not lose his confidence in the Father and he died exclaiming : "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!"
*
Referring to man's state before Christ a second-century author said : "Ignorance about the Father was the cause of much distress and fear."
excerpts from today's Magnificat reflection
Faced with the mystery of the heavenly Father's tenderness we spontaneously turn to Jesus and say to him : "Jesus, you are our elder brother, tell us what we can do to show ourselves worthy of so much love ... on the Father's part!" And Jesus answers us through his Gospel and life. "There is," he says, "something you can do, something I also did and which pleases the Father : have confidence in him, trust in him, and do him credit! Against everything, against everyone, and against yourselves!"
*
When therefore we are in darkness or distress, when we can see nothing ahead of us but absurdity and we are on the point of giving in, let us pull ourselves together and cry out with faith : "Father, I no longer understand you, but I trust you!" Jesus, too, cried out like this in the Garden of Olives. He said : "Father, let this cup pass from me!" The cup did not pass but Jesus did not lose his confidence in the Father and he died exclaiming : "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit!"
*
Referring to man's state before Christ a second-century author said : "Ignorance about the Father was the cause of much distress and fear."
april is the christmas of the spring
april is the christmas of the spring
april is the dance
of blossoms
flame of purple petals
april is a chilly wind behind
a smiling sun
april is innocence on the verge of
experience
april is artistry spontaneity
an unrehearsing skill of growth & warmth
april pokes the slumbering soul awake
april is the painter with his easel
in the park
a garden of ducks
a pond a peopleflock
crossing the bridge
april is the marathon the meetingplace
of winter and something warmer
april is resurrection
april is lazarus & troubadours
lilacs & the ruggles bus
the uncivilized shout & holy laughter
of youth who will age
(soonestly alas)
into a drearier summer
2001
april is the dance
of blossoms
flame of purple petals
april is a chilly wind behind
a smiling sun
april is innocence on the verge of
experience
april is artistry spontaneity
an unrehearsing skill of growth & warmth
april pokes the slumbering soul awake
april is the painter with his easel
in the park
a garden of ducks
a pond a peopleflock
crossing the bridge
april is the marathon the meetingplace
of winter and something warmer
april is resurrection
april is lazarus & troubadours
lilacs & the ruggles bus
the uncivilized shout & holy laughter
of youth who will age
(soonestly alas)
into a drearier summer
2001
Tuesday, April 01, 2003
Mertoniana
via volume six of the journals
from October 13, 1966
So many things have happened in the last ten days or so. The death of Fr Stephen under the tree by the gatehouse on the 4th. I was among the little group kneeling in the grass to pray by him as he died. Then sat with Fr Flavian saying psalms by his body in the post office before he was taken up to the third floor chapel. He was buried on the 5th with much singing of birds on a bright morning.
*
Monday I had to go to the proctologist. It was a beautiful day.
*
Downtown Louisville at the bar of the Brown Hotel in mid afternoon, drinking bottled beer and finishing a letter to M.
*
from October 14, 1966
A dark October morning with clouds. Extraordinary purple in the North over the pines. Ruins of gnats on the table under the lamp.
*
from October 16, 1966
Three small harlequins -- two sweetgums and a maple -- stand bright against the dark background of pine and cedar. Dim brilliance of the woods on a grey day. [...] I am full of obscure lonely happiness because of her and because of the miracle of her existence. I tried to write a poem for her about it but the poem could come nowhere near.
*
Basil Bunting found for the first time yesterday -- very fine, rough, Northumbrian, Newcastle stuff of the Kingdom of Caedmon.
*
from October 27, 1966
Tonight walked up and down on the cool clear evening, in the full moon, meditating, enjoying the quiet, the peace, the cool silence of the valley, and the freedom. All I have ever sought is here : how foolish not to be content with it -- and let anything trouble it, without need. True, the moon did make me think of May 5th at the airport -- and that was something else again!! I can't regret it. It still seems so obviously to have been a gift of God.
via volume six of the journals
from October 13, 1966
So many things have happened in the last ten days or so. The death of Fr Stephen under the tree by the gatehouse on the 4th. I was among the little group kneeling in the grass to pray by him as he died. Then sat with Fr Flavian saying psalms by his body in the post office before he was taken up to the third floor chapel. He was buried on the 5th with much singing of birds on a bright morning.
*
Monday I had to go to the proctologist. It was a beautiful day.
*
Downtown Louisville at the bar of the Brown Hotel in mid afternoon, drinking bottled beer and finishing a letter to M.
*
from October 14, 1966
A dark October morning with clouds. Extraordinary purple in the North over the pines. Ruins of gnats on the table under the lamp.
*
from October 16, 1966
Three small harlequins -- two sweetgums and a maple -- stand bright against the dark background of pine and cedar. Dim brilliance of the woods on a grey day. [...] I am full of obscure lonely happiness because of her and because of the miracle of her existence. I tried to write a poem for her about it but the poem could come nowhere near.
*
Basil Bunting found for the first time yesterday -- very fine, rough, Northumbrian, Newcastle stuff of the Kingdom of Caedmon.
*
from October 27, 1966
Tonight walked up and down on the cool clear evening, in the full moon, meditating, enjoying the quiet, the peace, the cool silence of the valley, and the freedom. All I have ever sought is here : how foolish not to be content with it -- and let anything trouble it, without need. True, the moon did make me think of May 5th at the airport -- and that was something else again!! I can't regret it. It still seems so obviously to have been a gift of God.
Psalm 46 (Psalm 45 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
God is our refuge and stronghold; sovereign aid he has brought us in the hour of peril. Not for us to be afraid, though earth should tumble about us, and the hills be carried away into the depths of the sea. See how its waters rage and roar, how the hills tremble before its might! The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.
But the city of God, enriched with flowing waters, is the chosen sanctuary of the most High, God dwells within her, and she stands unmoved; with break of dawn he will grant her deliverance. Nations may be in turmoil, and thrones totter, earth shrink away before his voice; but the Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge. Come near, and see God's acts, his marvellous acts done on earth; how he puts an end to wars all over the world, the bow shivered, the lances shattered, the shields burnt to ashes! Wait quietly, and you shall have proof that I am God, claiming empire among the nations, claiming empire over the world. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
God is our refuge and stronghold; sovereign aid he has brought us in the hour of peril. Not for us to be afraid, though earth should tumble about us, and the hills be carried away into the depths of the sea. See how its waters rage and roar, how the hills tremble before its might! The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.
But the city of God, enriched with flowing waters, is the chosen sanctuary of the most High, God dwells within her, and she stands unmoved; with break of dawn he will grant her deliverance. Nations may be in turmoil, and thrones totter, earth shrink away before his voice; but the Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge. Come near, and see God's acts, his marvellous acts done on earth; how he puts an end to wars all over the world, the bow shivered, the lances shattered, the shields burnt to ashes! Wait quietly, and you shall have proof that I am God, claiming empire among the nations, claiming empire over the world. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.
Anima Christi
Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Corpus Christi, salva me.
Sanguis Christi, inebria me.
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Passio Christi, conforta me.
O bone Iesu, exaudi me.
Intra tua vulnera absconde me.
Ne permittas me separari a te.
Ab hoste maligno defende me.
In hora mortis meae voca me,
et iube me venire ad te
ut cum sanctis tuis laudem te
in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
Anima Christi, sanctifica me.
Corpus Christi, salva me.
Sanguis Christi, inebria me.
Aqua lateris Christi, lava me.
Passio Christi, conforta me.
O bone Iesu, exaudi me.
Intra tua vulnera absconde me.
Ne permittas me separari a te.
Ab hoste maligno defende me.
In hora mortis meae voca me,
et iube me venire ad te
ut cum sanctis tuis laudem te
in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
Jean Vanier
from today's Magnificat meditation
Jesus often uses the word "abide." To abide in Jesus is what prayer is about. We must live this word and open the chalice of our being to the presence of God, enter into his silence.
*
He will give us the courage to forgive -- for many of us bear the scars of resentment and have yet to learn to forgive, to love those who have hurt us, to attain interior freedom.
*
To enter into this healing process, we have to learn to be silent. It is very easy, after having heard the Word of God, to go out and shout it. This can be a form of escape from letting the Word of God penetrate those parts of our hearts where we may feel a certain guilt, a lack of faith and of generosity.
from today's Magnificat meditation
Jesus often uses the word "abide." To abide in Jesus is what prayer is about. We must live this word and open the chalice of our being to the presence of God, enter into his silence.
*
He will give us the courage to forgive -- for many of us bear the scars of resentment and have yet to learn to forgive, to love those who have hurt us, to attain interior freedom.
*
To enter into this healing process, we have to learn to be silent. It is very easy, after having heard the Word of God, to go out and shout it. This can be a form of escape from letting the Word of God penetrate those parts of our hearts where we may feel a certain guilt, a lack of faith and of generosity.
Venerable Charles de Foucauld
from the Magnificat of last March (2002) -- meditation for Thurs. 21st
However wicked I may be, however great a sinner, I must hope that I shall go to heaven. You forbid me to despair. however ungrateful or lukewarm or cowardly I may be, however much I may misuse your graces, O God, you make it my duty to hope to live eternally at your feet in love and holiness. You forbid me ever to be discouraged by my shortcomings, or to say to myself, "I can go no further. The road is too bad. I must go back -- right back to the bottom." You forbid me to say to myself at the prospect of the sins I renew daily, the sins I ask you daily to forgive and continually fall back into : "I can never correct myself : holiness is not for me; heaven and I have nothing in common and I am too unworthy to go there." Even when I think of the infinite graces you have heaped on me and the unworthiness of my present life, you forbid me to say to myself, "I have gone too far in misusing my graces; I ought to be a saint, but I am a sinner; I cannot correct myself, it is too difficult; I am nothing but wretchedness and pride; after everything God has done, there is still no good in me; I shall never go to heaven."
In spite of everything, you want me to hope, to hope always that I shall receive enough grace to be converted and to attain glory. What is there in common between heaven and me -- between its perfection and my wretchedness? There is your heart, O Lord Jesus. It forms a link between these two so dissimilar things. There is the love of the Father who so loved the world he gave his only Son. I must always hope, because you have commanded me to, and because I must believe both in your love, the love you have so firmly promised, and in your power.
+++++++++++++++
This speaks to me, rather directly, it would seem. I hope it speaks to others, in a salutary and encouraging fashion!
from the Magnificat of last March (2002) -- meditation for Thurs. 21st
However wicked I may be, however great a sinner, I must hope that I shall go to heaven. You forbid me to despair. however ungrateful or lukewarm or cowardly I may be, however much I may misuse your graces, O God, you make it my duty to hope to live eternally at your feet in love and holiness. You forbid me ever to be discouraged by my shortcomings, or to say to myself, "I can go no further. The road is too bad. I must go back -- right back to the bottom." You forbid me to say to myself at the prospect of the sins I renew daily, the sins I ask you daily to forgive and continually fall back into : "I can never correct myself : holiness is not for me; heaven and I have nothing in common and I am too unworthy to go there." Even when I think of the infinite graces you have heaped on me and the unworthiness of my present life, you forbid me to say to myself, "I have gone too far in misusing my graces; I ought to be a saint, but I am a sinner; I cannot correct myself, it is too difficult; I am nothing but wretchedness and pride; after everything God has done, there is still no good in me; I shall never go to heaven."
In spite of everything, you want me to hope, to hope always that I shall receive enough grace to be converted and to attain glory. What is there in common between heaven and me -- between its perfection and my wretchedness? There is your heart, O Lord Jesus. It forms a link between these two so dissimilar things. There is the love of the Father who so loved the world he gave his only Son. I must always hope, because you have commanded me to, and because I must believe both in your love, the love you have so firmly promised, and in your power.
+++++++++++++++
This speaks to me, rather directly, it would seem. I hope it speaks to others, in a salutary and encouraging fashion!
Gospel acc. to St John 1:1-16
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
At the beginning of time the Word already was; and God had the Word abiding with him, and the Word was God. He abode, at the beginning of time, with God. It was through him that all things came into being, and without him came nothing that has come to be. In him there was life, and that life was the light of men. And the light shines in darkness, a darkness which was not able to master it.
A man appeared, sent from God, whose name was John. He came for a witness, to bear witness of the light, so that through him all men might learn to believe. He was not the Light; he was sent to bear witness to the light. There is one who enlightens every soul born into the world; he was the true Light. He, through whom the world was made, was in the world, and the world treated him as a stranger. He came to what was his own, and they who were his own gave him no welcome. But all those who did welcome him he empowered to become children of God, all those who believe in his name; their birth came, not from human stock, not from nature's will or man's, but from God. And the Word was made flesh, and came to dwell among us; and we had sight of his glory, glory such as belongs to the Father's only-begotten Son, full of grace and truth. We have John's witness to him; I told you, cried John, there was one coming after me who takes rank before me; he was when I was not. We have all received something out of his abundance, grace answering to grace.
trans. Msgr Ronald Knox
At the beginning of time the Word already was; and God had the Word abiding with him, and the Word was God. He abode, at the beginning of time, with God. It was through him that all things came into being, and without him came nothing that has come to be. In him there was life, and that life was the light of men. And the light shines in darkness, a darkness which was not able to master it.
A man appeared, sent from God, whose name was John. He came for a witness, to bear witness of the light, so that through him all men might learn to believe. He was not the Light; he was sent to bear witness to the light. There is one who enlightens every soul born into the world; he was the true Light. He, through whom the world was made, was in the world, and the world treated him as a stranger. He came to what was his own, and they who were his own gave him no welcome. But all those who did welcome him he empowered to become children of God, all those who believe in his name; their birth came, not from human stock, not from nature's will or man's, but from God. And the Word was made flesh, and came to dwell among us; and we had sight of his glory, glory such as belongs to the Father's only-begotten Son, full of grace and truth. We have John's witness to him; I told you, cried John, there was one coming after me who takes rank before me; he was when I was not. We have all received something out of his abundance, grace answering to grace.
Spring : two poems
from Wishes, Lies, and Dreams : Teaching Children to Write Poetry
Spring is like a ladybug climbing a flower.
Spring is flowers growing in the garden.
Spring is the sun, sky and grass.
Spring is going to the swimming pool.
Spring is going to the beach and tasting the salt water.
Spring is wearing your new summer play suit.
Spring is planting new flowers in your garden.
Spring is getting a new pair of sandals.
But best of all, spring is a part of nature, like the baby next door
She's grown so big.
Vivien Tuft, 4th grade
+++++++++++++++
Flyin' High
Spring is like a beetle coming out of its hole
Spring is like rolling on a damp lawn
Spring is a blue sky and blue as I dunno what
Spring is sailing a boat
Spring is a flower waking up in the morning
Spring is like a plate falling out of the closet for joy
Spring is like a spatter of grease
Flying high like Lucy in the sky
Spring is like doing a cartwheel on the sidewalk
Spring is like a bird flying over a lake
Spring is like putting on tennis shoes
Spring is like walking in flowers
Spring is like doing a bellyflop in a mudpuddle
Jeff Morley, 4th grade
+++++++++++++++
Kenneth Koch and the students of PS 61, op. cit. (Vintage, 1971), pp. 182, 188.
from Wishes, Lies, and Dreams : Teaching Children to Write Poetry
Spring is like a ladybug climbing a flower.
Spring is flowers growing in the garden.
Spring is the sun, sky and grass.
Spring is going to the swimming pool.
Spring is going to the beach and tasting the salt water.
Spring is wearing your new summer play suit.
Spring is planting new flowers in your garden.
Spring is getting a new pair of sandals.
But best of all, spring is a part of nature, like the baby next door
She's grown so big.
Vivien Tuft, 4th grade
+++++++++++++++
Flyin' High
Spring is like a beetle coming out of its hole
Spring is like rolling on a damp lawn
Spring is a blue sky and blue as I dunno what
Spring is sailing a boat
Spring is a flower waking up in the morning
Spring is like a plate falling out of the closet for joy
Spring is like a spatter of grease
Flying high like Lucy in the sky
Spring is like doing a cartwheel on the sidewalk
Spring is like a bird flying over a lake
Spring is like putting on tennis shoes
Spring is like walking in flowers
Spring is like doing a bellyflop in a mudpuddle
Jeff Morley, 4th grade
+++++++++++++++
Kenneth Koch and the students of PS 61, op. cit. (Vintage, 1971), pp. 182, 188.
This Unbidden Love
earliest version December 1985
revised periodically since then
The most unthinkable
Flower that ever will have grown
Is the explicit lilac with its lurid scent,
With its vivid hungering and tremulous lips,
A breath alive, a flesh unknown,
A world springlike and full.
The ripest sweetest fruit
Turned liquid on the swirling tongue
Becomes a wine-drunk whisper tasting loud,
Revives forgotten midnights in the gut
And blackish dreamlike saccharines
Stimulate the tooth.
Two souls, four lungs : each nerve
Breathes fulfillment of its dream
While this unbidden love, the tide's great surge,
Turbulent ecstasy of rapturous urge,
Makes live, in one climactic rhyme,
Epitome of sense.
revised periodically since then
The most unthinkable
Flower that ever will have grown
Is the explicit lilac with its lurid scent,
With its vivid hungering and tremulous lips,
A breath alive, a flesh unknown,
A world springlike and full.
The ripest sweetest fruit
Turned liquid on the swirling tongue
Becomes a wine-drunk whisper tasting loud,
Revives forgotten midnights in the gut
And blackish dreamlike saccharines
Stimulate the tooth.
Two souls, four lungs : each nerve
Breathes fulfillment of its dream
While this unbidden love, the tide's great surge,
Turbulent ecstasy of rapturous urge,
Makes live, in one climactic rhyme,
Epitome of sense.
Monday, March 31, 2003
Monday mission
via chirp, but originating at whoever thinks these things up!!
1. How old will you be on your next birthday?
34.
2. What is your favorite gadget?
The book. Or perhaps, the bookmark.
3. Tell me about someone that you lost touch with several years ago. Would you like to get back in touch with them again? What caused the separation? Has enough time passed? Would you still get along?
M., une française de quarante ans; perhaps; my failure to forgive a secret spilled (she did so out of genuine concern); no; perhaps not.
And of course, there's Cynthia. (Violins, please.)
4. Is there a difference between your online personality and your real-life version? Or are you pretty much the same person either way?
Perhaps I'm wittier online. I'm certainly handsomer online! I have a good face for radio. But otherwise, pretty much the same. Heavier, more burdensome, in person.
5. Can you think of any ways that the Internet hinders person-to-person communication? What could we do to change things?
Actually, am ceaselessly marvelling at how it immeasurably enhances person-to-person communication!
6. When was the last time you felt truly happy, or had that sense of perfect inner-peace? What does it take to get that feeling back when you need it?
Can we adopt a "don't ask, don't tell" policy on this one? Too heavy a question to ponder. "Perfect inner peace" this side of paradise is surely hyperbole. One is grateful for those small surprising moments of grace that do occur from time to time. Today, after initial distress, I felt happy. So there!
7. If you could just verbally let loose on someone and be able to say anything you want, without repercussions, who would you say it to and what would you say?
Without repercussions? Please, don't tempt me! Where would I start? But letting loose in such a fashion can be truly damaging. Maybe I should let loose, in prayer, even angry prayer, on the good Lord God, a bit more often, as the psalmist & certainly some of the prophets (quare via impiorum prosperatur) did from time to time.
BONUS: Are we alive or just a dying planet?
Perhaps the silliest question since the Fixx asked "Are we ourselves, and do we really know?"
via chirp, but originating at whoever thinks these things up!!
1. How old will you be on your next birthday?
34.
2. What is your favorite gadget?
The book. Or perhaps, the bookmark.
3. Tell me about someone that you lost touch with several years ago. Would you like to get back in touch with them again? What caused the separation? Has enough time passed? Would you still get along?
M., une française de quarante ans; perhaps; my failure to forgive a secret spilled (she did so out of genuine concern); no; perhaps not.
And of course, there's Cynthia. (Violins, please.)
4. Is there a difference between your online personality and your real-life version? Or are you pretty much the same person either way?
Perhaps I'm wittier online. I'm certainly handsomer online! I have a good face for radio. But otherwise, pretty much the same. Heavier, more burdensome, in person.
5. Can you think of any ways that the Internet hinders person-to-person communication? What could we do to change things?
Actually, am ceaselessly marvelling at how it immeasurably enhances person-to-person communication!
6. When was the last time you felt truly happy, or had that sense of perfect inner-peace? What does it take to get that feeling back when you need it?
Can we adopt a "don't ask, don't tell" policy on this one? Too heavy a question to ponder. "Perfect inner peace" this side of paradise is surely hyperbole. One is grateful for those small surprising moments of grace that do occur from time to time. Today, after initial distress, I felt happy. So there!
7. If you could just verbally let loose on someone and be able to say anything you want, without repercussions, who would you say it to and what would you say?
Without repercussions? Please, don't tempt me! Where would I start? But letting loose in such a fashion can be truly damaging. Maybe I should let loose, in prayer, even angry prayer, on the good Lord God, a bit more often, as the psalmist & certainly some of the prophets (quare via impiorum prosperatur) did from time to time.
BONUS: Are we alive or just a dying planet?
Perhaps the silliest question since the Fixx asked "Are we ourselves, and do we really know?"
And Mary said
My soul magnifies the Lord; my spirit has found joy in God, who is my Saviour, because he has looked graciously upon the lowliness of his handmaid. Behold, from this day forward all generations will count me blessed; because he who is mighty, he whose name is holy, has wrought for me his wonders. He has mercy upon those who fear him, from generation to generation; he has done valiantly with the strength of his arm, driving the proud astray in the conceit of their hearts; he has put down the mighty from their seat, and exalted the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty-handed. He has protected his servant Israel, keeping his merciful design in remembrance, according to the promise which he made to our forefathers, Abraham and his posterity for evermore.
Luke 1.46-55, trans. Msgr Knox
My soul magnifies the Lord; my spirit has found joy in God, who is my Saviour, because he has looked graciously upon the lowliness of his handmaid. Behold, from this day forward all generations will count me blessed; because he who is mighty, he whose name is holy, has wrought for me his wonders. He has mercy upon those who fear him, from generation to generation; he has done valiantly with the strength of his arm, driving the proud astray in the conceit of their hearts; he has put down the mighty from their seat, and exalted the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty-handed. He has protected his servant Israel, keeping his merciful design in remembrance, according to the promise which he made to our forefathers, Abraham and his posterity for evermore.
Luke 1.46-55, trans. Msgr Knox
Mertoniana
from journal entry for Sept. 21, 1966
Fog all around the hermitage this morning (pre-dawn). I have a new coffee percolator that seems to work well.
+++++++++++++++
dylan : I confess to liking these little snippets of "grounded" life in his journals, the two-or-three-sentence snapshots of the quotidian, almost like prose equivalents to the wheelbarrow of William Carlos Williams. Call it the devotional practice of attention to the quotidian. Or (if you're so inclined) call it poetry! Almost accidental poetry, but poetry nonetheless.
from journal entry for Sept. 21, 1966
Fog all around the hermitage this morning (pre-dawn). I have a new coffee percolator that seems to work well.
+++++++++++++++
dylan : I confess to liking these little snippets of "grounded" life in his journals, the two-or-three-sentence snapshots of the quotidian, almost like prose equivalents to the wheelbarrow of William Carlos Williams. Call it the devotional practice of attention to the quotidian. Or (if you're so inclined) call it poetry! Almost accidental poetry, but poetry nonetheless.
Psalm 23 (22 in Vulgate)
trans. Msgr Knox
The Lord is my shepherd; how can I lack anything? He gives me a resting-place where there is green pasture, leads me out to the cool water's brink, refreshed and content. As in honour pledged, by sure paths he leads me; dark be the valley about my path, hurt I fear none while he is with me; thy rod, thy crook are my comfort. Envious my foes watch, while thou dost spread a banquet for me; richly thou dost anoint my head with oil, well filled my cup. All my life thy loving favour pursues me; through the long years the Lord's house shall be my dwelling-place.
trans. Msgr Knox
The Lord is my shepherd; how can I lack anything? He gives me a resting-place where there is green pasture, leads me out to the cool water's brink, refreshed and content. As in honour pledged, by sure paths he leads me; dark be the valley about my path, hurt I fear none while he is with me; thy rod, thy crook are my comfort. Envious my foes watch, while thou dost spread a banquet for me; richly thou dost anoint my head with oil, well filled my cup. All my life thy loving favour pursues me; through the long years the Lord's house shall be my dwelling-place.
Doxos!
As Roman Catholics celebrated Laetare Sunday yesterday, the Orthodox commemorated the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross. Read Mr Huw's reflection on his priest's sermon -- is it "nothing new"? It is the obvious, the necessary, that always wants restating.
One day in the Boston Globe the "Reflection for the Day" came via Katharine Anne Porter : "Love must be learned, and relearned, again and again; there is no end to it. Hate needs no instruction, but waits only to be provoked."
The simple truths -- see Christ in others, treat others as Christ -- always warrant visitation and revisitation, because we dare not live them yet. I dare not live them yet.
As Roman Catholics celebrated Laetare Sunday yesterday, the Orthodox commemorated the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross. Read Mr Huw's reflection on his priest's sermon -- is it "nothing new"? It is the obvious, the necessary, that always wants restating.
One day in the Boston Globe the "Reflection for the Day" came via Katharine Anne Porter : "Love must be learned, and relearned, again and again; there is no end to it. Hate needs no instruction, but waits only to be provoked."
The simple truths -- see Christ in others, treat others as Christ -- always warrant visitation and revisitation, because we dare not live them yet. I dare not live them yet.
Pragger-wagger
The only other fortress of privacy afforded a boy at Uppingham came in the shape of the tish, a dormitory cubicle that housed his bed, a small table and such private items as might be fitted into the table or under the bed and vice versa. A curtain could be pulled across and then a tish, too, became a boy's castle. One assumes that the word "tish" descends, not from the German for table, but from a contraction of the word "partition," but applying logic to English slang is never a sound idea. I think we can be fairly sure however, that "ekker," the word used at Uppingham for games, derived from "exercise." "Wagger," or "wagger-pagger-bagger," which was used to denote "waste-paper basket," is an example of that strange argot prevalent in the 1920s and 1930s that caused the Prince of Wales to be known as the Pragger-Wagger. Even today, in the giddy world of High Anglicanism in such temples of bells, smells and cotters as St Mary's, Bourne Street, SW3, I have heard with my own two ears Holy Communion referred to by pert, campy priests as "haggers-commaggers" and my mother still describes the agony and torture of anything from toothache to an annoying traffic jam as "aggers and torters."
Stephen Fry, from Moab Is My Washpot : An Autobiography (Random House, UK 1997, USA 1999), pp. 167-8.
The only other fortress of privacy afforded a boy at Uppingham came in the shape of the tish, a dormitory cubicle that housed his bed, a small table and such private items as might be fitted into the table or under the bed and vice versa. A curtain could be pulled across and then a tish, too, became a boy's castle. One assumes that the word "tish" descends, not from the German for table, but from a contraction of the word "partition," but applying logic to English slang is never a sound idea. I think we can be fairly sure however, that "ekker," the word used at Uppingham for games, derived from "exercise." "Wagger," or "wagger-pagger-bagger," which was used to denote "waste-paper basket," is an example of that strange argot prevalent in the 1920s and 1930s that caused the Prince of Wales to be known as the Pragger-Wagger. Even today, in the giddy world of High Anglicanism in such temples of bells, smells and cotters as St Mary's, Bourne Street, SW3, I have heard with my own two ears Holy Communion referred to by pert, campy priests as "haggers-commaggers" and my mother still describes the agony and torture of anything from toothache to an annoying traffic jam as "aggers and torters."
Stephen Fry, from Moab Is My Washpot : An Autobiography (Random House, UK 1997, USA 1999), pp. 167-8.
from I, in my intricate image
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
I, in my intricate image, stride on two levels,
Forged in man's minerals, the brassy orator
Laying my ghost in metal,
The scales of this twin world tread on the double,
My half ghost in armour hold hard in death's corridor,
To my man-iron sidle.
Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels,
Bright as her spinning-wheels, the colic season
Worked on a world of petals;
She threads off the sap and needles, blood and bubble
Casts to the pine roots, raising man like a mountain
Out of the naked entrail.
Beginning with doom in the ghost, and the springing marvels,
Image of images, my metal phantom
Forcing forth through the harebell,
My man of leaves and the bronze root, mortal, unmortal,
I, in my fusion of rose and male motion,
Create this twin miracle.
This is the fortune of manhood : the natural peril,
A steeplejack tower, bonerailed and masterless,
No death more natural;
Thus the shadowless man or ox, and the pictured devil,
In seizure of silence commit the dead nuisance,
The natural parallel.
My images stalk the trees and the slant sap's tunnel,
No tread more perilous, the green steps and spire
Mount on man's footfall,
I with the wooden insect in the tree of nettles,
In the glass bed of grapes with snail and flower,
Hearing the weather fall.
The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas (New Directions, 1954), pp. 40-1.
by Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)
I, in my intricate image, stride on two levels,
Forged in man's minerals, the brassy orator
Laying my ghost in metal,
The scales of this twin world tread on the double,
My half ghost in armour hold hard in death's corridor,
To my man-iron sidle.
Beginning with doom in the bulb, the spring unravels,
Bright as her spinning-wheels, the colic season
Worked on a world of petals;
She threads off the sap and needles, blood and bubble
Casts to the pine roots, raising man like a mountain
Out of the naked entrail.
Beginning with doom in the ghost, and the springing marvels,
Image of images, my metal phantom
Forcing forth through the harebell,
My man of leaves and the bronze root, mortal, unmortal,
I, in my fusion of rose and male motion,
Create this twin miracle.
This is the fortune of manhood : the natural peril,
A steeplejack tower, bonerailed and masterless,
No death more natural;
Thus the shadowless man or ox, and the pictured devil,
In seizure of silence commit the dead nuisance,
The natural parallel.
My images stalk the trees and the slant sap's tunnel,
No tread more perilous, the green steps and spire
Mount on man's footfall,
I with the wooden insect in the tree of nettles,
In the glass bed of grapes with snail and flower,
Hearing the weather fall.
The Collected Poems of Dylan Thomas (New Directions, 1954), pp. 40-1.
From the Orthros prayer
via the online chapel of goarch
You are more holy than all the Powers of Heaven, More honored than all, you are our foundation, O Theotokos, Mistress of the World. Entreat the Savior to save us from the multitude of stumbling blocks and rescue from danger those who pray to you, as you are the good one.
via the online chapel of goarch
You are more holy than all the Powers of Heaven, More honored than all, you are our foundation, O Theotokos, Mistress of the World. Entreat the Savior to save us from the multitude of stumbling blocks and rescue from danger those who pray to you, as you are the good one.
Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 43:12-25
trans. Msgr Ronald Arbuthnott Knox
Look up at the rainbow, and bless the maker of it; how fair are those bright colours that span heaven with a ring of splendour, traced by an almighty hand. Swift comes the snow at his word, swift flashes the fire that executes his vengeance; he has but to unlock his store-house, and the clouds hover, bird-fashion, arsenals of his might, whence the pounded hail-stones fall. How his glance makes the hills tremble! Blows the south wind at his bidding, earth echoes with the crash of his thunder; blows the north wind, and there is whirling storm. Soft as roosting bird falls the snow, spread all around; not more silently comes locust-swarm to earth; what eye is but captivated by its pale beauty, what heart but is filled with terror at the dark cloud that brings it? He it is pours out the frost, that lies white as salt on the earth, the frozen earth that seems covered with thistle-down.
Cold blows the north wind, and ice forms on the water; no pool but it rests there, arming the water as with a breast-plate; frost gnaws at the mountain-side, parches the open plains, strips them, as fire might have stripped them, of their green. Remedy for all these is none, but the speedy coming of the mist; frost shall be overmastered by the showers the sirocco drives before it, and at the Lord's word the chill blast dies away.
trans. Msgr Ronald Arbuthnott Knox
Look up at the rainbow, and bless the maker of it; how fair are those bright colours that span heaven with a ring of splendour, traced by an almighty hand. Swift comes the snow at his word, swift flashes the fire that executes his vengeance; he has but to unlock his store-house, and the clouds hover, bird-fashion, arsenals of his might, whence the pounded hail-stones fall. How his glance makes the hills tremble! Blows the south wind at his bidding, earth echoes with the crash of his thunder; blows the north wind, and there is whirling storm. Soft as roosting bird falls the snow, spread all around; not more silently comes locust-swarm to earth; what eye is but captivated by its pale beauty, what heart but is filled with terror at the dark cloud that brings it? He it is pours out the frost, that lies white as salt on the earth, the frozen earth that seems covered with thistle-down.
Cold blows the north wind, and ice forms on the water; no pool but it rests there, arming the water as with a breast-plate; frost gnaws at the mountain-side, parches the open plains, strips them, as fire might have stripped them, of their green. Remedy for all these is none, but the speedy coming of the mist; frost shall be overmastered by the showers the sirocco drives before it, and at the Lord's word the chill blast dies away.
Saint Joseph's Abbey
Spencer, Massachusetts
visited 30 March - 6 April 1992
Here, no television
to put forth candidates
for the multitudinal eye,
no advertisements to entice
the urge for acquisition:
here there is naught but space,
grace, and monk-built walls.
The grass of the hill
south of the guest-cottage
accepts what weather comes
(chill rain, warm beam, white flake),
and does not complain.
Three hours before dawn
(first-time retreatant
rising for vigils)
leave the fieldstone house;
let night's chill scorch
soul and skin; walk the path
unlit but for one light
near a statue of the Virgin;
enter the cloister, fear-
fully, wonderfully dark.
Cistercians file churchward:
a dew like that of Hermon
graces psalming Spencer!
As if with pentecostal flame,
the brothers' gathered hearts
are inexhaustibly enkindled,
by grace made one.
Spencer, Massachusetts
visited 30 March - 6 April 1992
Here, no television
to put forth candidates
for the multitudinal eye,
no advertisements to entice
the urge for acquisition:
here there is naught but space,
grace, and monk-built walls.
The grass of the hill
south of the guest-cottage
accepts what weather comes
(chill rain, warm beam, white flake),
and does not complain.
Three hours before dawn
(first-time retreatant
rising for vigils)
leave the fieldstone house;
let night's chill scorch
soul and skin; walk the path
unlit but for one light
near a statue of the Virgin;
enter the cloister, fear-
fully, wonderfully dark.
Cistercians file churchward:
a dew like that of Hermon
graces psalming Spencer!
As if with pentecostal flame,
the brothers' gathered hearts
are inexhaustibly enkindled,
by grace made one.
Sunday, March 30, 2003
estlin
i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
--i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are the prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
--i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
from 95 poems by e e cummings (harcourt, brace & world, 1958), #77
i am a little church(no great cathedral)
far from the splendor and squalor of hurrying cities
--i do not worry if briefer days grow briefest,
i am not sorry when sun and rain make april
my life is the life of the reaper and the sower;
my prayers are the prayers of earth's own clumsily striving
(finding and losing and laughing and crying)children
whose any sadness or joy is my grief or my gladness
around me surges a miracle of unceasing
birth and glory and death and resurrection:
over my sleeping self float flaming symbols
of hope,and i wake to a perfect patience of mountains
i am a little church(far from the frantic
world with its rapture and anguish)at peace with nature
--i do not worry if longer nights grow longest;
i am not sorry when silence becomes singing
winter by spring,i lift my diminutive spire to
merciful Him Whose only now is forever:
standing erect in the deathless truth of His presence
(welcoming humbly His light and proudly His darkness)
from 95 poems by e e cummings (harcourt, brace & world, 1958), #77
Jessica Powers (1905-88)
Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD
The Cloud of Carmel
"The Lord promised that He would dwell in a cloud."
-- 2 Paralipomenon [=Chronicles] vi. 1
Symbol of star or lily of the snows,
Rainbow or root or vine or fruit-filled tree :
These image the Immaculate to me
Less than a little cloud, a little light cloud rising
From Orient waters cleft by prophecy.
And as the Virgin in a most surprising
Maternity bore God and our doomed race,
I who bear God in mysteries of grace
Beseech her : Cloud, encompass God and me.
Nothing defiled can touch the cloud of Mary.
God as a child willed to be safe in her,
And the Divine Indweller sets His throne
Deep in a cloud in me, His sanctuary.
I pray, Oh, wrap me, Cloud, light Cloud of Carmel
Within whose purity my vows were sown
To lift their secrecies to God alone.
Say to my soul, the timorous and small
House of a Presence that it cannot see,
And frightened acre of a Deity,
Say in the fulness of thy clemency:
I have enclosed thee all.
Thou art in whiteness of a lighted lamb wool,
Thou art in softness of a summer wind lull.
O hut of God, hush thine anxiety.
Enfolded in this motherhood of mine
All that is beautiful and all divine
Is safe in thee.
Via I Sing of a Maiden : The Mary Book of Verse, ed. Sister Thérèse Lentfoehr (Macmillan, 1947), pp. 329-30.
Also posted at error503 -- La vita nuova on 8th September 2002.
Sister Miriam of the Holy Spirit, OCD
The Cloud of Carmel
"The Lord promised that He would dwell in a cloud."
-- 2 Paralipomenon [=Chronicles] vi. 1
Symbol of star or lily of the snows,
Rainbow or root or vine or fruit-filled tree :
These image the Immaculate to me
Less than a little cloud, a little light cloud rising
From Orient waters cleft by prophecy.
And as the Virgin in a most surprising
Maternity bore God and our doomed race,
I who bear God in mysteries of grace
Beseech her : Cloud, encompass God and me.
Nothing defiled can touch the cloud of Mary.
God as a child willed to be safe in her,
And the Divine Indweller sets His throne
Deep in a cloud in me, His sanctuary.
I pray, Oh, wrap me, Cloud, light Cloud of Carmel
Within whose purity my vows were sown
To lift their secrecies to God alone.
Say to my soul, the timorous and small
House of a Presence that it cannot see,
And frightened acre of a Deity,
Say in the fulness of thy clemency:
I have enclosed thee all.
Thou art in whiteness of a lighted lamb wool,
Thou art in softness of a summer wind lull.
O hut of God, hush thine anxiety.
Enfolded in this motherhood of mine
All that is beautiful and all divine
Is safe in thee.
Via I Sing of a Maiden : The Mary Book of Verse, ed. Sister Thérèse Lentfoehr (Macmillan, 1947), pp. 329-30.
Also posted at error503 -- La vita nuova on 8th September 2002.
Imagining the words
of Daniel Patrick Moynihan (RIP) on glass houses
A person who inhabits ... a vitreous abode ... ought not to hurl projectiles ... that are petrine.
[A bit of whimsy inspired by some recent correspondence. Would anyone else like to, as an affectionate tribute to the late statesman, have a go at translating proverbs, saws, clichés, nostrums, & bromides into the sesquipedalian patois of DPM ??]
By the way
How can you not like a man who, in his first race for the US Senate, challenging incumbent James Buckley (William F.'s brother) and being tweaked with "Professor Moynihan" this-and-that, and "the distinguished professor from Harvard" ... responds by exclaiming "I see the mudslinging has begun!"
of Daniel Patrick Moynihan (RIP) on glass houses
A person who inhabits ... a vitreous abode ... ought not to hurl projectiles ... that are petrine.
[A bit of whimsy inspired by some recent correspondence. Would anyone else like to, as an affectionate tribute to the late statesman, have a go at translating proverbs, saws, clichés, nostrums, & bromides into the sesquipedalian patois of DPM ??]
By the way
How can you not like a man who, in his first race for the US Senate, challenging incumbent James Buckley (William F.'s brother) and being tweaked with "Professor Moynihan" this-and-that, and "the distinguished professor from Harvard" ... responds by exclaiming "I see the mudslinging has begun!"
If I were the snow : two poems
from Wishes, Lies, and Dreams : Teaching Children to Write Poetry
If I Were the Snow
If I were the snow
I would snow every
single Christmas.
I would snow on my
brother and make his
toes so red he
would hit me.
I would snow all over the
universe on Mars,
the earth. I would
snow so hard on
the moon, I
would show the man
on there who's boss.
I would not be just white
I'd be red, blue, and
green. I'd be yellow
dots, orange dots
black ones too.
Kathy Kennedy, 5th grade
===============
Snow, Snow
Snow, snow, I'm the snow
Drift, drift, far I drift
Friends, friends, with my friends
Deep, deep, deep I drift
In and out, out of windows
Into Paris, out of London
But!!
Melt, melt, soon I'll melt.
But while I can, can, can
Drift, drift, I will drift
Snow, snow, I'm the snow
Drift, drift, far I drift.
Friends, friends, with my friends
Deep, deep, deep I drift
But now I must MELT!
Amy Levy, 5th grade
===============
Kenneth Koch and the students of PS 61 NYC, op. cit. (Vintage, 1971), pp. 176, 178
from Wishes, Lies, and Dreams : Teaching Children to Write Poetry
If I Were the Snow
If I were the snow
I would snow every
single Christmas.
I would snow on my
brother and make his
toes so red he
would hit me.
I would snow all over the
universe on Mars,
the earth. I would
snow so hard on
the moon, I
would show the man
on there who's boss.
I would not be just white
I'd be red, blue, and
green. I'd be yellow
dots, orange dots
black ones too.
Kathy Kennedy, 5th grade
===============
Snow, Snow
Snow, snow, I'm the snow
Drift, drift, far I drift
Friends, friends, with my friends
Deep, deep, deep I drift
In and out, out of windows
Into Paris, out of London
But!!
Melt, melt, soon I'll melt.
But while I can, can, can
Drift, drift, I will drift
Snow, snow, I'm the snow
Drift, drift, far I drift.
Friends, friends, with my friends
Deep, deep, deep I drift
But now I must MELT!
Amy Levy, 5th grade
===============
Kenneth Koch and the students of PS 61 NYC, op. cit. (Vintage, 1971), pp. 176, 178
Psalm 8
(trans. Msgr Ronald Knox)
O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth! Thy greatness is high above heaven itself. Thou hast made the lips of children, of infants at the breast, vocal with praise, to confound thy enemies; to silence malicious and revengeful tongues. I look up at those heavens of thine, the work of thy hands, at the moon and the stars, which thou hast set in their places; what is man that thou shouldst remember him? What is Adam's breed, that it should claim thy care? Thou hast placed him only a little below the angels, crowning him with glory and honour, and bidding him rule over the works of thy hands. Thou hast put them all under his dominion, the sheep and the cattle, and the wild beasts besides; the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, that travel by the sea's paths. O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth!
===============
Luke 1.68-79 : Benedictus
(Knox)
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has visited his people, and wrought their redemption. He has raised up a sceptre of salvation for us among the posterity of his servant David, according to the promise which he made by the lips of holy men that have been his prophets from the beginning; salvation from our enemies, and from the hand of all those who hate us. So he would carry out his merciful design towards our fathers, by remembering his holy covenant. He had sworn an oath to our father Abraham, that he would enable us to live without fear in his service, delivered from the hand of our enemies, passing all our days in holiness, and approved in his sight. And thou, my child, wilt be known for a prophet of the most High, going before the Lord, to clear his way for him; thou wilt make known to his people the salvation that is to release them from their sins. Such is the merciful kindness of our God, which has bidden him come to us, like a dawning from on high, to give light to those who live in darkness, in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
(trans. Msgr Ronald Knox)
O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth! Thy greatness is high above heaven itself. Thou hast made the lips of children, of infants at the breast, vocal with praise, to confound thy enemies; to silence malicious and revengeful tongues. I look up at those heavens of thine, the work of thy hands, at the moon and the stars, which thou hast set in their places; what is man that thou shouldst remember him? What is Adam's breed, that it should claim thy care? Thou hast placed him only a little below the angels, crowning him with glory and honour, and bidding him rule over the works of thy hands. Thou hast put them all under his dominion, the sheep and the cattle, and the wild beasts besides; the birds in the sky, and the fish in the sea, that travel by the sea's paths. O Lord, our Master, how the majesty of thy name fills all the earth!
===============
Luke 1.68-79 : Benedictus
(Knox)
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel; he has visited his people, and wrought their redemption. He has raised up a sceptre of salvation for us among the posterity of his servant David, according to the promise which he made by the lips of holy men that have been his prophets from the beginning; salvation from our enemies, and from the hand of all those who hate us. So he would carry out his merciful design towards our fathers, by remembering his holy covenant. He had sworn an oath to our father Abraham, that he would enable us to live without fear in his service, delivered from the hand of our enemies, passing all our days in holiness, and approved in his sight. And thou, my child, wilt be known for a prophet of the most High, going before the Lord, to clear his way for him; thou wilt make known to his people the salvation that is to release them from their sins. Such is the merciful kindness of our God, which has bidden him come to us, like a dawning from on high, to give light to those who live in darkness, in the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Six Untitled Poems
Let us compose
An idiom of blue.
*
Here we approach
The meaning of such --
*
Acolyte, be still :
Hear the vesper bell.
Scholars, cease your casual causerie.
*
We must compel, force the scurry of snow
Into a system, canonical, legitimate,
Catechize the rainbow, lesson the butterfly.
*
Monks of the east
Drink light, write life.
Troparia of endless heaven.
*
Silence
Keep deepest.
Forsake the praise
Of happy trifles, of gaudy naught.
This, the poem's birth, the poet's vocation.
2000
Let us compose
An idiom of blue.
*
Here we approach
The meaning of such --
*
Acolyte, be still :
Hear the vesper bell.
Scholars, cease your casual causerie.
*
We must compel, force the scurry of snow
Into a system, canonical, legitimate,
Catechize the rainbow, lesson the butterfly.
*
Monks of the east
Drink light, write life.
Troparia of endless heaven.
*
Silence
Keep deepest.
Forsake the praise
Of happy trifles, of gaudy naught.
This, the poem's birth, the poet's vocation.
2000
from Louisville Airport, May 5, 1966
by Thomas Merton, OCSO (1915-1968)
Here on the foolish grass
Where the rich in small jets
Land with their own hopes
And their own kind
We with the gentle liturgy
Of shy children have permitted God
To make again that first world
Here on the foolish grass
After the spring rain has dried
And all the loneliness
Is for a moment lost in that simple
Liturgy of children permitting God
To make again that love which is His alone
His alone and terribly obscure and rare
Love walks gently as a deer
To where we sit on the green grass
In the marvel of this day's going down
[...]
Found in Learning to Love : Exploring Solitude and Freedom (The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume Six 1966-1967), HarperCollins 1997, pp. 52-53
by Thomas Merton, OCSO (1915-1968)
Here on the foolish grass
Where the rich in small jets
Land with their own hopes
And their own kind
We with the gentle liturgy
Of shy children have permitted God
To make again that first world
Here on the foolish grass
After the spring rain has dried
And all the loneliness
Is for a moment lost in that simple
Liturgy of children permitting God
To make again that love which is His alone
His alone and terribly obscure and rare
Love walks gently as a deer
To where we sit on the green grass
In the marvel of this day's going down
[...]
Found in Learning to Love : Exploring Solitude and Freedom (The Journals of Thomas Merton, Volume Six 1966-1967), HarperCollins 1997, pp. 52-53
Saturday, March 29, 2003
Luke 2:29-32 : Nunc dimittis
(Msgr Ronald Knox)
Ruler of all, now dost thou let thy servant go in peace, according to thy word; for my own eyes have seen that saving power of thine which thou hast prepared in the sight of all nations. This is the light which shall give revelation to the Gentiles, this is the glory of thy people Israel.
(Msgr Ronald Knox)
Ruler of all, now dost thou let thy servant go in peace, according to thy word; for my own eyes have seen that saving power of thine which thou hast prepared in the sight of all nations. This is the light which shall give revelation to the Gentiles, this is the glory of thy people Israel.
Hosea (Osee) 6:1-6
as translated by Msgr Ronald Knox
Ay, in their distress they will be waiting full early at my door; Back to the Lord! will be their cry; salve he only can bring, that wounded us; hand that smote us shall heal. Dead men to-day and to-morrow, on the third day he will raise us up again, to live in his presence anew. Acknowledge we, cease we never to acknowledge the Lord, he will reveal himself, sure as the dawn, come back to us, sure as the rains of winter and spring come back to the earth. What way will serve with you, men of Ephraim? Juda, what way will serve? Ruth of yours is but momentary, fades like the early mist, like morning dew. What wonder I should send prophets first, to shape men to my will if they could, and then utter my sentence of ruin? Believe me, this doom of thine shall be clear as daylight. A tender heart wins favour with me, not sacrifice; God's acknowledging, not victim's destroying ...
as translated by Msgr Ronald Knox
Ay, in their distress they will be waiting full early at my door; Back to the Lord! will be their cry; salve he only can bring, that wounded us; hand that smote us shall heal. Dead men to-day and to-morrow, on the third day he will raise us up again, to live in his presence anew. Acknowledge we, cease we never to acknowledge the Lord, he will reveal himself, sure as the dawn, come back to us, sure as the rains of winter and spring come back to the earth. What way will serve with you, men of Ephraim? Juda, what way will serve? Ruth of yours is but momentary, fades like the early mist, like morning dew. What wonder I should send prophets first, to shape men to my will if they could, and then utter my sentence of ruin? Believe me, this doom of thine shall be clear as daylight. A tender heart wins favour with me, not sacrifice; God's acknowledging, not victim's destroying ...
Wisdom 7.7 to 8.2
in the translation of Msgr Ronald Knox (Sheed & Ward, NY 1956)
Whence, then, did the prudence spring that endowed me? Prayer brought it; to God I prayed, and the spirit of wisdom came upon me. This I valued more than kingdom or throne; I thought nothing of my riches in comparison. There was no jewel I could match with it; all my treasures of gold were a handful of dust beside it, my silver seemed but base clay in presence of it. I treasured wisdom more than health or beauty, preferred her to the light of day; hers is a flame which never dies down. Together with her all blessings came to me; boundless prosperity was her gift. All this I enjoyed, with wisdom to prepare my way for me, never guessing that it all sprang from her. The lessons she taught me are riches honestly won, shared without stint, openly proclaimed; a treasure men will find incorruptible. Those who enjoy it are honoured with God's friendship, so high a value he sets on her instruction.
God's gift it is, if speech answers to thought of mine, and thought of mine to the message I am entrusted with. Who else can shew wise men the true path, check them when they stray? We are in his hands, we and every word of ours; our prudence in act, our skill in craftsmanship. Sure knowledge he has imparted to me of all that is; how the world is ordered, what influence have the elements, how the months have their beginning, their middle, and their ending, how the sun's course alters and the seasons revolve, how the years have their cycles, the stars their places. To every living thing its own breed, to every beast its own moods; the winds rage, and men think deep thoughts; the plants keep their several kinds, and each root has its own virtue; all the mysteries and all the surprises of nature were made known to me; wisdom herself taught me, that is the designer of them all.
Mind-enlightening is the influence that dwells in her; set high apart; one in its source, yet manifold in its operation; subtle, yet easily understood. An influence quick in movement, inviolable, persuasive, gentle, right-thinking, keen-edged, irresistible, beneficent, kindly, gracious, steadfast, proof against all error and all solicitude. Nothing is beyond its power, nothing hidden from its view, and such capacity has it that it can pervade the minds of all living men; so pure and subtle an essence is thought. Nothing so agile that it can match wisdom for agility; nothing can penetrate this way and that, etherial as she. Steam that ascends from the fervour of divine activity, pure effluence of his glory who is God all-powerful, she feels no passing taint; she, the glow that radiates from eternal light, she, the untarnished mirror of God's majesty, she, the faithful image of his goodness. Alone, with none to aid her, she is all-powerful; herself ever unchanged, she makes all things new; age after age she finds her way into holy men's hearts, turning them into friends and spokesmen of God. Her familiars it is, and none other, that God loves. Brightness is hers beyond the brightness of the sun, and all the starry host; match her with light itself, and she outvies it; light must still alternate with darkness, but where is the conspiracy can pull down wisdom from her throne?
Bold is her sweep from world's end to world's end, and everywhere her gracious ordering manifests itself.
She, from my youth up has been my heart's true love, my heart's true quest; she was the bride I longed for, enamoured of her beauty.
in the translation of Msgr Ronald Knox (Sheed & Ward, NY 1956)
Whence, then, did the prudence spring that endowed me? Prayer brought it; to God I prayed, and the spirit of wisdom came upon me. This I valued more than kingdom or throne; I thought nothing of my riches in comparison. There was no jewel I could match with it; all my treasures of gold were a handful of dust beside it, my silver seemed but base clay in presence of it. I treasured wisdom more than health or beauty, preferred her to the light of day; hers is a flame which never dies down. Together with her all blessings came to me; boundless prosperity was her gift. All this I enjoyed, with wisdom to prepare my way for me, never guessing that it all sprang from her. The lessons she taught me are riches honestly won, shared without stint, openly proclaimed; a treasure men will find incorruptible. Those who enjoy it are honoured with God's friendship, so high a value he sets on her instruction.
God's gift it is, if speech answers to thought of mine, and thought of mine to the message I am entrusted with. Who else can shew wise men the true path, check them when they stray? We are in his hands, we and every word of ours; our prudence in act, our skill in craftsmanship. Sure knowledge he has imparted to me of all that is; how the world is ordered, what influence have the elements, how the months have their beginning, their middle, and their ending, how the sun's course alters and the seasons revolve, how the years have their cycles, the stars their places. To every living thing its own breed, to every beast its own moods; the winds rage, and men think deep thoughts; the plants keep their several kinds, and each root has its own virtue; all the mysteries and all the surprises of nature were made known to me; wisdom herself taught me, that is the designer of them all.
Mind-enlightening is the influence that dwells in her; set high apart; one in its source, yet manifold in its operation; subtle, yet easily understood. An influence quick in movement, inviolable, persuasive, gentle, right-thinking, keen-edged, irresistible, beneficent, kindly, gracious, steadfast, proof against all error and all solicitude. Nothing is beyond its power, nothing hidden from its view, and such capacity has it that it can pervade the minds of all living men; so pure and subtle an essence is thought. Nothing so agile that it can match wisdom for agility; nothing can penetrate this way and that, etherial as she. Steam that ascends from the fervour of divine activity, pure effluence of his glory who is God all-powerful, she feels no passing taint; she, the glow that radiates from eternal light, she, the untarnished mirror of God's majesty, she, the faithful image of his goodness. Alone, with none to aid her, she is all-powerful; herself ever unchanged, she makes all things new; age after age she finds her way into holy men's hearts, turning them into friends and spokesmen of God. Her familiars it is, and none other, that God loves. Brightness is hers beyond the brightness of the sun, and all the starry host; match her with light itself, and she outvies it; light must still alternate with darkness, but where is the conspiracy can pull down wisdom from her throne?
Bold is her sweep from world's end to world's end, and everywhere her gracious ordering manifests itself.
She, from my youth up has been my heart's true love, my heart's true quest; she was the bride I longed for, enamoured of her beauty.
Friday, March 28, 2003
Out of hospital
and many thanks -- in fact, thanks of incalculable quantity & unfathomable profundity to those of you who prayed, wrote, sent well-wishes cybernetically or via the mails. My physical health was never in danger, nor even appreciably impaired. But it was necessary for me to spend the last 11 days within the secular cloister, if you will, of a psychiatric hospital.
I mention this only to assure all of you that my physical health remains good (but for that gross and laggard girth which obstinately balks at self-diminishment), and to convey that I did not undergo any great degree of physical suffering or pain. There are those in St Blog's (Mr Serafin and Miss Knapp, most notably) who have borne heavier crosses than I. But it is no small cross to have one's liberty restricted, and to be subjected to sundry interviews and medications, to be sundered most cruelly from one's friends in blogdom!
But owing to the exceedingly humane and gracefully sagacious staff at (name invented) Robin Grove Hospital, my stay in the ward was for the most part pleasant, and exceedingly rehabilitative.
I may have more tonight; if not, condone my Cal Coolidge-ism. Although I raise the topic of the nature of my hospitalization, I don't see the need to expatiate about the precise circumstances that got me in. But, I do have to say :
Thank you ! ! !
to those members of the parish I spoke to in person, to those whose emails and good wishes I received through the offices of a diligent and faithful and loyal and most loving and sisterly intermediary ... and to those two incredible souls (New Englanders, both -- and one outside Massachusetts!!) who offered to visit me.
I marvel at the Christian charity of all those to whom I have alluded in this all too hasty summary of the kindnesses paid to me in recentest days and weeks. God bless you all.
and many thanks -- in fact, thanks of incalculable quantity & unfathomable profundity to those of you who prayed, wrote, sent well-wishes cybernetically or via the mails. My physical health was never in danger, nor even appreciably impaired. But it was necessary for me to spend the last 11 days within the secular cloister, if you will, of a psychiatric hospital.
I mention this only to assure all of you that my physical health remains good (but for that gross and laggard girth which obstinately balks at self-diminishment), and to convey that I did not undergo any great degree of physical suffering or pain. There are those in St Blog's (Mr Serafin and Miss Knapp, most notably) who have borne heavier crosses than I. But it is no small cross to have one's liberty restricted, and to be subjected to sundry interviews and medications, to be sundered most cruelly from one's friends in blogdom!
But owing to the exceedingly humane and gracefully sagacious staff at (name invented) Robin Grove Hospital, my stay in the ward was for the most part pleasant, and exceedingly rehabilitative.
I may have more tonight; if not, condone my Cal Coolidge-ism. Although I raise the topic of the nature of my hospitalization, I don't see the need to expatiate about the precise circumstances that got me in. But, I do have to say :
Thank you ! ! !
to those members of the parish I spoke to in person, to those whose emails and good wishes I received through the offices of a diligent and faithful and loyal and most loving and sisterly intermediary ... and to those two incredible souls (New Englanders, both -- and one outside Massachusetts!!) who offered to visit me.
I marvel at the Christian charity of all those to whom I have alluded in this all too hasty summary of the kindnesses paid to me in recentest days and weeks. God bless you all.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
John, believe it or not, Keats
Two or three posies
With two or three simples --
Two or three noses
With two or three pimples --
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninnies --
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas --
Two or three raps
At two or three doors --
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours --
Two or three cats
And two or three mice --
Two or three sprats
At a very great price --
Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies --
Two or three dandies
And two Mrs Abbeys --
Two or three smiles
And two or three frowns --
Two or three miles
To two or three towns --
Two or three pegs
For two or three bonnets --
Two or three dove's eggs
To hatch into sonnets.
Two or three posies
With two or three simples --
Two or three noses
With two or three pimples --
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninnies --
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas --
Two or three raps
At two or three doors --
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours --
Two or three cats
And two or three mice --
Two or three sprats
At a very great price --
Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies --
Two or three dandies
And two Mrs Abbeys --
Two or three smiles
And two or three frowns --
Two or three miles
To two or three towns --
Two or three pegs
For two or three bonnets --
Two or three dove's eggs
To hatch into sonnets.
an excerpt
Your poetry, if possible, should be extended
Somewhat beyond your experience, while still remaining true to it;
Unconscious material should play a luscious part
In what you write, since without the unconscious part
You know very little; and your plainest statements should be
Even better than plain. A reader should put your work down puzzled,
Distressed, and illuminated, ready to believe
It is curious to be alive.
-- Kenneth Koch, from "The Art of Poetry"
Your poetry, if possible, should be extended
Somewhat beyond your experience, while still remaining true to it;
Unconscious material should play a luscious part
In what you write, since without the unconscious part
You know very little; and your plainest statements should be
Even better than plain. A reader should put your work down puzzled,
Distressed, and illuminated, ready to believe
It is curious to be alive.
-- Kenneth Koch, from "The Art of Poetry"
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