Housman, A E

Stars, I have seen them fall,
But when they drop and die
No star is lost at all
From all the star-sown sky.
The toil of all that be
Helps not the primal fault;
It rains into the sea,
And still the sea is salt.

This is perhaps my favorite Housman lyric. Astringent and ruthlessly constrained in form.

That is all I have for today. Elsewhere I read a poem on Open Salon titled “Why the Sea is Salt II.” Brought the Housman lyric to mind. Must go now, and re-read that poem.

Doctor B., Bluegrass and Fiction

We became acquainted with Dr. Tom Bibey a couple of years ago, when we shared a lunch table at a literary conference with him and his agent. Dr. B., as he is known on his blog, is a self-described “bluegrass physician novelist.” His book, The Mandolin Case, was published last year. We have the very first copy sold through Amazon. Autographed.

On his blog last week, Dr. B. commented on why he puts so much time and effort into writing, and playing the bluegrass mandolin, when his days are so full with his first career, family practice medicine. Seems some person criticized him for having a second career instead of concentrating on medicine. Dr. B. made this the subject of an explanatory post, “To Be The Best Dr. B I Can Be.” His position is that only by stretching himself into the arts can he keep perspective, and be the best he can be in other areas.

I’m with Dr. B. on that thought, and commented to that effect. You go, Doc.

Buy the book, you will be delighted. And sometime in the next year or two, there will be a second. You can read about that, too, on his blog.

Sacrifice and Faith

On this day in 1945, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed by Nazi guards at Flossenbürg concentration camp, where he had been moved from Buchenwald. It was just a month before the surrender of Germany. Bonhoeffer was a Lutheran minister, a considerable theologian and academic, author of books, some actually written in prison, on the relationship of our lives to Christian faith. He could have had an academic career in this country, but chose to return to Germany after a time at the Union Theological Seminary in New York. He had worked to establish the German Confessing Church, which opposed Nazism in a number of ways.

The monstrous evils committed by the Nazis were opposed by a few brave Germans, most of whom were at least imprisoned; some, like Bonhoeffer, were executed.

He is worth remembering. For that reason, the Episcopal Church, among others, marks this day with prayers and bible readings. Lectionary reading for Bonhoeffer.

Word of the Day

April 04, 2011
Word of the Day

Ruritanian

\rur-uh-TAY-nee-un\

DEFINITION

adjective
: of, relating to, or having the characteristics of an imaginary place of high romance

EXAMPLES

“The dancers are dressed in vaguely Ruritanian costumes, the men in military, the women in stiff tutus.” — From an article by John Rockwell in The New York Times, September 9, 2006

“ABC’s Good Morning America opened with a trumpeted fanfare over pictures of the couple, proof that in the US Britain remains more period drama than real country, a Ruritanian theme park that is forever charming and quaint.” — From an article by Jonathan Freedland in The Guardian (London), November 17, 2010

DID YOU KNOW?

In 1894, British author Anthony Hope published The Prisoner of Zenda, a novel set in the mythical kingdom of Ruritania. The book relates the adventures of Rudolf Rassendyll, a British gentleman who impersonates the king of Ruritania to save him from a treasonous plot. An improbable but high-spirited tale filled with heroes, villains, courtly intrigue, romance, and sword play, Hope’s narrative (and its fictional locale) quickly captured the imagination of the public. Within two years of the novel’s publication, George Bernard Shaw had seen fit to use “Ruritanian” as a generic adjective: “Our common sense … must immediately put a summary stop to the somewhat silly Ruritanian gambols of our imagination.” Romantic or fanciful places or things have been “Ruritanian” ever since.

Spring

through my window
a deeply wooded ravine
puffs of pale green leaves

Greening up

St. Patrick’s Day

The following post is reprised from a few years ago. Since my wardrobe is bereft of anything green, this is the best that I can do to observe the day. In any event, St. Patrick worked from a base in the North of Ireland, in Armagh,   one of the counties still under the rule of Great Britain, therefore orange is also a color you could associate with St. Patrick. I have no orange clothing, either. Whatever.

Rowan Oak redux

I went back to an old post today, recalling a visit to William Faulkner’s home in Oxford, Mississippi, Rowan Oak. On a visit to Oxford in 2006, we spared some time to once again wander the property. A Face Book post by a young man, my godson Will, who visited Oxford this past weekend brought to mind our own last visit, including thoughts I had on one of Faulkner’s great characters, Dilsey in The Sound and the Fury. Below is a link to my original post from 2006.

Rowan Oak

Poem for Today

Courtesy of Academy of American Poets:

Bright Star

by John Keats

Bright star! would I were steadfast as thou art—
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
Like Nature’s patient sleepless Eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

 

Two Years

Saturday, February 21, 2009, by the grace of God, and my Beloved Barbara, I was married and began a new life, again. Every one of the days of the past two years has been better than I deserve or could have reasonably expected.

Thank you, Sweetheart.

Poem for My Day

Color – Caste – Denomination – (970)
by Emily Dickinson

Color – Caste – Denomination -
These – are Time’s Affair -
Death’s diviner Classifying
Does not know they are -

As in sleep – all Hue forgotten -
Tenets – put behind -
Death’s large – Democratic fingers
Rub away the Brand -

If Circassian – He is careless -
If He put away
Chrysalis of Blonde – or Umber -
Equal Butterfly -

They emerge from His Obscuring -
What Death – knows so well -
Our minuter intuitions -
Deem unplausible