Dylan Thomas
from "There was a saviour"
Silence, silence to do, when earth grew loud,
In lairs and asylums of the tremendous shout.
Monday, July 09, 2007
from Divina Commedia
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
IV
With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame,
She stands before thee, who so long ago
Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe
From which thy song in all its splendors came;
And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name,
The ice about thy heart melts as the snow
On mountain heights, and in swift overflow
Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame.
Thou makest full confession; and a gleam
As of the dawn on some dark forest cast,
Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase;
Lethe and Eunoë -- the remembered dream
And the forgotten sorrow -- bring at last
That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.
V
I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze
With forms of saints and holy men who died,
Here martyred and hereafter glorified;
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays,
With splendor upon splendor multiplied;
And Beatrice again at Dante's side
No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs
Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;
And the melodious bells among the spires
O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above
Proclaim the elevation of the Host!
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
IV
With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame,
She stands before thee, who so long ago
Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe
From which thy song in all its splendors came;
And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name,
The ice about thy heart melts as the snow
On mountain heights, and in swift overflow
Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame.
Thou makest full confession; and a gleam
As of the dawn on some dark forest cast,
Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase;
Lethe and Eunoë -- the remembered dream
And the forgotten sorrow -- bring at last
That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.
V
I lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze
With forms of saints and holy men who died,
Here martyred and hereafter glorified;
And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
Christ's Triumph, and the angelic roundelays,
With splendor upon splendor multiplied;
And Beatrice again at Dante's side
No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs
Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love
And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;
And the melodious bells among the spires
O'er all the house-tops and through heaven above
Proclaim the elevation of the Host!
The Dark Angel
by Lionel Johnson (1867-1902)
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
Because of thee, no thought, no thing,
Abides for me undesecrate:
Dark Angel, ever on the wing,
Who never reachest me too late!
When music sounds, then changest thou
Its silvery to a sultry fire:
Nor will thine envious heart allow
Delight untortured by desire.
Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
To Furies, O mine Enemy!
And all the things of beauty burn
With flames of evil ecstasy.
Because of thee, the land of dreams
Becomes a gathering place of fears:
Until tormented slumber seems
One vehemence of useless tears.
When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
Or ripples down the dancing sea:
Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,
Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.
Within the breath of autumn woods,
Within the winter silences:
Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
O Master of impieties!
The ardour of red flame is thine,
And thine the steely soul of ice:
Thou poisonest the fair design
Of nature, with unfair device.
Apples of ashes, golden bright;
Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
O banquet of a foul delight,
Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
The minstrel of mine epitaph.
I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:
Tempter! should I escape thy flame,
Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:
The second Death, that never dies,
That cannot die, when time is dead:
Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
Eternally uncomforted.
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!
Of two defeats, of two despairs:
Less dread, a change to drifting dust,
Than thine eternity of cares.
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
Dark Angel! triumph over me:
Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
Divine, to the Divinity.
by Lionel Johnson (1867-1902)
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust
To rid the world of penitence:
Malicious Angel, who still dost
My soul such subtile violence!
Because of thee, no thought, no thing,
Abides for me undesecrate:
Dark Angel, ever on the wing,
Who never reachest me too late!
When music sounds, then changest thou
Its silvery to a sultry fire:
Nor will thine envious heart allow
Delight untortured by desire.
Through thee, the gracious Muses turn,
To Furies, O mine Enemy!
And all the things of beauty burn
With flames of evil ecstasy.
Because of thee, the land of dreams
Becomes a gathering place of fears:
Until tormented slumber seems
One vehemence of useless tears.
When sunlight glows upon the flowers,
Or ripples down the dancing sea:
Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,
Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.
Within the breath of autumn woods,
Within the winter silences:
Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,
O Master of impieties!
The ardour of red flame is thine,
And thine the steely soul of ice:
Thou poisonest the fair design
Of nature, with unfair device.
Apples of ashes, golden bright;
Waters of bitterness, how sweet!
O banquet of a foul delight,
Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!
Thou art the whisper in the gloom,
The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:
Thou art the adorner of my tomb,
The minstrel of mine epitaph.
I fight thee, in the Holy Name!
Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:
Tempter! should I escape thy flame,
Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death:
The second Death, that never dies,
That cannot die, when time is dead:
Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,
Eternally uncomforted.
Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!
Of two defeats, of two despairs:
Less dread, a change to drifting dust,
Than thine eternity of cares.
Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,
Dark Angel! triumph over me:
Lonely, unto the Lone I go;
Divine, to the Divinity.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
To Emily Dickinson
by Hart Crane (1899-1932)
You who desired so much — in vain to ask —
Yet fed you hunger like an endless task,
Dared dignify the labor, bless the quest —
Achieved that stillness ultimately best,
Being, of all, least sought for: Emily, hear!
O sweet, dead Silencer, most suddenly clear
When singing that Eternity possessed
And plundered momently in every breast;
— Truly no flower yet withers in your hand.
The harvest you descried and understand
Needs more than wit to gather, love to bind.
Some reconcilement of remotest mind —
Leaves Ormus rubyless, and Ophir chill.
Else tears heap all within one clay-cold hill.
* * *
To Emily Dickinson
by Yvor Winters (1900-1968)
Dear Emily, my tears would burn your page,
But for the fire-dry line that makes them burn—
Burning my eyes, my fingers, while I turn
Singly the words that crease my heart with age.
If I could make some tortured pilgrimage
Through words or Time or the blank pain of Doom
And kneel before you as you found your tomb,
Then I might rise to face my heritage.
Yours was an empty upland solitude
Bleached to the powder of a dying name;
The mind, lost in a word’s lost certitude
That faded as the fading footsteps came
To trace an epilogue to words grown odd
In that hard argument which led to God.
by Hart Crane (1899-1932)
You who desired so much — in vain to ask —
Yet fed you hunger like an endless task,
Dared dignify the labor, bless the quest —
Achieved that stillness ultimately best,
Being, of all, least sought for: Emily, hear!
O sweet, dead Silencer, most suddenly clear
When singing that Eternity possessed
And plundered momently in every breast;
— Truly no flower yet withers in your hand.
The harvest you descried and understand
Needs more than wit to gather, love to bind.
Some reconcilement of remotest mind —
Leaves Ormus rubyless, and Ophir chill.
Else tears heap all within one clay-cold hill.
* * *
To Emily Dickinson
by Yvor Winters (1900-1968)
Dear Emily, my tears would burn your page,
But for the fire-dry line that makes them burn—
Burning my eyes, my fingers, while I turn
Singly the words that crease my heart with age.
If I could make some tortured pilgrimage
Through words or Time or the blank pain of Doom
And kneel before you as you found your tomb,
Then I might rise to face my heritage.
Yours was an empty upland solitude
Bleached to the powder of a dying name;
The mind, lost in a word’s lost certitude
That faded as the fading footsteps came
To trace an epilogue to words grown odd
In that hard argument which led to God.
Cummings
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
--turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
it is at moments after i have dreamed
of the rare entertainment of your eyes,
when(being fool to fancy)i have deemed
with your peculiar mouth my heart made wise;
at moments when the glassy darkness holds
the genuine apparition of your smile
(it was through tears always)and silence moulds
such strangeness as was mine a little while;
moments when my once more illustrious arms
are filled with fascination,when my breast
wears the intolerant brightness of your charms:
one pierced moment whiter than the rest
--turning from the tremendous lie of sleep
i watch the roses of the day grow deep.
Friday, July 06, 2007
The Cross of Snow
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face — the face of one long dead —
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died; and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
The Author Loving These Homely Meats
Specially, Viz.: Cream, Pancakes, Buttered Pippin-Pies
(Laugh, Good People) and Tobacco;
Writ to That Worthy and Virtuous Gentlewoman,
Whom He Calleth Mistress, As Followeth
by John Davies of Hereford (1563?-1618)
If there were, oh! an Hellespont of cream
Between us, milk-white mistress, I would swim
To you, to show to both my love's extreme,
Leander-like, -- yea! dive from brim to brim.
But met I with a buttered pippin-pie
Floating upon 't, that would I make my boat
To waft me to you without jeopardy,
Though sea-sick I might be while it did float.
Yet if a storm should rise, by night or day,
Of sugar-snows and hail of caraways,
Then, if I found a pancake in my way,
It like a plank should bring me to your kays;
Which having found, if they tobacco kept,
The smoke should dry me well before I slept.
Specially, Viz.: Cream, Pancakes, Buttered Pippin-Pies
(Laugh, Good People) and Tobacco;
Writ to That Worthy and Virtuous Gentlewoman,
Whom He Calleth Mistress, As Followeth
by John Davies of Hereford (1563?-1618)
If there were, oh! an Hellespont of cream
Between us, milk-white mistress, I would swim
To you, to show to both my love's extreme,
Leander-like, -- yea! dive from brim to brim.
But met I with a buttered pippin-pie
Floating upon 't, that would I make my boat
To waft me to you without jeopardy,
Though sea-sick I might be while it did float.
Yet if a storm should rise, by night or day,
Of sugar-snows and hail of caraways,
Then, if I found a pancake in my way,
It like a plank should bring me to your kays;
Which having found, if they tobacco kept,
The smoke should dry me well before I slept.
More eagerly anticipated than the Motu Proprio
Theological Implications of Henry John Deutschendorf's Lyrics.
A lecture given by TSO to his cats and dog.
Theological Implications of Henry John Deutschendorf's Lyrics.
A lecture given by TSO to his cats and dog.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Novalis
pen-name of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772-1801)
Ich sehe dich in tausend Bildern,
Maria, lieblich ausgedrückt,
Doch keins von allen kann dich schildern,
Wie meine Seele dich erblickt.
Ich weiß nur, daß der Welt Getümmel
Seitdem mir wie ein Traum verweht,
Und ein unnennbar süßer Himmel
Mir ewig im Gemüte steht.
A prose paraphrase: I see you in a thousand pictures, Mary, lovingly expressed, yet none of them can portray you as my soul looks upon you. I only know that the world's turmoil fades like a dream since then, and an ineffably sweeter heaven stays ever in my mind.
pen-name of Friedrich von Hardenberg (1772-1801)
Ich sehe dich in tausend Bildern,
Maria, lieblich ausgedrückt,
Doch keins von allen kann dich schildern,
Wie meine Seele dich erblickt.
Ich weiß nur, daß der Welt Getümmel
Seitdem mir wie ein Traum verweht,
Und ein unnennbar süßer Himmel
Mir ewig im Gemüte steht.
A prose paraphrase: I see you in a thousand pictures, Mary, lovingly expressed, yet none of them can portray you as my soul looks upon you. I only know that the world's turmoil fades like a dream since then, and an ineffably sweeter heaven stays ever in my mind.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Carlo Carretto
The blogger at TCRNews Musings gives us an ample sampling from the works of the noted spiritual writer (1910-88), and indicates that this is part one of a two-part post.
(And from this blog, four and a half years ago, is Carretto on chastity.)
The blogger at TCRNews Musings gives us an ample sampling from the works of the noted spiritual writer (1910-88), and indicates that this is part one of a two-part post.
(And from this blog, four and a half years ago, is Carretto on chastity.)
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Long live Chief Justice Roberts
Found here.
The way to stop discrimination on the basis of race is to stop discriminating on the basis of race.
Found here.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Theodore Roethke
one stanza
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
one stanza
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virtues only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek.)
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Being a Catholic
Found here.
means that sometimes you cannot marry the person you want to marry, when you want to marry them. It means not always being able to sleep with the person one may want to sleep with, at one's personal convenience, if at all. At times, being a faithful Catholic means NEVER being able to marry or sleep with the person one loves. It means self-denial and taking up the cross, which is why chastity and consecrated celibacy are among the highest forms of love and martyrdom.
So many people want the trappings of Catholicism, but not the inner core of suffering and sacrifice that must accompany true belief.
Found here.
And now for something completely different
Go see and hear Tracy sing "Give Me One Reason."
(Hope that works.)
Go see and hear Tracy sing "Give Me One Reason."
(Hope that works.)
Merton
from The Sign of Jonas, Dec. 24, 1946
We really have to believe in our Superiors. We cannot simply judge them by human standards, taking the things they tell us as opinions that are to be weighed in the balance with our own.
Merton, twenty years later
from the "Midsummer Diary" appendix to Learning to Love, June 22, 1966
In any case, one senses the basically destructive and desperate nature of Dom J.'s [the abbot's] brand of fervor. It poses an immense problem. [...] I will not waste time worrying about it. He is a providential affliction, a kind of skin disease that I have to live with in patience. I loathe everything he stands for.
from The Sign of Jonas, Dec. 24, 1946
We really have to believe in our Superiors. We cannot simply judge them by human standards, taking the things they tell us as opinions that are to be weighed in the balance with our own.
Merton, twenty years later
from the "Midsummer Diary" appendix to Learning to Love, June 22, 1966
In any case, one senses the basically destructive and desperate nature of Dom J.'s [the abbot's] brand of fervor. It poses an immense problem. [...] I will not waste time worrying about it. He is a providential affliction, a kind of skin disease that I have to live with in patience. I loathe everything he stands for.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
6/18
Turned ninety-eight on Monday (well, not quite) ...
Turned ninety-eight on Monday (well, not quite) ...
| In 1969 (the year you were born) |
 Richard Nixon becomes president of the US Mary Jo Kopechne is killed when Senator Edward Kennedy veers off a narrow bridge on Chappaquiddick Island, crashing into a pond US astronaut Neil Armstrong becomes the first person to set foot on the moon while commanding the Apollo 11 mission Breathtaking pictures of Mars are transmitted to earth from NASA's Mariner 7 as it passes within 2,200 miles of the Red Planet Woodstock music festival begins in upstate NY, featuring performances by Grateful Dead, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jefferson Airplane, and many more artists 250,000 Vietnam War protestors gather in Washington for the largest anti-war rally in US history The first draft lottery since WWII is held in New York City The Beatles' performance in public for the last time, on the roof of Apple Records The Stonewall riots mark the start of the modern gay rights movement in the US Marilyn Manson, Jennifer Aniston, Renee Zellweger, Edward Norton, Christian Slater, and Linus Torvalds are born New York Mets win the World Series New York Jets win Superbowl III Montreal Canadiens win the Stanley Cup Sesame Street premieres Midnight Cowboy wins the Oscar for best picture David Bowie's debut single, "Space Oddity", becomes a huge hit - in part due to the US landing on the moon Sharon Tate & the LaBiancas are found murdered by Charles Manson & "family" |
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Friday, June 15, 2007
"The sacrifices you want to make aren’t always the only sacrifices God wants"
-- from Eve Tushnet's half of this exchange of views at Commonweal magazine.
Those words have implications far beyond the topic of the article.
-- from Eve Tushnet's half of this exchange of views at Commonweal magazine.
Those words have implications far beyond the topic of the article.
Survey says
Was watching a game-show yesterday (a constructive use of time, to be sure), and the host asked the contestants to "name someone, living or dead, whose ideas have made the world a better place." The top five answers were on the board.
An interesting mix was eventually revealed:
1. Martin Luther King, Jr.
2. Oprah Winfrey
3. Bill Clinton
4. Benjamin Franklin
5. Jesus
Was watching a game-show yesterday (a constructive use of time, to be sure), and the host asked the contestants to "name someone, living or dead, whose ideas have made the world a better place." The top five answers were on the board.
An interesting mix was eventually revealed:
1. Martin Luther King, Jr.
2. Oprah Winfrey
3. Bill Clinton
4. Benjamin Franklin
5. Jesus
Thursday, June 14, 2007
And finally ...
| You Are A Martini |
 You are the kind of drinker who appreciates a nice hard drink. And for you, only quality alcohol. You don't waste your time on the cheap stuff. Obviously, you're usually found with a martini in your hand. But sometimes you mix it up with a gin and tonic. And you'd never, ever consider one of those flavored martinis. They're hardly a drink! |
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
And this
despite selecting Dublin as the pub-crawl city ...
despite selecting Dublin as the pub-crawl city ...
| You Are Heineken |
 You appreciate a good beer, but you're not a snob about it. You like your beer mild and easy to drink, so you can concentrate on being drunk. Overall, you're a friendly drunk who's likely to buy a whole round for your friends... many times. Sometimes you can be a bit boring when you drink. You may be prone to go on about topics no one cares about. |
It took three attempts
to get something other than Chardonnay ...
to get something other than Chardonnay ...
| You Are Pinot Noir |
 Sophisticated and worldly, you probably know more about wine than most drinkers. You have great taste, and you approach all aspects of life with a gourmet attitude. You believe that the little things in life should be cherished and enjoyed... and of the best quality possible. And while you may take more time to eat a meal or tour a city, it's always time well spent. Deep down you are: A seductive charmer Your partying style: Refined. And you would never call it "partying" Your company is enjoyed best with: Stinky expensive cheese |
Monday, June 11, 2007
The wonders of the NAB
Mark 7:18-19 He said to them, "Are even you likewise without understanding? Do you not realize that everything that goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters not the heart but the stomach and passes out into the latrine?"
Jeremiah 17:6 He is like a barren bush in the desert that enjoys no change of season, But stands in a lava waste, a salt and empty earth.
Isaiah 9:5 For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.
Latrine?
Lava?
God-Hero?
Mark 7:18-19 He said to them, "Are even you likewise without understanding? Do you not realize that everything that goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters not the heart but the stomach and passes out into the latrine?"
Jeremiah 17:6 He is like a barren bush in the desert that enjoys no change of season, But stands in a lava waste, a salt and empty earth.
Isaiah 9:5 For a child is born to us, a son is given us; upon his shoulder dominion rests. They name him Wonder-Counselor, God-Hero, Father-Forever, Prince of Peace.
Latrine?
Lava?
God-Hero?
Liturgy back to normal (mostly)
at the new church in Chelsea
Now that the Easter season is over, we're saying the Creed, using a penitential rite, and seeing a crucifix with a corpus.
Why the pastor would choose to commemorate the Easter season by leaving out the Creed, or why he would omit the Pentecost sequence two Sundays ago, or why he doesn't make the sign of the Cross over the gifts at the epiclesis, is anyone's guess.
at the new church in Chelsea
Now that the Easter season is over, we're saying the Creed, using a penitential rite, and seeing a crucifix with a corpus.
Why the pastor would choose to commemorate the Easter season by leaving out the Creed, or why he would omit the Pentecost sequence two Sundays ago, or why he doesn't make the sign of the Cross over the gifts at the epiclesis, is anyone's guess.
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