Some more recent revisions of poem's I've previously posted in older recensions. I've posted them again because I think they are among my better ones. Let me know what you think. I'll probably select out a few more in a few days.
The Bacchae
When the god of wine and revel
made dizzy the city's prince,
the omens darkly muttered
with a strange malevolence.
But the king kept to his folly;
he was slain by the godly bull
and carried home in his mother's arms.
Amen: the gods are cruel.
You are proud in your ways, O mortals!
Better it is to mourn
than to march through mocking streets
to where the beasts are torn.
You are vain with the vain cosmetics
by which you hide your soul;
you boast of your civic order,
but destruction is your goal.
You speak the name of Justice?
But Justice walks with a sword
to slit the throats of mortals
with a fate no charm can ward.
When your life is over --
when we see the path you've trod --
we will see not boasted glory,
but the mocking of the god.
Orbs
The sun is not a ball of fire
but the sum of one desire:
to lure; and thus must it appear
to thoughtless eyes a burning sphere.
But all this rolling globe of light
is more than what appears to sight;
less like a flame, more like a word
in which the thought and deed are blurred
it rolls, and in a single thought
all the paths of light are caught
and bent around it like a sea
extending to infinity;
it speaks, commanding: Come to me.
Some have thought the earth to fly
like a droplet in the sky;
a little water, a bit of earth,
a thing like nothing in its worth.
But they who ponder on the skies
study better, grow more wise,
and know: each star in its course
is subject to its endless force;
all the glories near and far
are affected where they are
by whispers born of ecstasy.
The whispers say: Come to me.
The stars are moved; each like a thought
has searched the sky and gently sought
the paths and ways by which things flow;
each is a word to those who know,
a gesture to each thing and kind
that the seeking soul can find;
each calls out to eternity,
each ripples out upon the sea,
each beckons, saying: Come to me.
A Tiger Pouncing
The light is a tiger pouncing,
a panther pawing, a lion roaring;
like waterfalls in their pouring,
its color thunders, unrelenting.
Rippling in the shadows
like a rumor in the city,
it leaps like glory's coming
in the rainbows of the flood.
The light on the wall is flowing,
shadow-playing, darkness-mousing,
leaping and lightly purring
as it panthers in my room.
A Saturday Morning Walk
Saturday I wandered far,
seeking explorations,
questing for I knew not what
in the morning promise of rain.
A good woman gave me two peaches,
omens of immortality;
they were sticky in my hands,
the juice running freely,
rich with sweetness,
a hope preserved
for the seed and for our taste.
The night before had been dark,
sheltered from moon and star;
but the darkness was a rolling darkness,
a seminary of life and hope,
like the darkness of the earth
feeding the growing root.
My memory held this all;
my thoughts looked out on the world,
seeing that it was good;
my will hoped for the glory
and the rising of the sun.
In such moments we are God-like,
more than words on water;
on such mornings we live
as whispers sent down from heaven
and writ with letters.
Moriah
What is this I see, my God,
the presence all around me?
I lift my eyes to tangled thorns --
with bleat of ram and flash of horn
the gift has been provided;
a twilight ram, creation's cusp,
has grasped my hem in offering.
Satan caught him in the thorn,
the angel was his herald;
his hand is laid upon my hem
in gestures of creation.
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Cliopatria Awards
The list of winners for the 2006 Cliopatria Awards are up. Go and see who won, then congratulate the winners.
Nothing Much
Today is not only Epiphany; it is also a memorial for Brother Andre Bessette, C.S.C. Since I attended a C.S.C. college for my undergrad, I wanted to say something briefly about him.
The Congregation of the Holy Cross had no idea what to do with Alfred Bessette, later Brother Andre Bessette, when he first came to them. He seemed pretty much useless to them. He had continual stomach problems which had made it impossible for him to hold down a job because it made it difficult for him to do anything but the very simplest of tasks -- and even those not always consistently. Even worse, the Holy Cross brothers are all teachers, and the Congregation is a teaching society; but, despite being 25 years old, the young man could not read or write. The only thing going for him was a note from his pastor, telling the brothers that he was sending them a saint. He was nothing much.
To their credit, they didn't turn him down right away; they took him in, in the hopes that he could contribute more than it seemed he could. They were utterly disappointed in this hope. He was asked to leave, and it was only at the request of a visiting bishop that he was allowed to stay at all. He took his vows, and, not knowing what else to do with him, they made him a porter for a small school -- basically what we would call an elementary school for boys -- and there he stayed, answering the door, delivering mail, and little things like that, e.g., giving haircuts to the boys and cleaning the floors. He did nothing much.
Then one day, out of the blue, Brother Andre asked the Archbishop of Montreal if he could build a chapel dedicated to St. Joseph on a mountain near the school. The Archbishop, no doubt startled by this request, replied that it wasn't possible to go into debt; Brother Andre could build what he could find the money to pay for.
What he built was nothing much; from collecting nickels and dimes Brother Andre managed to scrape enough together to build a crude wooden shed to serve as a sort of shrine. Scarcely more than a box. Brother Andre continued collecting, and later went back to the Archbishop to ask for permission to continue building. The Archbishop, at this point a bit wary that the man might be crazy, asked if he were building the chapel because he saw visions of St. Joseph. Brother Andre assured him that he was only building it because of his devotion to St. Joseph, so the Archbishop gave him permission to continue, but again on the condition that he only build what he could pay for. Slowly pilgrims began to come to the chapel to pray.
He never saw the basilica of St. Joseph finished, although he managed to accomplish a great deal of it in his lifetime. The ultimate result of his efforts was the Oratoire Saint-Joseph du Mont-Royal. It is, it must be said, nothing more than a place for prayer, as churches generally are. In the grand scheme of things it is nothing much, even though it is the largest church in Canada. But it goes to show, perhaps, that with God nothing much is sometimes enough.
The Congregation of the Holy Cross had no idea what to do with Alfred Bessette, later Brother Andre Bessette, when he first came to them. He seemed pretty much useless to them. He had continual stomach problems which had made it impossible for him to hold down a job because it made it difficult for him to do anything but the very simplest of tasks -- and even those not always consistently. Even worse, the Holy Cross brothers are all teachers, and the Congregation is a teaching society; but, despite being 25 years old, the young man could not read or write. The only thing going for him was a note from his pastor, telling the brothers that he was sending them a saint. He was nothing much.
To their credit, they didn't turn him down right away; they took him in, in the hopes that he could contribute more than it seemed he could. They were utterly disappointed in this hope. He was asked to leave, and it was only at the request of a visiting bishop that he was allowed to stay at all. He took his vows, and, not knowing what else to do with him, they made him a porter for a small school -- basically what we would call an elementary school for boys -- and there he stayed, answering the door, delivering mail, and little things like that, e.g., giving haircuts to the boys and cleaning the floors. He did nothing much.
Then one day, out of the blue, Brother Andre asked the Archbishop of Montreal if he could build a chapel dedicated to St. Joseph on a mountain near the school. The Archbishop, no doubt startled by this request, replied that it wasn't possible to go into debt; Brother Andre could build what he could find the money to pay for.
What he built was nothing much; from collecting nickels and dimes Brother Andre managed to scrape enough together to build a crude wooden shed to serve as a sort of shrine. Scarcely more than a box. Brother Andre continued collecting, and later went back to the Archbishop to ask for permission to continue building. The Archbishop, at this point a bit wary that the man might be crazy, asked if he were building the chapel because he saw visions of St. Joseph. Brother Andre assured him that he was only building it because of his devotion to St. Joseph, so the Archbishop gave him permission to continue, but again on the condition that he only build what he could pay for. Slowly pilgrims began to come to the chapel to pray.
He never saw the basilica of St. Joseph finished, although he managed to accomplish a great deal of it in his lifetime. The ultimate result of his efforts was the Oratoire Saint-Joseph du Mont-Royal. It is, it must be said, nothing more than a place for prayer, as churches generally are. In the grand scheme of things it is nothing much, even though it is the largest church in Canada. But it goes to show, perhaps, that with God nothing much is sometimes enough.
Epiphany
Today is the Epiphany, also called the Theophany, the Feast of the Apparition or Manifestation of God. So here's an old Epiphany carol that hits on a number of the major themes for this feast:
As Greg Wilbur notes, today is the day that goes with the sixth part of Bach's Christmas Oratorio (scroll down). (The music at the link, however, is a bit flat compared to that of the real Oratorio. Does anyone know of a better online excerpt?)
We three kings of Orient are;
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Frankincense to offer have I;
Incense owns a Deity nigh;
Prayer and praising all men raising,
Worshipping God on high.
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Glorious now behold Him arise;
King and God and Sacrifice;
Alleluia, Alleluia,
Sounds through the earth and skies.
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
As Greg Wilbur notes, today is the day that goes with the sixth part of Bach's Christmas Oratorio (scroll down). (The music at the link, however, is a bit flat compared to that of the real Oratorio. Does anyone know of a better online excerpt?)
Currently Reading
Some interesting online papers and drafts I am currently reading:
* Elisabeth Camp's Poesis Without Metaphor (PDF) (ht: OPP)
* Mark Cowling's Marxism and Criminology: Three Puzzles
* Alexander Pruss's Ex nihilo nihil fit: Arguments New and Old for the Principle of Sufficient Reason
* Alexander Pruss's Some Recent Progress on the Cosmological Argument (PDF)
* Douglas Walton's Are Some Modus Ponens Arguments Deductively Invalid? (PDF)
* Douglas Walton's St. Anselm and the Logical Syntax of Agency (PDF)
* Ronna Burger's Self-Restraint and Virtue: Sages and Philosophers in Maimonides' Eight Chapters (PDF)
* Heidi M. Ravven's How Jewish Philosophy Could Help Standard Philosophical Ethics Out of its Dead End (PDF)
* Martin Yaffe's Interpreting Spinoza's Ethics as a 'System': Moses Mendelssohn's Morning Hours (PDF)
* Robert Innis's Royce and Religious Naturalism (PDF)
* Against Arguments from Reference (PDF) by Mallon, Machery, Nichols, and Stich
* Wayne Martin's Transcendental Philosophy and Atheism (PDF)
* Christopher P. Long's Toward a Dynamic Conception of ousia: Rethinking an Aristotelian Legacy (ht: Fido the Yak)
* Elisabeth Camp's Poesis Without Metaphor (PDF) (ht: OPP)
* Mark Cowling's Marxism and Criminology: Three Puzzles
* Alexander Pruss's Ex nihilo nihil fit: Arguments New and Old for the Principle of Sufficient Reason
* Alexander Pruss's Some Recent Progress on the Cosmological Argument (PDF)
* Douglas Walton's Are Some Modus Ponens Arguments Deductively Invalid? (PDF)
* Douglas Walton's St. Anselm and the Logical Syntax of Agency (PDF)
* Ronna Burger's Self-Restraint and Virtue: Sages and Philosophers in Maimonides' Eight Chapters (PDF)
* Heidi M. Ravven's How Jewish Philosophy Could Help Standard Philosophical Ethics Out of its Dead End (PDF)
* Martin Yaffe's Interpreting Spinoza's Ethics as a 'System': Moses Mendelssohn's Morning Hours (PDF)
* Robert Innis's Royce and Religious Naturalism (PDF)
* Against Arguments from Reference (PDF) by Mallon, Machery, Nichols, and Stich
* Wayne Martin's Transcendental Philosophy and Atheism (PDF)
* Christopher P. Long's Toward a Dynamic Conception of ousia: Rethinking an Aristotelian Legacy (ht: Fido the Yak)
Friday, January 05, 2007
Eve of Epiphany
Today is the Vigil of Epiphany, which is perhaps the best name for a holy day ever. It is also called the Eve of Epiphany, Vigil of Theophany, and Eve of Theophany. It is also Twelfth Night, and was occasionally such a time of revel that Shakespeare wrote a play, also called What You Will, that has come to be known by that name. Those of you who aren't so much into revel should at least take a little time to enjoy the revel that is Illyria.
Another good thing to do this time of year is re-read Ben-Hur, in which the theme of Epiphany plays an integral role. The following is from the story of Melchior in Chapter IV:
Another good thing to do this time of year is re-read Ben-Hur, in which the theme of Epiphany plays an integral role. The following is from the story of Melchior in Chapter IV:
"One night I walked by the shores of the lake, and spoke to the listening silence, 'When will God come and claim his own? Is there to be no redemption?' Suddenly a light began to glow tremulously out on the water; soon a star arose, and moved towards me, and stood overhead. The brightness stunned me. While I lay upon the ground, I heard a voice of infinite sweetness say, 'Thy love hath conquered. Blessed art thou, O son of India! The redemption is at hand. With two others, from far quarters of the earth, thou shalt see the Redeemer, and be a witness that he hath come. In the morning arise, and go meet them; and put all thy trust in the Spirit which shall guide thee.'"
Even the CofE Joined In
I loved this passage from a recent entry at "Bede's Journal":
The first part of the sentence is priceless. Bede notes John Cornwell's and H. Allen Orr's recent reviews, which join the growing pile.
I was amused recently by some discussion at Science Blogs that was started by this clever twist on the Emperor's New Clothes story by Myers at "Pharyngula"; it was enthusiastically taken up in a number of places. Of course, what they all conveniently left out is that the only people in the whole parade that have a broad consensus of intelligent people, atheist and theist alike, insisting that they are naked are Dawkins and his supporters.
Not only has Richard Dawkins finally persuaded the Church of England to defend Christianity (a task previously regarded as impossible by many Christians), he has even united many of traditional Christianity's opponents in castigating his book, The God Delusion.
The first part of the sentence is priceless. Bede notes John Cornwell's and H. Allen Orr's recent reviews, which join the growing pile.
I was amused recently by some discussion at Science Blogs that was started by this clever twist on the Emperor's New Clothes story by Myers at "Pharyngula"; it was enthusiastically taken up in a number of places. Of course, what they all conveniently left out is that the only people in the whole parade that have a broad consensus of intelligent people, atheist and theist alike, insisting that they are naked are Dawkins and his supporters.
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