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Histeria

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Mientras ella reía, me di cuenta de que me iba enredando

en su risa y haciéndome parte de ella, hasta que sus

dientes fueron sólo estrellas casuales con talento

para la instrucción por pelotones. Era absorbido en cortos jadeos,

inhalados a cada recuperación momentánea, perdido al fin

en las oscuras cavernas de su garganta, restregado por

la ondulación de músculos no vistos. Un camarero de cierta edad,

con manos temblorosas, extendió apresuradamente

un mantel a cuadros rosas y blancos sobre la oxidada

mesa verde de hierro, diciendo: “Si la señora y

el caballero quisieran tomar el té en el jardín,

si la señora y el caballero quisieran tomar el té

en el jardín…” Decidí que si fuera posible pararle

el temblor de sus pechos, cabría recoger

algunos trozos de la tarde, y concentré mi atención

con cuidadosa sutileza en ese objetivo.

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Hysteria

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As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved

in her laughter and being part of it, until her

teeth were only accidental stars with a talent

for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,

inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally

in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by

the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter

with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading

a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty

green iron table, saying: “If the lady and

gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,

if the lady and gentleman wish to take their

tea in the garden …” I decided that if the

shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of

the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,

and I concentrated my attention with careful

subtlety to this end.

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Thomas Stearns Eliot

Histeria

De Prufrock y otras observaciones

En Poesías reunidas (1902-1962), Alianza Editorial, 2008

Traducción de José María Valverde

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PG M planned an article with new theories on Prufrock as one of the most important characters in Ts Eliot’s poems
A key figure also to understand Eliot critical theories

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Ejercicios para los cinco dedos

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I. Versos a un gato persa
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Los cantores del aire acuden
a los campos verdes de Russell Square.
Bajo los árboles no hay alivio
para el cerebro atontado, los punzantes deseos
y los vivos ojos del Oso Peludo.
No hay alivio sino en dolor.
Ah ¿cuándo cesará el corazón crujiente?
¿Cuándo cederá la silla rota?
¿Por qué se retrasará el día de verano?
¿Cuándo se alejará el Tiempo fluyendo?

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II. Versos a un terrier de Yorkshire
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En un campo pardo se erguía un árbol
y el árbol estaba encorvado y seco.
En un cielo negro, desde una nube verde
fuerzas naturales chillaban fuerte,
gritaban, traqueteaban, mascullaban sin fin.
El perrito estaba a salvo y caliente
bajo un edredón de cretona,
pero el campo estaba agrietado y pardo
y el árbol estaba encogido y seco.
Perros y gatos de caramelo deben todos
gatos y perros de jalea deben todos
como enterradores, convertirse en polvo.
Aquí un perrito me detengo
levantando mis patas de delante
me detengo y duermo sin fin.

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III. Versos a un pato en el parque
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La larga luz se agita a través del lago,
las fuerzas del temblor mañanero,
la aurora está oblicua a través del césped,
aquí no hay lagarto ni serpiente mortal
sino sólo perezoso pato patoso.
He visto brillar la mañana,
he recibido el Pan y el Vino,
que los mortales con plumas tomen
lo que es su ración mortal,
pellizcando el pan y el dedo también,
más fácil de tener que gusano retorciéndose;
pues yo sé, y deberíais saberlo
que pronto el inquisitivo gusano probará
nuestra bien conservada ufanía.

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IV. Versos a Ralph Hodgson, Esquire
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¡Qué placer conocer al señor Hodgson!
(A él todo el mundo quiere conocerle)
con su sonido musical
y su perro de Baskerville
que, a una palabra sola de su amo,
os seguirá cada vez más deprisa
y os destrozará separando vuestros miembros.
¡Qué placer conocer al señor Hodgson!
Que es adorado por todas las camareras
(le consideran como algo diferente)
mientras exprime en su sutil paladar
el jugo de su pastel de frambuesa.
¡Qué placer conocer al señor Hodgson!
(A él todo el mundo quiere conocerle)
Tiene 999 canarios
y en torno a su cabeza hadas y pinzones
pasan rozándole en arrebato jubiloso.
¡Qué placer conocer al señor Hodgson!
(A él todo el mundo quiere conocerle)

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V. Versos para Cuscuscomino y Mirza Murag Ali Beg
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¡Qué desagradable conocer al señor Eliot!
Con sus rasgos de corte clerical
y su frente tan sombría
y su boca tan estirada
y su conversación tan delicadamente
restringida a Lo Que Exactamente
y Si y Quizá y Pero.
¡Qué desagradable conocer al señor Eliot!
Con un cachorrillo de rabo cortado
con un abrigo de piel
y un gato puercoespín
y un sombrero de baranda:
¡Qué desagradable conocer al señor Eliot!
(tanto si tiene la boca abierta como cerrada)

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Five-fingers exercises

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I. Lines to a Persian Cat
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The songsters of the air repair
To the green fields of Russell Square.
Beneath the trees there is no ease
For the dull brain, the sharp desires
And the quick eyes of Woolly Bear.
There is no relief but in grief.
O when will the creaking heart cease?
When will the broken chair give ease?
Why will the summer day delay?
WHEN will Time flow away?

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II. Lines to a Yorkshire Terrier
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In a brown field stood a tree
And the tree was crookt and dry.
In a black sky, from a green cloud
Natural forces shriek’d aloud,
Screamed, rattled, muttered endlessly.
Little dog was safe and warm
Under a cretonne eiderdown,
Yet the field was cracked and brown
And the tree was cramped and dry.
Pollicle dogs and cats all must
Jellicle cats and dogs all must
Like undertakers, come to dust.
Here a little dog I pause
Heaving up my prior paws,
Pause, and sleep endlessly.

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III. Lines to a Duck in the Park
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The long light shakes across the lake,
The forces of the morning quake,
The dawn is slant across the lawn,
Here is no eft or mortal snake
But only sluggish duck and drake.
I have seen the morning shine,
I have had the Bread and Wine,
Let the feathered mortals take
That which is their mortal due,
Pinching bread and finger too,
Easier had than squirming worm;
For I know, and so should you
That soon the enquiring worm shall try
Our well-preserved complacency.
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IV. Lines to Ralph Hodgson Esqre.
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How delightful to meet Mr. Hodgson!
(Everyone wants to know HIM)–
With his musical sound
And his Baskerville Hound
Which, just at a word from his master
Will follow you faster and faster
And tear you limb from limb.
How delightful to meet Mr. Hodgson!
Who is worshipped by all waitresses
(They regard him as something apart)
While on his palate fine he presses
The juice of the gooseberry tart.
How delightful to meet Mr. Hodgson!
(Everyone wants to know HIM).
He has 999 canaries
And round his head finches and fairies
In jubilant rapture skim.
How delightful to meet Mr. Hodgson!
(Everyone wants to meet HIM).

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V. Lines for Cuscuscaraway and Mirza Murad Ali Beg
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How unpleasant to meet Mr. Eliot!
With his features of clerical cut,
And his brow so grim
And his mouth so prim
And his conversation, so nicely
Restricted to What Precisely
And If and Perhaps and But.
How unpleasant to meet Mr. Eliot!
With a bobtail cur
In a coat of fur
And a porpentine cat
And a wopsical hat:
How unpleasant to meet Mr. Eliot!
(Whether his mouth be open or shut).

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Thomas Stearns Eliot
Ejercicios para los cinco dedos
En Poesías menores
De Coriolano, Poesías reunidas (1902-1962), Alianza Editorial, 2008
Traducción de José María Valverde
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Tonight Jóna and I went to a Bingó evening organized by the people who work at Olís (Jóna and Heiða, her mother, work there). It was my first real bingo ever. Sverrir (Heiða’s man-boyfriend), Jóna and I were playing while Heiða was up on stage reading the numbers. I realized that I have a lot of trouble with 7. Somehow my brain doesn’t quite register it as fast as, for example, 8. Takes me no time to understand 85 but 74 is a killer. This one woman had 4 bingos (3 in a row). All that time I kept thinking about the fact that I don’t get annoyed at Icelanders, but had this been in a francophone setting in Quebec, I would probably have been annoyed by everyone. Somehow Icelanders seem to be more amiable (or maybe they just know how to behave without annoying people around them, which would make sense seeing as they are so few and in so close contact).

Today was my first study day, it went okay. I finished New Criticism and Formalism. It went well, but some of these texts are very heavy (T.S. Eliot is not an easy read, nor is Tynjanov).

Tomorrow is French Formalism, Post-structuralism, viðtökufræði (reception-ism?) and hugmyndafræðigagnrýni (idealism-criticism?). Then if I’ve been duglegur (diligent) I’ll go to the traditional Friday Pizza at Jóna’s place.

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El cultivo de los árboles de Navidad

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De las muchas actitudes ante la navidad

Hay algunas que debemos rechazar:

La social, la torpe, la comercial,

La desordenada (la de los bares abiertos hasta medianoche)

Y la infantil que no es la del niño

Para el que la vela es una estrella

Y el ángel dorado que despliega sus alas

En la cima del árbol, no decoración sino ángel.

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El niño ante el árbol se asombra.

Dejémosle que siga en su espíritu

Con la Fiesta que es tal y no pretexto.

De ahí que el rapto brillante, la maravilla

Del primer árbol de navidad que se recuerda,

De ahí que las sorpresas, las delicias

De las nuevas posesiones (cada una

Con su peculiar olor y emocionante),

La espera del ganso o del pavo

Y el alborozo de su llegada,

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De ahí que la alegría y la reverencia

No deban olvidarse en la experiencia posterior,

En la cotidianeidad o el tedio o la fatiga,

En la certeza de la muerte o la conciencia del fracaso

O en la piedad del converso

Que puede corromperse por la vanidad

Que no gusta a Dios y desagrada a los niños

(Y aquí recuerdo con gratitud a Santa Lucía,

Su villancico y su corona de fuego):

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De ahí que antes del fin, la navidad número ochenta

(Y “ochenta” significa la que sea la última)

Los recuerdos acumulados de la emoción anual

Deben concentrarse en inmenso gozo

Que será también inmenso temor

Como en la ocasión en que descienda

El terror a cada alma:

Porque el principio debe recordarnos el fin

Y la primera venida, la segunda.

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The Cultivation of Christmas Trees

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There are several attitudes towards Christmas,

Some of which we may disregard:

The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,

The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),

And the childish – which is not that of the child

For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel

Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree

Is not only a decoration, but an angel.

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The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:

Let him continue in the spirit of wonder

At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;

So that the glittering rapture, the amazement

Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,

So that the surprises, delight in new possessions

(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),

The expectation of the goose or turkey

And the expected awe on its appearance,

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So that the reverence and the gaiety

May not be forgotten in later experience,

In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,

The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,

Or in the piety of the convert

Which may be tainted with a self-conceit

Displeasing to God and disrespectful to children

(And here I remember also with gratitude

St.Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):

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So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas

(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is last)

The accumulated memories of annual emotion

May be concentrated into a great joy

Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion

When fear came upon every soul:

Because the beginning shall remind us of the end

And the first coming of the second coming.

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Thomas Stearns Eliot

El cultivo de los árboles de Navidad

En Poesías reunidas 1909-1962.

Traducción de José María Valverde.

Alianza Editorial – Madrid, 1978

Just found Daughtry’s Poker Face cover. I can’t stop listening to it! While it’s an acoustic version in a predictably acoustic way, it’s beautiful and the rawness about it gets to you.

Also downloaded Lambert’s album and I really liked Sleepwalker, A Loaded Smile and For Your Entertainment, yes but it isn’t the ZOMFG-ness you expect from Adam Lambert who can do no wrong! Still, he’s human and it was a nice debut! And saw the AMA Performance clip! The interview with Hollywood access after the thing totally made up for the tacky vocals and over-the-top-ness (It was shocking and fun and all that but it was all just so tackily executed and all over the place (vocaaals! :O); at least that’s what I felt. I winced a dozen times) because you just can’t not lurrve that guy, can you? (I can’t. haha)

I’m studying for English as I type and ugh, I’m still in the same poem. I’ll just do a bunch of poems and stories out of the lot and skim through Macbeth, I guess. Sociology was horrible so I’m not exactly motivated. T.S. Eliot has his moments though!

Every time I go to sparknotes, I end up taking one of their quizzes or something and forget what I went there for.

Adam Lambert is so not a Madonna. Not yet, anyway. Maybe a Lady GaGa! It’ll be really cute if they get together (Adam and GaGa)! Who knew Kristin Stewart and Rob Pattinson would? That’s just soo annoyingly perfect, like the Taylors (who have Taylor jokes, I just know)..
X will probably drag me to New Moon and I will be unwilling but secretly okay about it because as annoying as anything Twilight is, I will still watch every Twilight movie. It sucks, but doesn’t suck that bad. If it were less hyped, I would probably want to hype it though, of course, Edward is not hot. And the writing is horrible. But it’s fun time pass.

This post is all over the place but I’m in such a mood. K keeps calling L a jerk it’s funny! It’s obvious she won’t call him ever, but she won’t stop talking about him anyway. He is totally (in her words) her Jane Gallagher. I wish we were tested on The Catcher in the Rye. Pfft. Though that would probably ruin the book.

Okay, I’m done. That felt good. Can’t wait for the exams to end already.

“When we see that our chief end is to glorify God then we will discover what it means to enjoy Him forever.”–Sinclair Ferguson

“Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge? Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?”–T. S. Eliot

“Today is mine. Tomorrow is none of my business. If I peer anxiously into the fog of the future, I will strain my spiritual eyes so that I will not see clearly what is required of me now.”–Elisabeth Eliot

“Read the Bible daily. Make it part of every day’s business to read and meditate on some portion of God’s Word. Gather your manna fresh every morning. Choose your own seasons and hours. Do not scramble over and hurry your reading. Give your Bible the best, and not the worst, part of your time. But whatever plan you pursue, let it be a rule of your life to visit the throne of grace and the Bible every day.”–J.C. Ryle

“Men entertain thoughts in private, and say words in private, and do acts in private, which they would be ashamed and blush to have exposed before the world. There is an all-seeing Witness with us wherever we go. Lock the door, draw down the blind, shut the shutters, put out the candle; it matters not, it makes no difference; God is everywhere, you cannot shut Him out or prevent His seeing.”-J.C. Ryle

“It’s no wonder that self-help books top the charts in Christian publishing and that counseling offices are overwhelmed. Our pride and our neglect of the gospel force us to run from seminar to seminar, book to book, counselor to counselor, always seeking but never finding some secret to holy living.

Most of us have never really understood that Christianity is not a self-help religion meant to enable moral people to become more moral. We don’t need a self-help book; we need a Savior. We don’t need to get our collective act together; we need death and resurrection and the life-transforming truths of the gospel. And we don’t need them just once, at the beginning of our Christian life; we need them every moment of every day.”–Elyse Fitzpatrick and Dennis Johnson

“There is nothing in us or done by us, at any stage of our earthly development, because of which we are acceptable to God. We must always be accepted for Christ’s sake, or we cannot ever be accepted at all. . . . This is not true of us only when we believe. It is just as true after we have believed. It will continue to be true as long as we live. Our need of Christ doesn’t cease with our believing; nor does the nature of our relation to Him or to God through Him ever alter, no matter what our attainments in Christian graces or our achievements in behavior may be. It is always on His ‘blood and righteousness’ alone that we can rest.”–B. B. Warfield, quoted by Elyse Fitzpatrick and Dennis Johnson in Counsel from the Cross.

” A marriage seminar in a phrase: “Be kind to one another” (Eph 4:32)–Jim Eliff

(HT:  Ryle, First Importance, Words of Grace)

Sometimes it’s a scary feeling… like falling. It’s like dreading the comfort of sleep but wanting to wake up, to know its ok. It’s like a feeling of expectation that makes me want to throw up. Its hollow and weird and makes things spin. It’s that thing, That Thing that I can’t place my finger on. It’s so slippery… the thought vanishes before it has time to form. It’s contradictory and mad, beautiful and rubbish all at once.

And then flesh hits the asphalt and the numbness of reality seeps in.

“I do not think that they will sing to me.” *

And just like that, another year brushes her blue lips against my ear-jaw-neck- clavicle.

XOXO

The photos the society took in Eliot college this Halloween are available at the following link: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mikeyrap/sets/72157622735463912/.

Born in 1928 in Manchester, England, Johnson is an English Roman Catholic journalist, historian, speechwriter, and author. He was educated at the Jesuit independent school Stonyhurst College, and at Magdalen College, Oxford. He has more than more than 40 books in print that include:

Heroes(2007)
Creators (2006)
George Washington: The Founding Father (2005)
Intellectuals (2003)
Napoleon (2002)
The Renaissance: A Short History (2002)

I have just re-read Creators in which Johnson examines 17 exemplars of what he characterizes as “creative courage”: Chaucer, Dürer, Shakespeare, Bach, Turner and Hokusai, Austen, Pugin and Viollet-le-Duc, Hugo, Twain, Tiffany, Eliot, Balenciaga and Dior, and in then Picasso and Disney. The range of his interests correctly suggests the scope and depth of his erudition. Here are two brief excerpts:

Creative courage “is of many different kinds. What are we to think of the quiet, withdrawn, silent, uncomplaining courage of Emily Dickinson? She continued to write her poetry, and eventually amassed a significant oeuvre, with little or no encouragement, no guidance, and no public response, for only six short poems were published in her lifetime and these against her will. She worked essentially in isolation and solitude, a brave woman confronting the fears and agonies of creation without (or hindrance either, as perhaps she would have said).” Johnson also briefly discusses Mozart, Dickens, Caravaggio, Beethoven, Marie Cassatt, Toulouse-Lautrec, Robert Louis Stevenson, David Hume, Trollope, V.S. Pritchett, and J.B. Priestly…all of whom encountered and overcame “daunting challenges.”

“The popularity of the creative arts, and the influence they exert, will depend ultimately in their quality and allure, on the delight and excitement they generate, and on demotic choices. Picasso set his faith against nature, and burrowed within himself. Disney worked with nature, stylizing it, anthropomorphizing it, and surrealizing it, but ultimately reinforcing it. That is why his ideas form so many powerful palimpsests in the visual vocabulary of the world in the early twenty-first century, and will continue to shine through, while the ideas of Picasso, powerful thought they were for much of the twentieth century, will gradually fade and seem outmoded, as representational art returns in favor. In the end nature is the strongest force of all.”

I highly recommend Creators as well as Howard Gardner’s Creating Minds in which he examines the lives and achievements of Freud, Einstein, Picasso, Stravinsky, Eliot, Graham, and Gandhi.

…Just the worst time of the year for a journey, and such a long journey…

Waar het pad begon. Als er al een begin valt te vinden. Lagrime di San Pietro van Lassus. Hoe het geleidelijk deel van me werd. Tot ik besefte waar het over ging. Het verraden van jezelf, van datgene waar je ten diepste in gelooft. Telkens opnieuw. De pijn dat plots te beseffen. Het kraaien van de haan dat ons pas wakker schudt. En doorheen alle verdriet de diepe, onverklaarbare hoop dat alle fouten, alle tekortkomingen niet opwegen tegen datgene wat groter is. Verdwijnen, goedgemaakt worden door iets wat ons overstijgt. Welke naam we dat ook geven.

Caravaggio’s Avondmaal te Emmaüs. Een presentatie die ik over het schilderij mocht geven. Hoe ik bij de voorbereiding al merkte dat het over meer dan kunstgeschiedenis ging. Lucas 24, 13-35. Over blind zijn voor het wondere dat je overkomt. Over wakker worden door het plots herkennen van symbolen. En hoe vanaf dan niets meer hetzelfde is. Een ronduit onverantwoord vertrouwen in de wereld overneemt. Je viel in het bodemloze.

Sindsdien was niets meer hetzelfde. Lag je pad vol tekens. Onderlinge verwijzingen. Soms evident, soms onbegrijpelijk tot pas veel later. Sluimer nu niet in. Blijf de signalen lezen, blijf die weg gaan. Heb geen angst omwille van de woestijn waar je door moest, waar je wellicht nog vaker door zal moeten. Het is pas begonnen…

…With the voices singing in our ears, saying that this was all folly… 

 (T.S. Eliot – Journey of the Magi)

Since Michael Jackson passed away, there have been lots of tribute dances…then my office buddy at work sent this one over to me – it did make me chuckle and remind me that the Norwegians know how to have fun!

The front guy is Aksel Lund Svindal - he is one of Norways top alpine skiers and has won the Alpine Skiers World Cup twice (2007 and 2009).  He was born in 1982 so he’s not doing too bad for his age!   Dean/Paul – hope to be seeing a Bulgarian version in February!

Hope you enjoy – thanks for sending Cathrine!

Hello World,

This is my 1st post since I arrived in South America, Peru with my loved half Eve.

I actually left Italy the 19th of October and flew to London where I joined Eve and stayed until the 21st early morning where     we took the flight to Amsterdam and then Lima…

I will try to update you on our journey which is for us “The (longed) Journey” and will try to share with you experiences, people and colours and much more we will come across along the way that leads to Buenos Aires, which should be our final destination before heading back to Europe..but we  bought open-jaw tickets, so who knows…ojala…

PS

I will try to write both in my native Italian and in  my adopted English (not goody yet for the polish, sorry) as  the main purpose of this blog is to share with our friends this wonderful experience that this journey represents for us  in a totally different environement from the one we  come from.

From a mere layout/aesthetic point of view the blog has  a really bare aspect but it will be implemented as soon as I master the WordPress features which are quite many.

In the meantime I will update my Flickr account posting there the photos and videos.

As the blog is by definition a brilliant interactive tool, feel free to ask questions or comment

“The journey not the arrival matters.” — T. S. Eliot

Ciao a tutti

Questo è il primo post da quando siamo arrivati in Sudamerica e più precisamente in Perù io e la mia dolce metà del cielo, Eve.

Ho lasciato l’Italia il 19 Ottobre per Londra dove mi sono rivisto con Eve e siamo ripartiti il 21 all’alba per Amsterdam e di seguito Lima…

Cercherò di mantenervi aggiornati sul viaggio che per noi è “il tanto agognato Viaggio” e di condividere con voi le esperienze, persone e colori e molto altro che incroceremo lungo il cammino che porta a Buenos Aires, che dovrebbe essere la nostra destinazione finale prima di rientrare in Europa..ma visto che abbiamo comprato dei biglietti “aperti”…chissà..ojalà

PS

Cercherò di scrivere nella mia madre lingua e in quella che iufficialmente mi ha adottato negli ultimi 5 anni perchè lo scopo di questo blog è quello di raggiungere più amici possibili e di condividere con più persone possibile la meravigliosa esperienza che questo viaggio rappresenta per noi che veniamo da un ambiente totalmente differente rispetto al Sud America.

Per quanto riguarda l’aspetto estetico del blog, sarà implementato strada facendo, una volta che avrò familiarizzato adeguatamente con tutti gli strumenti di personalizzazione che wordpress offre, che sono tanti!

Nel frattempo potete vedere le foto e i video sul mio spazio su Flickr ( sto aggiornando anche quello..)

Visto che il Blog per sua natura si presta ad esser utilizzato come strumento interattivo, non esitate a chiedere, commentare ..

“E’ il viaggio e non l’arrivo che conta veramente”

T. S. Eliot

Stepping upstairs into the Secret Society feels like stepping back in time. You pass under the watchful eye of famous Prince Hall Masons, among them Andrew Young, Jesse Jackson, Alex Haley, Nat King Cole. Once upstairs, you enter the casually elegant lounge modeled after a 1920s hotel lobby bar; its adjoining ballroom has been refurbished to the same tune. The ladies lounge offers Versailles-esque mirrors, fresh flowers, and other ephemera from an earlier era. And, of course, downstairs boasts Portland’s finest, Toro Bravo (no introduction necessary). Behind the famous kitchen lives a successful recording studio slash musician hangout. You could easily live here. You want to.

Read the complete story on Neighborhood Notes.

Middlemarch

Middlemarch
By George Eliot

There are books everyone tells you to read. Ulysses, War and Peace, something from Proust. And then you read them and think, That really wasn’t that good. The world has been telling me to read Middlemarch for years and so I went out and bought it, but it sat untouched on my shelves for almost five years. It was nearly 900 pages. Who has that kind of time anymore?

This summer, I decided I would make the time for it and so I brought Eliot’s masterpiece with me to Lakewood, Colo. I finally started the book in July, after laboring through Within a Budding Grove. As soon as I’d finished the very first page and been introduced to Dorothea and Celia Brooke, I felt like I was home again. Proust is amazing, of course, but reading Proust is traveling endlessly in a foreign country (Marcel’s consciousness) and after a thousand pages of travel, you just want to go home. Middlemarch brought me back.

Eliot writes with that familiar, 19th-century flow, drawing you into a universe entirely of her own possession, and does not let you go. The power went out for three days at my house in Lakewood and so I spent hours with Middlemarch, hardly putting it down for the day. I felt as if I’d fairly floated out of Colorado for the rest of the afternoon. It is a vast undertaking, but it’s a vast world she’s created. The people who populate this book are unusual because they are “historical,” but they are lovable, because we know what to expect from them; we’ve seen them operate before.

The exception to predictability, however, must lie entirely with Dorothea Brooke. She’s an extraordinary creation. I think we could all benefit from being more like her. A brilliant, thoroughly dynamic heroine, she makes the most mistakes and learns the most from them. Despite her often pitiable position, Dorothea fights despair with a heartiness that can only come from within. Her compassion covers all that she does. Speaking on behalf of poor Mr. Lydgate, she says, “What do we live for, if it is not to make life less difficult to each other?”

Eliot writes with force and beauty. She might be the most Tolstoyan of her kind. Her business is grounded in probing the complicated depths of human connection. The last lines of the novel hit me with a thudding power:

For the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs.

READ IF: There is no “if” here. I join “everyone” in telling you, quite simply, READ.

A few weeks back we had a house full of visitors from the UK and Australia and it was just such a fantastic atmosphere.  Mum and Dad (Sarah’s) came over first with Mary and Peter who are from Adelaide, Australia.  Eliot and I stayed with Mary and Peter when we travelled the world.  Then a couple of days later Chris and Ros arrived.  They also live in Adelaide, are very good friends with Mary and Peter and we stayed with them a couple of years back when we spent Christmas down under.  

Everything went so well – a walk around Oslo, up to Frognerseteren, the museums, Sognsvann lake, Sandvika - it was a busy time.  On the Thursday we went to the Folk Museum. 

It’s a great day out for anyone visiting Oslo for the weekend but go on a dry day – a lot of it is outside.  Traditional buildings, old churches, paintings, craft houses – it’s fantastic.  We even came upon some stilts that we just couldn’t help but have a go at! 

The house was so quiet when everyone left – we need some more visitors!

The winter is fast approaching so in an effort not to turn into recluse, both Eliot and I are trying to build an active a social life through the language school, work and meeting friends.  But you can’t do everything together so I joined a local choir (great fun…when they don’t sing in Norwegian   ) and Eliot plays Innebandy…yes Innebandy (pronounced Iny-bandy).

I know it sounds a little like an indie music club for teenagers but Innebandy is actually an indoor version of hockey – also known as Floorball.  The sticks are light and shorter than hockey sticks (look a bit like plastic) and the plastic ball has holes drilled into it (26 holes to be precise).  It is believed that North Americans who migrated to Scandinavia created the game in the 1970s.  Started in Gothenburg in Sweden, the game quickly spread to the other Scandinavian countries as a recreation sport and is now taken quite seriously with championships.

So what has this to do with Eliot?  Eliot works with a guy who set up an Innebandy club after work so he decided to give it a try a few weeks back.  After the first time, he had to take the car to as he couldn’t walk any distance at all.  But he’s been playing for a few weeks now and slightly more adjusted.  Given that the game should be played 6 a side and they play with 4 people in total, they certainly get their fair share of excercise.

Jack Murphy, a former Eliot selectman, and long-time resident of the town lost his home to a fire on August 12, 2009. Please join friends, family, and those wishing to help Jack Murphy still feel at home in Eliot, as they host a community benefit featuring live entertainment at the Regatta Banquet and Conference Center, Route 236, Eliot Commons, Eliot, Maine.

Details of the event;

Murphyʼs Law Pub Night (A Community Benefit for Jack Murphy) featuring live entertainment by Two Fiddlers – http://www.laufman.org
Admission: $10.00 per person in advance,  $15.00 at the door  – *including heavy hors d’oeuvres and cash bar
Where: Regatta Banquet and Conference Center, Route 236, Eliot Commons, Eliot, Maine
When: Wednesday, October 21st, 5:00 p.m. – 8:00 p.m.

Celebrate Eliot’s community spirit by joining us for this special event honoring a prominent town leader, Jack Murphy. Enjoy traditional Barn Dancing music by award-winning performers, Jacqueline and Dudley Laufman, wonderful food and libation. All proceeds from the event will go to the benefit of Jack Murphy, who has recently suffered the loss of his family home.

Tickets may be purchased in advance from 9am – 3pm, M-F, at the following locations:

Regatta Banquet and Conference Center, Route 236, Eliot Commons, Eliot, Maine, Contact Mary Beth Muccio at marybeth@regattaroom.com or (207) 351-4623

Attar Engineering,Inc., 1284 State Road, Eliot, Maine
Contact Lisa Philbrick at info@attarengineering.com or (207) 439-6023

Greater York Region Chamber of Commerce, 1 Stonewall Lane, York, Maine
info@gatewaytomaine.org or (207) 363-4422

For more information, please visit; http://www.seacoastonline.com/articles/20090917-NEWS-909170422

How does Eliot explore and/or represent the concept of belonging in the first stanza of The Hollow Men?

Here are some ideas to get you started:

• Eliot explores themes of alienation, belonging, civilisation and the position of men within civilisation.
• Eliot uses the first person persona plural “we” to create a sense of inclusion for the reader. By saying that “we are the hollow men” Eliot not only suggests that he is speaking on behalf of a group to which he feels he belongs, but also suggests that we, the reader, are part of that group
• The lines ”we are the stuffed men…headpiece filled with straw” might allude to a scarecrow
• The similes used to suggest that men are “as wind in dry grass/Or rats feet over broken glass” give insight into his cynicism about civilisation and the role of men.

The Hollow Men
T. S. Eliot

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us—if at all—not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

.

Qué mares qué playas qué rocas grises y qué islas
Qué agua lamiendo la proa
Y aroma de pino y el tordo cantando a través de la bruma
Qué imágenes regresan
Oh hija mía.

Quienes afilan los dientes del perro, queriendo
Muerte
Quienes resplandecen con la gloria del colibrí, queriendo
Muerte
Quienes se sientan en la pocilga de la satisfacción, queriendo
Muerte
Quienes sufren el éxtasis de los animales, queriendo
Muerte

Se han vuelto insustanciales, reducidos por un viento,
Un soplo de pino, y la bruma que canta espontánea
Por esta gracia disuelta en su lugar
¿Qué es este rostro, menos claro y más claro,
El pulso en el brazo, menos fuerte y más fuerte
Dado o prestado? mas distante que estrellas y más cerca que el ojo

Susurros y sonrisitas entre hojas y pies apresurándose
Bajo el sueño, donde se juntan todas las aguas.
Bauprés rajado por hielo y pintura rajada por el calor.
Yo hice esto, lo he olvidado
Y recuerdo.
El aparejo débil y el velamen podrido
Entre un junio y otro septiembre.
Hice esto desconociendo, semiconsciente, desconocido, lo mío.
La hilada de aparadura hace agua, las costuras necesitan calafateo.
Esta forma. este rostro, esta vida, a mi palabra por la que no está dicha,
Por quien despierta, los labios separados, la esperanza, los barcos nuevos.
¿Qué islas qué playas qué islas graníticas hacia mis cuadernas
Y tordo que llama a través de la bruma
Hija mía.

.
Thomas Stearns Eliot
Marina
.

The following was written en route back to Singapore

1/10/09 and 4/10/09 — Written in parts above the mid-western US, and above the South China Sea

Second chances don’t come often.  Rarely do we get the opportunity to revisit something and either do something we knew in our hearts should have been done, or said what should have been said.  Over the past four days, I was lucky enough to have been given this opportunity.

If there is anything that can be learned from Eliot Kalmbach’s life, it was that you shouldn’t wait till tomorrow what you can do today.  Eliot was a man of action, consistently facing new challenges head on and taking care of the business he had at hand.  Last week after hearing of his passing, I was talking with Colin about the Eliot we both knew.  He remembered a quote that described him perfectly:  “If half the stories about him are true, then he was EPIC.”  It’s terribly unfortunate that it takes the death of somebody as great as Eliot to remind us all of our own mortality, but I really feel it has done so for me.  When I’ve seen people, I’ve listened a little closer, hugged them a little tighter.  I’ve taken the time to tell them I love them, and that it’s great to see them, regardless of the circumstance.  It’s given me a chance to say some of the things that I kept deep down in my heart, but was too bashful, or reserved, or protective of my own feelings to say in the first place.

When I first started the blogging thing last summer in South Africa, I wanted to try to stay clear of serious topics.  However, the “serious” topics that I thought I would be tempted to write about were related to social divides and inequalities, and the policies that either promoted the separations or worked to break them down.  I thought they would be instigated by my personal frustration at the fact that so many kids growing up in townships on the outskirts of Cape Town were given next to no hope, while the wealthy went about their daily business with a “hey, not my problem” attitude.

Never did I expect blogging to provoke the evaluation of my own philosophies and the reflection on issues much closer to my own life.  I never thought that my blog would be a platform where I would lay out my own thoughts on life and death and on one’s impermanence, or about and the ultimate footprint that a person leaves behind when they pass away.  I didn’t expect to further explore my own thoughts on these topics, and to question how I could go on to lead my life differently.  But if there is any light in the dark cloud surrounding Eliot’s death, perhaps it is this hyper-awareness of my own mortality, and how it has forced me to scrutinize my own values, actions, and thoughts.  This tragedy has helped me to put my personal reservations aside and to, slowly, begin to experience life more fully.  It’s meant that I’m saying things that I should have said long ago, or should say more often.  It started with the listening closer, and the hugging tighter, and the speaking from deeper within, but I know that’s only the beginning, only the surface of the change it could bring to my life.

Now begins the second phase of my PIA fellowship in Singapore.  I don’t know how exactly it’s going to be different, but I believe it will be for the better.  Going back to when I left Vancouver in August, the skies were cloudy and a slow drizzle was falling down on the streets, but the sun was bright above the clouds.  At the time, I considered in my superstitious, “meaning-to-everything” ways whether this dynamic provided a metaphor for the adventure I was embarking on.  When I left Vancouver yesterday/today (lots of flying this past week…), the air was crisp and cold, but the sun was shining brightly.    Whether these simplistic events were meant to be “a sign” or not is irrelevent.  What is important is that beyond these observations of the mundane, how can I learn from them to become a better, smarter, wiser person.  How can I learn from tuning into life, so that I make it a better place for those around me.

While there have been times that I have contemplated some the deeper meanings of life with friends and family, it’s unusual of me to actually put these thoughts I have had into words.  Similarly to the post where I described how I reacted after hearing news of Eliot’s death, I wonder why I’m putting these thoughts in a public setting, as opposed to mulling over them in my head.  Do I think I feel enlightened and have some higher form of wisdom that must be shared?  Not really…  Maybe it’s some narcissistic compulsion that is a part of my own personal grieving process.  Maybe I feel the need to find meaning from something so tragic.  Like the weather, it doesn’t matter if it’s a sign, or it comes with a deeper meaning… it just is.  If there is good to come from it, great–if not, hopefully there’s no bad.  Ultimately, life will go on, and the sun will shine another day; at the very least, hopefully these reflections simply lead to me being a better person every time it does.

———————-

Bed time–up in 4 hours for work…

Pigi Colognesi

Non riusciva proprio ad addormentarsi, quella notte dell’undici settembre. Tra pochi giorni sarebbe stato il settimo anniversario della sua elezione a Sommo Pontefice. E lui, in quella notte del 1683, lui, l’undicesimo papa che portava il nome di Innocenzo, proprio non era tranquillo. Lo preoccupavano la lentezza con cui avanzavano i suoi tentativi di riforma della curia romana e la sorda ostilità di tanti prelati che pure l’avrebbero dovuta sostenere. Lo preoccupava l’andamento delle missioni nei paesi lontani, su cui si teneva costantemente informato e che trovava tanti ostacoli. Lo preoccupava l’ansia di fare della Chiesa l’autentica madre per tutti i poveri e la sicura maestra della vera fede, mentre spesso i suoi uomini privilegiavano il fasto e i suoi intellettuali seminavano dubbi.

Ma quello che lo angustiava nel profondo dell’animo era la minaccia turca. Dal 14 luglio ingenti truppe del sultano Mehemet IV, al comando dell’implacabile Kara Mustafa, assediavano Vienna. Tutti sapevano che se gli ottomani avessero preso la capitale dell’impero asburgico l’ondata turca non si sarebbe più fermata e sarebbe potuta arrivare – Dio non voglia – a travolgere persino Roma. Il pericolo era enorme: il cristianesimo rischiava di essere cancellato dalla faccia dell’Europa.

Lui, Innocenzo XI, le aveva tentate tutte per convincere i rissosi re e signori cattolici a coalizzarsi per bloccare i turchi. Ma le gelosie, i calcoli politici, la speranza di qualche piccolo guadagno nazionale ostacolavano i suoi sforzi. E poi c’era il sovrano francese, Luigi XIV, che, pur vantando il titolo di «re cristianissimo», se la intendeva col turco e per danneggiare gli Asburgo pareva disposto a darla vinta agli infedeli. Che miopia!

È vero, c’era pure qualche speranza. Il re polacco, Jan Sobieski, si era mosso per dare man forte ai viennesi assediati. E poi quel frate cappuccino, Marco d’Aviano, era una vera potenza: aveva girato mezza Europa (solo a Parigi l’infido Luigi XIV non lo aveva fatto entrare) predicando la necessità di difendersi ai turchi, aveva convertito molte persone e la gente lo considerava un santo; ora era a Vienna e si sapeva che era un abile organizzatore, anche nelle cose militari. Sembrava che la mano del Signore fosse con lui. Ma Innocenzo non riusciva, comunque, a dormire.

Al mattino del 12 settembre finalmente le truppe cattoliche attaccarono gli assedianti. Nonostante la loro superiorità numerica, i turchi furono sonoramente sconfitti. Il pericolo che l’Europa perdesse il suo volto cristiano era scongiurato. Per ringraziare la Madonna, Innocenzo estese a tutta la Chiesa universale la festa, che fino ad allora si celebrava solo in qualche diocesi, del Nome di Maria.

Acqua passata, direte. Non proprio. Qualche verso dei Cori da «La Rocca» di Eliot, nonché il triste spettacolo che abbiamo visto nelle scorse settimane, ci aiutano a capire perché. Dopo l’esilio a Babilonia, il profeta Neemia tornò a Gerusalemme per ricostruirvi il tempio. Ma, dice Eliot, «C’erano fuori nemici per distruggerlo, / e dentro c’erano spie ed opportunisti, / quando lui e i suoi uomini posero mano a riedificare il muro. / Così edificarono come gli uomini devono edificare, / con la spada in una mano e la cazzuola nell’altra». Infatti «Siamo circondati da serpenti e cani: per cui qualcuno deve stare all’opera, e altri tenere le lance». La Chiesa è sempre minacciata dall’esterno e minata all’interno. Nessuno scandalo, ma una chiara consapevolezza: «C’è un lavoro comune / Una Chiesa per tutti / E un impiego per ciascuno / Ognuno al suo lavoro». Ai tempi dei beati Innocenzo XI e Marco d’Aviano, nel 1683. E oggi.

1683/ It is always September 11th

 He could not fall asleep that night of September 11th. In a few days it would be the seventh anniversary of his election as Supreme Pontiff. And on that night in 1683, the eleventh Pope who bore the name of Innocent was not comfortable. He worried about the slow pace of reforming the Roman Curia and the veiled hostility of many prelates who would still give him due support. He was concerned over the development of missions in distant lands, upon which he kept constantly informed and with which he found many obstacles. He was anxious to make the Church the true mother to all the poor and the safe teacher of the true faith, while her clergy often preferred pomp and her intellectuals sowed doubts. But what worried him most deeply was the Turkish threat. Since July 14, the troops of Sultan Mehmet IV, under the command of the implacable Kara Mustafa, had besieged Vienna. Everyone knew that if the Ottomans had taken the capital of the Habsburg Empire, the Turkish wave would not stop and might come–God forbid–to overwhelm even Rome. The danger was enormous: the danger of Christianity being wiped from the face of Europe.

 He, Innocent XI, had tried everything to convince the quarrelsome Catholic kings and lords to work together to stop the Turks. But the jealousies, the political calculations, and the hope of some small national gain hindered his efforts. And then there was the French King, Louis XIV, who, despite boasting the title of “Most Christian King”, as if siding with the Turks to harm the Habsburgs, seemed willing to give in to the infidels. What shortsightedness!

True, there was also some hope. The Polish king, Jan Sobieski, had moved to offer a hand to the besieged Vienna. And then that Capuchin monk, Marco d’Aviano, was a real force: he had toured half of Europe (only in Paris did the treacherous Paris Louis XIV not let him enter), preaching the need to defend themselves from the Turks, had converted many people and the people considered him a saint; he was now in Vienna and he knew he was an able organizer, even in military affairs. It seemed that the hand of the Lord was with him. But Innocent still could not sleep.

Finally, on the morning of September 12, the Christian troops attacked the besiegers. Despite their numerical superiority, the Turks were soundly defeated. The danger that Europe would lose its Christian face was averted. To thank the Virgin, Innocent extended to the universal Church the feast, which until then was celebrated only in some dioceses, of the Name of Mary.

Water under the bridge, you might say. Not really. Some verses of the Chorus from “The Rock” by Eliot, and the sad spectacle that we have seen in recent weeks, help us to understand why. After the exile to Babylon, the prophet Nehemiah returned to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple. But, says Eliot, “There were enemies out to destroy him/ And spies and self-seekers within, / When he and his men laid their hands to rebuilding the wall. / So we must build ‘with sword in one hand and the trowel in the other.’” In fact, “We are encompassed with snakes and dogs: therefore some must labour, and others must hold  the spears.” The Church is always threatened and undermined from the outside and the inside. This is no scandal, but we need a clear awareness: “There is  work together/ A Church for all / And a job for each / Every man to his work.” At the time of Blessed Innocent XI and Marco d’Aviano in 1683. And today.