All posts for the month March, 2010

Lesson from the First Semester in Bogota

New Every Morning

The mountains have a cloud on top of them
this morning. South of Bogota an hour
the paramo will lie in the dim glare
and pools reflect a grey, metallic sky;
the light shines with a brightness threatening
because it hurts the corners of the eye.
The frailejones push their pointed leaves,
grow imperceptibly in the weird light.

The panels of an early bus reflect
the white, fluorescent light. The grey bars shine,
the seats are hard; the panels of the floor
rumble away. Notice the people there.
The nodding, sleeping and the waiting face
look down, look out the window and avoid.
A pregnant woman stands: her hair is up,
the strays are tucked behind her too-large ears,
her cheeks puff out a little like a frog,
and on her features is a vapid look
as dully she assimilates: there is
before her an abruptly opened door;
she is distracted with something within
and deep, and it is good. The faces crowd
around this morning in the bus; they seem
today not beautiful but of the stamp
and character the country bears. The face,
together, of Colombians on the bus,
with their peculiarities of life
under these troubled skies, these broken clouds,
these clearing and serene, and these replete
with bright, white stars—the faces join to make
a constellation of Colombian type.

Out of the drought I ask the Lord for rain—
with vague unease, as one asks for a sign,
a token of the goodness of the Lord.
The skies are troubled overhead. There is
a chance. When in the station I receive
some small, preliminary drops I’m glad,
no . . . overwhelmed, and ask the Lord one day
to make me have the faith to ask for rain
unwaveringly, for rain from a blue sky.
With clouds today, with grey and mountain fog,
this is the way God gently leads the young.

God’s eyes are on the earth to show himself,
as he wants, strong. The Lord is good, and yet
we tend to think the Lord is easily
often offended or upset: we have
so many sins. The Lord knows all our deep
intractable pollution and is right
when justly angry with our sin each day.

We want to find protection for ourselves
avoiding the benevolence which from above
comes down like an invasion. The bright
metallic surfaces and light we would
be blinded to, protected from, walled-up
against. The lesson is not to be closed.

Here is a truth about our gestures:
the Lord rebuked the house of Judah once
when they refused to ask a sign, a sign
of the false piety of youthfulness.
Old men who do not ask for signs cannot
be old enough to die. Ask for a sign:
the Lord is known to work through means, and is
not distant; he is near and kind.
That he is good is true and beautiful.

Colombian culture does not tend to be
mechanically efficient but is full
instead of gestures and of meaning’s signs.
I think efficiency in many ways
is cumbered and inhibited by meaning.
The way you hand an object to another
matters here. Efficiency will yield
just cold efficiency, but if you wait
to hand you will receive again. Is that
not like the goodness of the Lord?
They notice like I do not notice, but
I notice that they notice and begin
to notice and to practice as they do.
It is a truth about our gestures,
and all truth is important. We must know
the truth in such a way that it is lived.

Inside the crowded bus if you go slow
and give the people time to shift aside
as you squeeze through, you turn your exiting
into an organismal effort. You
get out with a new sense of human touch
of contact, of withiness, something gentle
of being born into Colombian ways.

God also uses signs. “Ask for a sign,”
and is displeased when we do not. He works
through means to shine the brightness of his light
obliquely in our tender eyes even
on clouded, rainy days when all the pools
stare upward, blank. We grow as slowly as
the humble highland frailejones do.

The lesson is emphatic and pronounced
emphatically, harsh like blowing wind
upon the humble; glorious as the bright
and windy uplands near to heaven’s vault:
Do not protect yourself; you’re in the womb
and must be born out of this present world.

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by unknowing on March 31, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Colombia, Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 31, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/31/lesson-from-the-first-semester-in-bogota/

ClustrMaps

Interesting what one can do on the internet. I have a new ClustrMap down below the flag counter. It is young and probably therefore still interesting, if you want to click on it.

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by unknowing on March 30, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 30, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/30/clustrmaps/

Project Armageddon, or The Beam O’Doom: Putting the Lid Where It Belongs

1 When Upon Life’s Billows

The Criten wavered, indecisive and, of course, unusually so. What do to? How to face this latest? Should he plunge out into nothing? Chance it? Clamm, was close, and he needed to move, but this choice could mean the death.

Or not. And what other choice did he have? The Criten leaped for the ideational air-lock and activated the mechanism. The door was sucked shut, the system hummed, clicked, whirred very oddly . . . in a way the Criten had never heard an air-lock whirr . . . and then the outer door popped loose.

The Criten pressed it, holding his breath. A cargo hold. Breathable, albeit damp, air! He was safe . . . but, why did it say 1611 AV over the door? Was this still the transcendental arrangement playing tricks with him?

No, it was a ship, he could see a planet through the porthole . . . Jupiter! “By Jove!” he swore. Could he have ended up on a ship on course for earth?

2 Count Your Many Blessings

A quiet hum filled the bridge. The instruments twinkled in the operational twilight. Figures moved silently along the indicated walkways, silhouettes were poised at the farious stations in various attitudes of attention.

“Please check the beam,” the captain said.

“Roger, Bro Captn,” a voice said. “Anything we should aim for?“

“Try something unrelated, like a manual.“

“Roger, Bro Captn.” Then after a few seconds. “Halleloujah! It worked sir!“

“What’s it look like, Bro Barny?“

“Like the real thing. Gold edges and all.“

“That’s wonderful, just neat. Neat, neat, neat, neat, neat. Good.” The captain rubbed his hands together and twirled in his chair. “Bro Lieutenant?“

“Sir?“

“Set course for ki xi sigma, BroLly,” the captain ordered (BroLly being his abbreviation for Bro Lieutenant Harry Fox’s full title).

“Bro Captn, Sir, shall we change the dress code?“

The captain groaned. Not a big fan of the proliferating dress codes, he was reluctant to order the whole ship of going to the trouble of changing their clothes yet again, especially since full formal required him to carry a rolled umbrella, which was awkward onboard. But the occasion probably demanded it. It was, after all, Project Armageddon. It would be the solid thing to do.

“Order full battle dress, formal,” he said. “And let me address the crew.“

“Go ahead when you’re ready, Bro Captn.“

The captain cleared his throat and said, “Well, folks, this is it. We have some real solid work ahead, but it will change the world. We are going in on Project Armageddon. The beam is really neat and we are getting in position to shoot it. You’ll notice we have changed the dress code: it’s an important occasion and we need to live up to it. So let’s just have a worda prayer. Lord we thankya for the privilegenopportunity we have this day . . . “

3 And It Will Surprise You

Miles away, unsuspecting people all over the earth were going about their business, marrying and giving in marriage, eating and drinking, getting drunk, staying up late, making things clear and making them muddy, watching TV and wearing informal attire, raising chickens and devouring them. Some were reading their technical manuals or the Koran.

In the middle east, a camel stuck his nose into a tent, like a neo-evangelical trying to infiltrate fundamentalism (for all you history buffs out there), but that aint nothing to do with this story.

Well . . . it sort of is, you see, because there was a copy of the Koran sitting on a low stool and right before the camel’s unsuspecting eyes it became a brand new, gold edged, black leather with a red marker 1611 AV Red Letter King James Bible with the Old Schofield notes. The camel wasn’t used to that kind of transmogrification, so he blinked (I don’t reckon he’d ever heard of Schofield notes, old, new or otherwise). Then he tasted the Bible, but found it was not anymore his taste than the Koran had been formerly—not a solid, Schofield man . . . er, camel. The net effect was that he left it alone and withdrew from the tent, which was unheard of and probably the most singular event of that day save one.

4 When You Look at Others

“How’s the situation cooking along?” the captain asked.

“Roger that, Bro Captn. 10-40 would be putting it mildly,” said the first mate. “I reckon if there’s any snakes behind the toilet on this one, they aint coming out.“

The captain had always found his first mate’s language rather colorful, and wasn’t entirely sure it corresponded to full battle formal, but had no way of establishing a countervailing case. He had wondered, from time to time, whether he ought not to give the first mate a plant to keep in his quarters, as a litmus test to see if it withstood his language. But he was afraid the plant would survive and might even thrive, which would then become a hindrance in any argument he attempted when at last he found a way to settle the first mate’s language.

“That’s the trouble with these guys that went to secular universities,” the captain muttered to himself, fiddling with his umbrella. But he was pleased that project Armageddon was going as planned, and carelessly twirled the umbrella around. It opened abruptly, and the edge struck and recoiled from the captain’s control desk, plunging the handle into the captain’s gut.

“Bro Captn?“

“Yes, BroLly?” the captain said weakly.

“I had a doubt, sir . . . “

What now—the captain thought. He had managed to close the umbrella but was having trouble with the velcro thingy that kept it wrapped shut. He appreciated Bro Lieutenant Fox’s earnestness, but wondered if they guy had to always make a career of it.

“What about internet books?“

“Eh?”

“What I mean is, do you think the Armageddon beam will change them too?“

“Hmmm . . . never thought of that one. That’s good, BroLly, you should write it down so we can send it in.”

“Pop it right at them like a bat out of the toaster, Bro Fox,” the first mate said.

I can’t take more of this—the captain thought. He set the umbrella back in the stand beside his chair. “Bro First Mate Cadmus? Will you take over, sir?“

“Yes sir, you bet all the cotton balls in the jar I can. Once away and ten-ho, Bro Captn.”

“Thanks. I’ll . . .“

“That’s all right, Bro Captn. I know exactly where we can rustle you up from if anybody comes making requisitions, we’ll tell them where to grind their ax too. Hahahaha! Don’t let them getcha in broad daylight, sir! Not to worry, they’re dumber than toe-nail polish . . . bullet in the armpit . . . ” he pattered on.

5 When You Are Discouraged

The captain sank into the hot bath with a weary sigh. He squeaked his rubber ducky, but without any great enthusiasm. It has been a long day and he wasn’t sure the whole Armageddon project had been the best idea, though it had come down from on high.

From Accounticon, actually, which was all Captain Ferdingeld Mackenzi knew about it.

But the world, as we know, is not that simple. What lay behind Accounticon? Clamm, of course. And what was behind Clamm? Ah, well, that was still something of a secret, though the sage of Hinga Lum Dura was getting close on it.

But you mention Clamm and you think of the Criten, right? Of course. And the Criten?

You may well wonder. He had managed to find out a thing or two on the IDSF Starship and was working on the beam projector.

6 Thinking All Is Lost

“Bro Captain sir!” The intercom squawked.

The captain sat up violently and splashed some water out of the tub. “What’s that?“

“We seem to have encountered some lines of extenuating difficulty, sir, and we’re wondering if we should let sleeping dogs bark.”

“What do you mean by that, Bro Mate? Is there a problem with the beam?“

“Yes sir, Bro Captn. Sure is and no bones about this fish. Looks like some condensation, as they say. Looks like the tent’s is in the camel’s nose with this one, because it is definingly wet.”

“Condensation?“

“You bet your last umbrella sir; dollars to monkeys its got a problem with condensation forming water on it, or something similar, and it aint your mother’s milk.“

“Of course it isn’t, you idiot!“

“Exactly what I told Bro Fox not a minute ago.“

“Put BroLly through, you chump. I need someone who can talk English.“

“Easy as falling into a box of rocks, sir . . .” the first mate said, and the intercom clattered as he dropped the mouthpiece.

“Sir?“

“What is going on there, BroLly? Can’t I leave for a minute?“

“I’m awfully sorry, Bro Captn, sir, but the beam is acting up. Water’s coming out of it, and we think it is due to condensation.“

“Why would it form condensation, BroLly?“

“Cold.“

“Cold?“

“The warming mechanism at the heart of it isn’t working. It can’t maintain the temperature and since the atmosphere in the ship is so humid . . . ” here the Lieutenant coughed, uncomfortably, it seemed to the captain, and he wondered why that should be. “Anyway, sir, what with the humid atmosphere, and the cold heart, the thing is forming condensation which is understandably interfering with the algorithms.“

“How bad?“

“Turning a lot of books into NIVs, sir.“

“GREAT DAY IN THE PARK!!” The captain roared, leaping out of his bath. “They’ll have my head drawn and quartered for . . . what am I saying? Where is my towel now? RATS!!! Stop that thing NOW.“

“Roger that, Bro Captn,” the Lieutenant said. “Standing the beam down and maintaining orbit.“

7And You Will Keep Singing

Somewhere in the cargo hold, a snicker sounded, but it wasn’t heard by any of the crew. The Criten had struck again, and he kept saying to himself, rather gleefully: “Heart of Cold!” And added, ” Wait till I can tell somebody about this one. Talk about counting your blessings.” And he held up the missing Blessing-Rod-Mixer, which rather resembled a human appendix. He chortled and began to hum.

Clamm, on the other hand, was not pleased at this development, especially as there apparently were no spares on board.

And yet, as the ship orbited meditatively, a cheerful song was heard in the cargo hold, a faint drumming and a gospel twang.

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by unknowing on March 29, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Chronicles

Posted by unknowing on March 29, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/29/project-armageddon-or-the-beam-odoom/

Aint you been counting your blessings?

What bothers me most about some people is the sheer condensation of their attitude. Now I’ve been battling condensation since 1611AV because its something I don’t hold to.

Why do people have so much condensation in their attitude?

Answer: a cold heart. And what is the cure for a cold heart, now?

Listen to the Friends of Job Trio, with Elihu and an interloper not in uniform sing the song.

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by unknowing on March 29, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 29, 2010

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Kevin the Cannonball

I don’t know if any of you are so bored you will actually read this cutting edge conclusion that pretty much shoves all of Bauder’s pretensions to lead fundamentalism away from pure and solid ground down the toilet, but if here it is, in case it is overlooked. I was.

I have noticed that pseudo-fundamentalist blogs such as those of Don Johnson, SharperIron, David Doran, and others that I could name if I knew anything about them do not have links for me to get to HalleLOUjah land (HT, other chap whose blog vanished mysteriously and who seems to have known me), and it makes me wonder. I had to google “muddying the clearwaters bauder” to find it, but it came up pretty quick.

Pastor (not leader of no seminary) Marc Monte’s penetrating, intellectual exposure of Bauder deserves a laugh, and the significant bits from his pastoral harangue are not omitted. The post includes solid pictures of many of the people quoted, including one of Albrecht Mohler standing beside William J. Graham who is sitting in a golf cart (which is probably on a highway to hell).

I’d never seen a picture of the Rev. Chuck Ryrie, and there is one there of this fundamentalist pastor/leader if you are interested.

Especially illuminating is the take down of the Lordship Salvation Fantasy that has for lo these many years soiled the hands of John R. R. MacArthur. As the centered, red and helpfully bolded banner so aptly and sarcastically puts it:

Together for the Lordship Salvation Gospel

and the Lordship Salvation Coalition.

(WOOT)

Picture of John D.E.S.I.R.I.N.G.G.O.D. Piper also, with a hand raised even as his head is bowed. (Extrovert!)

_____________________

THAT’S MORE LIKE IT!!!

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by unknowing on March 29, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Fundamentalism

Posted by unknowing on March 29, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/29/kevin-the-cannonball/

What is a moment?

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by unknowing on March 27, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Questions

Posted by unknowing on March 27, 2010

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What’s Today? A Chatty Post

Today I studied and prevailed a bit. I’m still working on getting organized, and I think it is working. It pleases me, you know? It doesn’t make for conversation, but it pleases me.

* * *
Today it was foggy most of the day, which is wonderful. If it is foggy, it is chilly; if it is sunny, it is too warm. This city is just better all around if there is a bit of alternation between fog and sun, the former prevailing. I’ve worn a sweater all day long, I slept in and I’m staying up late, I meant to read and I have not. After days like this, its hard to go back to work, but one knows there are always cancellations to look forward too.

* * *
Had a big lunch today. We have a fancy place near us. Strange how that works here. Fancy, you know: they set the silverware on the tables around the space where the plate ends up, there is a little space between the tables, they serve your drink in a glass and even give you an ice cube, individually wrapped straws, cloth napkins. It is a fish place and it was Friday and it was lent. Went with the meat.

Fancy, remember? Nice chicken soup with noodles and potatoes and cilantro, nice salad, nice plain rice, nice huge salted potato, nice big piece of meat. But it was fancy, which means the hot sauce (aji) was out of this world. And the lemonade was very strong.

Nice atmosphere and not so expensive. Almost felt like ordering coffee. We’ll no doubt go back, when we need more atmosphere, quiet, and a simple but reliable menu.

* * *
And then it rained. Nice to go out afterward and see some of the mountain fog, to smell the rugged and romantic pines after the rain. When it rains, this city is transformed.

The land has been so dry. Yesterday Zipaquira out to the north was dry, but coming back along the north highway I saw the witchery of willows all a tender green, and the white flowering trees. In the misty park today with all the pines there were the yellow flowering trees as well, and the bright trees with glossy two-toned leaves.

* * *
I have two stories started. I was hoping to finish one but then I started dreaming about my name of the cover of a book, and it turned into a nightmare.

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by unknowing on March 26, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Unexamined Life

Posted by unknowing on March 26, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/26/whats-today-a-chatty-post/

Ad Fontes, a Mystical and Protestant View of Teaching

We do not disparage commentaries, study sheets, study Bibles and other such aids when we assert that they are not the word of God. They are useful, but in the end, if the teacher has studied these primarily, and not primarily studied the word of God, his teaching will be derivative. There are benefits to being derivative: it is usually safe, we need the wisdom of others, and we cannot understand everything ourselves. It is especially useful if we are mediocre students of the text of Scripture. But mediocre students will not make good teachers in the long run, and there are consequences to being mainly derivative.

Derivative teaching is teaching that is missing something. Something of freshness is missing, something of quality, even when what is told is all true, interesting and useful.

What is missing is the sense of a living encounter. When a teacher has studied the Bible, when he has pounded on the text like Luther, has wrestled with it like Jacob with God, refusing to leave until he has received something, when the teacher has done this, he comes to teach from a living encounter, an encounter that no other book can give or mediate. He comes, as it were, with something of a glow on his face from being in the presence of God.

In preaching and teaching the word of God, this, above all, is the quality to be desired.

Think about it, what else is at the heart of the idea that a preacher or a teacher has nothing of his own to say? He comes from the presence that gave the message. The word of God is like no other book, and when you go to study it, you go to encounter God. You come back with a better apprehension of his being. How can you come back from meeting God unaffected?

Holy Scripture does not mediate the word of God, it is the word of God. How can it be like understanding any other book? Of course you cannot bring a message if you don’t understand it, but it also makes a difference whether you receive it directly or mediated. It is the same message if it is mediated, but it is not the same messenger.

“I am Gabriel,” the messenger says to a dubious Zechariah, “that stand in the presence of God.” It carries its own authority, and the priest should have been sensible of it.

At the end of a life of being a preacher and aspiring to high ideals of preaching without considering himself to have attained them, but holding to high ideals nevertheless, Martyn Lloyd-Jones said very wisely that the aim of preaching was to give people a sense of having been in the presence of God. This, I think, is the heart of all our preaching and teaching in the congregation. A preacher conveys a sense of the presence of God by the power of the Holy Ghost, but he will not be visited with power from on high until he has met God in living encounter in the study of Scripture.

And this is why we must not be derivative teachers. Derivative teachers are mediocrities, and probably also boring if not interesting in all the wrong ways. We must learn from others, but internalize it. We must be better organized, but it has to grow from within. We must come to our teaching able to say that we have come from standing in the presence of God. If we are not able to do our study and use the commentaries for correction afterward, if our mainstay is not the word of God but the words of anybody else, we are still derivative teachers.

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by unknowing on March 26, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Articles

Posted by unknowing on March 26, 2010

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On Summer

Everything horrid that ever happened to me was in an August. But courage! Divine September, the grey mornings, the beady cobwebs, the delicious hint of frost in the evening, is at hand. There are hibernating animals: why no aestivating animals. I wd. be one, if I might.

—C.S. Lewis

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by unknowing on March 25, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Quotations

Posted by unknowing on March 25, 2010

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Then

There were no men and women then at all,
But the flesh lying alone,
And angry shadows fighting on a wall
That now and then sent out a groan
Buried in lime and stone,
And sweated now and then like tortured wood
Big drops that looked yet did not look like blood.

And yet as each drop came a shadow faded
And left the wall.
There was a lull
Until another in its shadow arrayed it,
Came, fought and left a blood-mark on the wall;
And that was all; the blood was all.

If there had been women there they might have wept
For the poor blood, unowned, unwanted,
Blank as forgotten script.
The wall was haunted
By mute maternal presences whose sighing
Fluttered the fighting shadows and shook the wall
As if that fury of death itself were dying.

—Edwin Muir, Collected Poems; Faber & Faber, 1960

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by unknowing on March 25, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry

Posted by unknowing on March 25, 2010

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The Dreamt-of Place

I saw two towering birds cleaving the air
And thought they were Paolo and Francesca
Leading the lost, whose wings like silver billows
Rippled the azure sky from shore to shore,
They were so many. The nightmare god was gone
Who roofed their pain, the ghastly glen lay open,
The hissing lake was still, the fiends were fled,
And only some few headless, footless mists
Crawled out and in the iron-hearted caves.
Like light’s unearthly eyes the lost looked down,
And heaven was filled and moving. Every height
On earth was thronged and all that lived stared upward.
I thought, This is the reconciliation,
This is the day after the Last Day,
The lost world lies dreaming within its coils,
Grass grows upon the surly sides of Hell,
Time has caught time and holds it fast for ever.
And then I thought, Where is the knife, the butcher,
The victim? Are they all here in their places?
Hid in this harmony? But there was no answer.

—Edwin Muir, Collected Poems; Faber & Faber, 1960

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by unknowing on March 24, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry

Posted by unknowing on March 24, 2010

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The Bug on the Glass

My Dear Criten,

On the glass–outside–this morning is poised an insect, mostly green. It has long, oval or perhaps teardrop shaped wings . . . about four. It has six legs and two long antenae. Its head is an isosceles triangle, with the tip being the right angle. Poised on both acute angles are what I take to be eyes, obviously facing in opposite directions–perhaps it has been drinking. It has, besides the head, three further articulations: the first is a bit conical, but not much, the second is like a flattened bead, and the third resembles the second except it has a long tail, so it resembles a peg or perhaps a clove.

I think it comes in peace.

What with the green (albeit pale) and the delicate patterns of the wings–all interlaced, spider-webby tracery–I think this alien may be of the Irish variety.

Wishing you all the best, and greetings from Lucky,

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by unknowing on March 24, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in correspondence

Posted by unknowing on March 24, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/24/the-bug-on-the-glass/

Two Books of the Same Kind

I’m getting near to the end of the second volume of the collected letters of C.S. Lewis. I haven’t read the first, and it has been a year of on and off reading this vol. I greatly relish my literary pleasures, and this has been a good and an unusual one. My favorite are his letters to his brother–I wish there had been more. But it is also interesting to note how he deals with different people, what he says to children, to his friend Barfield, to Sister Penelope who prayed and healed–apparently–a terrier and was trying to publish a translation of Athanasius, to Mr. T.S. Eliot, to the Americans who sent him ham and stationery, to Dorothy Sayers. And besides that, to learn more details about his life: his patience and sacrifice with Mrs. Moore.

I’m going to have to read Vol. 1 eventually, and also when it is available, Vol. 3, because I don’t know how else to replace such reading. And that is the mark of a good book: something you regret finishing because now it is over with.

I’ve found something not altogether like, but closeish. That is Boswell’s Life of Johnson. Before Boswell knew the chap, the account is not actually all that interesting. That lasts for almost 300 pages. But nearing the 300s it gets going, and the happy news is that there are still 1000 pages left. Not the most congenial for me, but certainly curious, lively, full of wit and with worthwhile things. And considering how much of this went into Lewis–to judge by what came out in the letters–not altogether a bad sequel as occasional and in-between enjoyable reading.

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by unknowing on March 23, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Books

Posted by unknowing on March 23, 2010

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On the Latest

The BBC has a page with links to rather diverse reactions to the latest bad news. Curios that Pajamas Media got on there. Not the Canadian response (interesting for the comments too) on PJM, but VDH.

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by unknowing on March 22, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 22, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/22/on-the-latest/

Festina Lente

I taught on the book of Job last evening, and reflecting on it, I realize that I have reason to repent what I did. I went too fast.

The reason I thought I had to go fast was that we have only six weeks to get through the whole book. This obviously requires more overview than detail, but in preparing for it I was not sufficiently organized to do more than stumble from detail to detail, rather than soaring as I ought to have done. One can cover the same ground with greater dignity if one doesn’t insist on taking a bunch of mincing steps.

I experimented with something new and the experiment failed. Of course, it was not really new: I knew how much time I had, and while I’m still getting to know how this group of people responds, it is nevertheless a group of people and some things can be predicted. To put it more accurately: I experimented, and I failed.

I should have known better: we are studying on the Lord’s Day, when nothing should be hurried; we are studying poetry, which ought to be done slowly since all art requires first of all contemplation; and, most importantly, when we are in the presence of the Lord of hosts we should go with reverence and dignity. If we must make haste, we should listen to Caesar and make haste slowly.

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by unknowing on March 22, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 22, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/22/festina-lente/

DISORDER AND FRAILTY

I.
When first thou did’st, even from the grave
And womb of darkness, beckon out
My brutish soul, and to thy slave
Becam’st thyself both guide and scout ;
Even from that hour
Thou got’st my heart ; and though here tost
By winds, and bit with frost,
I pine and shrink,
Breaking the link
‘Twixt thee and me ; and ofttimes creep
Into the old silence and dead sleep,
Quitting thy way
All the long day ;
Yet sure, my God ! I love thee most.
Alas, thy love !

II.
I threaten heaven, and from my cell
Of clay and frailty break and bud,
Touch’d by thy fire and breath ; thy bloud,
Too, is my dew, and springing well.
But while I grow,
And stretch to thee, ayming at all
Thy stars and spangled hall,
Each fly doth taste,
Poyson, and blast
My yielding leaves ; sometimes a showr
Beats them quite off; and, in an hour,
Not one poor shoot,
But the bare root,
Hid under ground, survives the fall.
Alas, frail weed!

III.
Thus like some sleeping exhalation.
Which, wak’d by heat and beams, makes up
Unto that comforter, the sun.
And soars and shines, but, ere we sup,
And walk two steps,
Cool’d by the damps of night, descends.
And, whence it sprung, there ends.
Doth my weak fire
Pine and retire ;
And, after all my hight of flames,
In sickly expirations tames.
Leaving me dead
On my first bed.
Until thy sun again ascends.
Poor, falling star !

IV.
0, yes ! but give wings to my fire ;
And hatch my soul, until it fly
Up where thou art, amongst thy tire
Of stars, above infirmity ;
Let not perverse
And foolish thoughts adde to my bill
Of forward sins, and kill
That seed which thou
In me didst sow ;
But dresse, and water with thy grace,
Together with the seed, the place ;
And, for His sake
Who died to stake
His life for mine, tune to thy will
My heart, my verse.

Hosea vi. 4.

Ephraim, what shall I do unto thee? O Judah, how shall I intreat thee? for thy goodness is as a morning cloud, and as the early dew it goeth away.

—Henry Vaughan

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by unknowing on March 21, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Poetry

Posted by unknowing on March 21, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/21/disorder-and-frailty/

Shutterbuggery

Here are some good pictures of various places, Ohio in the main, fields, stooks, barns and gothic, angular houses.

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by unknowing on March 20, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 20, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/20/shutterbuggery/

On the Internet

One of the frustrations with Edwin Muir is that he is recent, and when you google his poetry you can’t find it. It reminds you that his poetry is still within its copyright and can’t be posted without acknowledgments, permissions, etc.

His is a deep, mysterious poetry. I enjoy what I understand, and even what I don’t.

* * *
We had a noisy night. There are times when the whole neighborhood conspires. We are at the head of the first long weekend in months, and I think it is going to have its consequences.

* * *
The writing of stories, after I had spent the last half of last year producing five and getting stuck on three or four more, had languished. One gets a spate of rejections after one sends a lot of things out. But I got what was at least an encouraging rejection recently, and so it is back to the stories. One feels one is drawing nearer, and, actually, now there is a story of mine in print in a minor publication that boasts on the cover (every science fiction writer aspires to it) not only my name as a contributor, but also a woman with large breasts. I feel I have accomplished something with my life at last! If you want to read my story, click here, then click on the picture and scroll down a little way.

* * *
If you’re looking for another sort of link, go here and read David Yezzi on the need for the dramatic element in poetry. It is really good.

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by unknowing on March 19, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Unexamined Life

Posted by unknowing on March 19, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/19/on-the-internet/

History in English Words, by Owen Barfield

The book is fascinating, and useful for understanding where many of our words have come from. Moreover, it makes these easier to remember by giving them in associated waves. Giving the words in waves provides Barfield an occasion to comment on the temperament of the times and the interest of the people then. In other words, he can comment on the inner considerations that go along with the outer events that also affect people. So the book provides a history of ideas and of the tendencies of civilizations. What Barfield also does, and what he really wants to do, is to show us how human awareness of ideas has changed and grown over the years. He makes fascinating and interesting points about the evolution of consciousness just by looking at English words, their sources, changes and derivations.

Usually Barfield is difficult, but this book is not so, and is as interesting as all the rest.

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by unknowing on March 18, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Books, Words

Posted by unknowing on March 18, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/18/history-in-english-words-by-owen-barfield/

Worth a Laugh

Here is a sensible person.

This site is so SOLID! it cannot possibly be squeezed. And that is some outstanding, Bible-believing format being employed.

I don’t know how long this he or she will last at it (this kind of thing much depends on the audience), but fundamentalism ought to go with some sounds of hilarity, much as the stubbornness and folly of the leadership of fundamentalism saddens us.

Even more SOLID!

4 Comments
by unknowing on March 17, 2010  •  Permalink
Posted in Observations

Posted by unknowing on March 17, 2010

http://unknowing.wordpress.com/2010/03/17/worth-a-laugh/

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