Pithy Quote? Dark Humor? Potent warning?
A valuable artifact from the Indiana State Museum visit last week.
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This poem in today’s NYT magazine section appealed to me. I like the caption introducing the poem too. There is a poignancy about watching and living through our physical decay in the clear recognition of where it leads which I think can be appreciated as much by those who hope for continuance and reunion beyond the grave as by those who simply recognize the recycling that leads to renewal on a less personal level.
In case anyone had trouble accessing it:
Cataracts
By Kamilah Aisha Moon
When life scuffs & finally scars the eyes
they become turtles — withdraw inside themselves,
dive inside private marshes, dragging under
the once-girl they belong to, the dewy woman
who rolled them in pleasure, then cried her children
here, blinking back. They retreat into hardness,
she squints at every wound. After all, why this cruel
gauze now? Over 66 years of scenery, fate’s
scattershot survived thus far — have they seen enough,
growing armor that only a highly-skilled violence
can remove? She goes under, begs the rest —
tissue, organs, & membrane to please hold on,
still eager to behold (until that final haze)
some sliver of disheveled beauty. The eyes
of her dreams carapace, zig-zag & buzz trapped
inside latched windows. There is no surgery for this.
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Thanks for sharing this, Mark.
I think there is a warning here, too.
They retreat into hardness
have they seen enough,
growing armor
When we feel like we’ve seen too much and armor off our sensory organs, which blocks out the wonderful as well as the awful.
We all go down in the end. But I want to be singing, when I do.
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I guess you can’t do both. (And it is a sure anticipatory hope*, reality, not just pie in the sky.)
*As in “I hope to die.”
Nobody who isn’t in great pain of one kind or other “hopes to die”.
As for taxes, hope is irrelevant where death is concerned. Both are inevitable, as much so for believers as for non’s.
A sensitive believer who isn’t in a constant state of self hypnosis should be able to appreciate a poem like this.
Sorry to deflate your presumption, but I do. I enjoy my life here (it has not been boring!) and my Lord’s presence in it, but it well be better “on the other side of the Jordan.” You have a short memory?
I do, but prefer more pleasant dining.
A little light fare…would that there could be a requiem for war.
War Requiem
(From War Requiem: The complete text - Classic FM, link to a YouTube video at the end. A technicality to enjoy is Owen’s use of consonant rhyme in some of his verse. I bought the vinyl in the middle of Viet Nam half a century ago – if I still had it, it might be worth something. ; - )
Benjamin Britten’s War Requiem, compiled from poems by Wilfred Owen and the Latin Mass for the Dead.
The English translations of the Latin texts is reproduced in italics below each section.
I. REQUIEM AETERNAM
Chorus
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Lord, grant them eternal rest;
and let the perpetual light shine apon them.
Boys
Te decet hymnus, Deus in Sion:
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem;
exaudi orationem meam,
ad te omnis caro veniet.
Thou shalt have praise in Zion, of God:
and homage shall be paid to thee in Jerusalem;
hear my prayer,
all flesh shall come before Thee.
Chorus
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine;
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Lord, grant them eternal rest;
and let the perpetual light shine apon them.
Tenor
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons
No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.
What candles may be held to speed them at all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls’ brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
Chorus
Kyrie eleison
Christe eleison
Kyrie eleison
Lord, have mercy upon them
Christ, have mercy upon them
Lord, have mercy upon them
II. DIES IRAE
Chorus
Dies irae, dies illa,
Solvet saeclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando Judex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulchra regionum
Coget omnes ante thronum.
Mors stupebit et natura,
Cum resurget creatura,
Judicanti responsura.
This day, this day of wrath
Shall consume the world in ashes,
As foretold by David and Sibyl.
What trembling there shall be
When the judge shall come
To weigh everything strictly.
The trumpet, scattering its awful sound
Across the graves of all lands
Summons all before the throne.
Death and nature shall be stunned
When mankind arises
To render account before the judge.
Baritone
Bugles sang, saddening the evening air;
And bugles answered, sorrowful to hear.
Voices of boys were by the river-side.
Sleep mothered them; and left the twilight sad.
The shadow of the morrow weighed on men.
Voices of old despondency resigned,
Bowed by the shadow of the morrow, slept.
Soprano
Liber scriptus proferetur,
In quo totum continetur,
Unde mundus judicetur.
Judex ergo cum sedebit
Quidquid latet, apparebut:
Nil inultum remanebit.
The written book shall be brought
In which all is contained
Whereby the world shall be judged.
When the judge takes his seat
All that is hidden shall appear:
Nothing will remain unavenged.
Chorus
Quid sum miser tunc dicturus?
Quem patronem rogaturus,
Cum vix justus sit securus?
What shall I, a wretch, say then?
To which protector shall I appeal
When even the just man is barely safe?
Soprano and Chorus
Rex tremendae majestatis,
Qui salvandos salvas gratis,
Salva me, fons pietatis.
King of awful majesty,
Who freely savest those worthy of salvation,
Save me, fount of pity.
Tenor and Baritone
Out there, we’ve walked quite friendly up to Death:
Sat down and eaten with him, cool and bland,-
Pardoned his spilling mess-tins in our hand.
We’ve sniffed the green thick odour of his breath,-
Our eyes wept, but our courage didn’t writhe.
He’s spat at us with bullets and he’s coughed
Shrapnel. We chorused when he sang aloft;
We whistled while he shaved us with his scythe.
Oh, Death was never enemy of ours!
We laughed at him, we leagued with him, old chum.
No soldier’s paid to kick against his powers.
We laughed, knowing that better men would come,
And greater wars; when each proud fighter brags
He wars on Death - for Life; not men - for flags.
Chorus
Recordare Jesu pie,
Quod sum causa tuae viae:
Ne me perdas illa die.
Quarens me, sedisti lassus:
Redemisti crucem passus:
Tantus labor non sit cassus:
Ingemisco, tamquam reus:
Culpa rubet vultus meus:
Supplicanti parce Deus.
Qui Mariam absolvisti,
Et latronem exaudisti,
Mihi quoque spem dedisti.
Inter oves locum praesta,
Et ab haedis me sequestra,
Statuens in parte dextra.
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis acribus addictis,
Voca me cum benedictis.
Oro supplex et acclinis
Cor contritum quasi cinis
Gere curam mei finis.
Remember, gentle Jesus,
That I am the reason for Thy time on earth,
Do not cast me out on that day.
Seeking me, Thou didst sink down wearily,
Thou hast saved me by enduring the cross,
Such travail must not be in vain.
I groan, like the sinner that I am,
Guilt reddens my face,
Oh God spare the supplicant.
Thou, who pardoned Mary
And heeded the thief,
Hast given me hope as well.
Give me a place among the sheep
And separate me from the goats,
Let me stand at Thy right hand.
When the damned are cast away
And consigned to the searing flames,
Call me to be with the blessed.
Bowed down in supplication I beg Thee,
My heart as though ground to ashes:
Help me in my last hour.
Baritone
Be slowly lifted up, thou long black arm,
Great gun towering toward Heaven, about to curse;
Reach at that arrogance which needs thy harm,
And beat it down before its sins grow worse;
But when thy spell be cast complete and whole,
May God curse thee, and cut thee from our soul!
Chorus
Dies irae, dies illa,
Solvet saeclum in favilla:
Teste David cum Sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando Judex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus!
This day, this day of wrath
Shall consume the world in ashes,
As foretold by David and Sibyl.
What trembling there shall be
When the judge shall come
To weigh everything strictly.
Soprano and Chorus
Lacrimosa dies illa,
Qua resurget ex favilla,
Judicandus homo reus:
Huic ergo parce Deus.
Oh this day full of tears
When from the ashes arises
Guilty man, to be judges:
Oh Lord, have mercy upon him.
Tenor
Move him into the sun -
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it woke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Soprano and Chorus
Lacrimosa dies illa…
Oh this day full of tears…
Tenor
Think how it wakes the seeds -
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs, so dear-acheived, are sides,
Full-nerved - still warm - too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Soprano and Chorus
…Qua resurget ex favilla…
…When from the ashes arises…
Tenor
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
Soprano and Chorus
…Judicandus homo reus.
…Guilty man, to be judged.
Tenor
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?
Chorus
Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem.
Amen.
Gentle Lord Jesus, grant them rest.
Amen.
III. OFFERTORIUM
Boys
Domine Jesu Christe, Rex gloriae,
libera animas omnium fidelium
defunctorum de poenis inferni,
et de profundo lacu:
libera eas de ore leonis, ne absorbeat eas
tartarus, ne cadant in obscurum.
Lord Jesus Christ, King of glory,
deliver the souls of the faithful
departed from the pains of hell,
and the bottomless pit:
deliver them from the jaw of the lion, lest hell
engulf them, lest they be plunged into darkness.
Chorus
Sed signifer sanctus Michael
repraesentet eas in lucem sanctam:
Quam olim Abrahae promisisti,
et semini ejus.
But let the holy standard-bearer Michael
lead them into the holy light
as Thou didst promise Abraham
and his seed.
Tenor and Baritone
So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
And builded parapets and trenched there,
And streched forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! and angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
But the old man would not so,
but slew his son, -
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.
Boys
Hostias et preced tibi Domine
laudis offerimus; tu suscipe pro
animabus illis, quarum hodie
memoriam facimus: fac eas, Domine,
de morte transire ad vitam.
Quam olim Abrahae promisisti
en semini ejus.
Lord, in praise we offer to Thee
sacrifices and prayers, do Thou receive them
for the souls of those whom we remember
this day: Lord, make them pass
from death to life.
As Thou didst promise Abraham
and his seed.
Chorus**
…Quam olim Abrahae promisisti
et semini ejus.
…As Thou didst promise Abraham
and his seed.
IV. SANCTUS
Soprano and Chorus
Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus
Dominus Deus Saboath.
Pleni sunt ceoli et terra gloria tua,
Hosanna in excelsis.
Sanctus.
Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.
Hosanna in excelsis.
Sanctus.
Holy, holy, holy
Lord God of hosts.
Heaven and earth are full of Thy glory.
Hosanna in the highest.
Holy.
Blessed is he who cometh in the name of the Lord.
Hosanna in the highest.
Holy.
Baritone
After the blast of lighning from the East,
The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot Throne;
After the drums of time have rolled and ceased,
And by the bronze west long retreat is blown,
Shall life renew these bodies? Of a truth
All death will He annul, all tears assuage? -
Fill the void veins of Life again with youth,
And wash, with an immortal water, Age?
When I do ask white Age he saith not so:
“My head hangs weighed with snow.”
And when I hearken to the Earth, she saith:
“My fiery heart shrinks, aching. It is death.
Mine ancient scars shalls not be glorified,
Nor my titanic tears, the sea, be dried.”
V. AGNUS DEI
Tenor
One ever hangs where shelled roads part.
In this war He too lost a limb,
But His disciples hide apart;
And now the Soldiers bear with Him.
Chorus
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,
dona eis requiem.
Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world,
grant them rest.
Tenor
Near Golgatha strolls many a priest,
And in their faces there is pride
That they were flesh-marked by the Beast
By whom the gentle Christ’s denied.
Chorus
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,
dona eis requiem.
Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world,
grant them rest.
Tenor
The scribes on all the people shove
and bawl allegiance to the state,
Chorus
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi…
Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world…
Tenor
But they who love the greater love
Lay down their life; they do not hate.
Chorus
…Dona eis requiem.
…Grant them rest.
Tenor
Dona nobis pacem.
VI. LIBERA ME
Chorus
Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna,
in die illa tremenda:
Quando coeli movendi sunt et terra:
Dum veneris judicare saeculum per ignem.
Deliver me, O Lord, from eternal death
in that awful day
when the heavens and earth shall be shaken
when Thou shalt come to judge the world by fire.
Soprano and Chorus
Tremens factus sum ego, et timeo
dum discussio venerit, atque ventura ira.
Libera me, Domine, de morte aeterna.
Quando coeli movendi sunt i terra.
Dies illa, dies irae, calamitatis
et miseriae, dies magna et amara valde.
Libera me, Domine.
I am seized with fear and trembling,
until the trial shall be at hand and the wrath to come.
Deliver me, O Lord, from eternal death.
When the heavens and earth shall be shaken.
That day, that day of wrath, of calamity
and misery, a great day and exceeding bitter.
Deliver me, O Lord.
Tenor
It seems that out of battle I escaped
Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
Through granites which titanic wars had groined.
Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
“Strange friend,” I said, “here is no cause to mourn.”
Baritone
“None”, said the other, “save the undone years,
The hopelessness. Whatever hope is yours,
Was my life also; I went hunting wild
After the wildest beauty in the world,
For by my glee might many men have laughed,
And of my weeping something had been left,
Which must die now. I mean the truth untold,
The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
Or, discontent, boil boldly, and be spilled.
They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
Miss we the march of this retreating world
Into vain citadels that are not walled.
Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
Even from wells we sunk too deep for war,
Even from the sweetest wells that ever were.
I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
Let us sleep now…”
Boys, then Chorus, then Soprano
In paridisum deducant te Angeli;
in tuo adventu suscipiant te Martyres,
et perducant te in civitatem sanctam
Jerusalem. Chorus Angelorum te suscipiat,
et cum Lazaro quondam paupere aeternam
habeas requiem.
Into Paradise may the Angels lead thee:
at thy coming may the Martyrs receive thee,
and bring thee into the holy city
Jerusalem. May the Choir of Angels receive thee
and with Lazarus, once poor,
may thou have eternal rest.
Boys
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine:
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Lord, grant them eternal rest,
and let the perpetual light shine upon them.
Chorus
In paradisum deducant etc.
Into Paradise, etc.
Soprano
Chorus Angeloru, te suscipiat etc.
May the Choir of Angels, etc.
Tenor and Baritone
Let us sleep now.
Chorus
Requiescant in pace. Amen.
Let them rest in peace. Amen.
This is both beautiful and excruciating, Dale. It’s the kind of thing that leaves one dumb-founded, simply unable to respond.
I read the lyrics at 3 this morning, (The Witching Hour, I call it). I’ll try to listen sometime, too. I think it’ll be a hard one.
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I was listening to “Art and Faith” (Fujimura) while I was tromping around the yard, looking for daffodils I planted last fall (like a squirrel). This section jumped out:
Hyde identifies the blind spot of modern economics and provides an alternative; he presents a hybrid model combining elements of market economies with his framework for a gift economy that would take into account creativity, the arts, and sustainability. He proposes inventive ways to share creative gifts, such as creative commons and agreements for open sourcing of creative gifts.
For me, reading Hyde’s book for the first time was like walking into the wardrobe that leads to Narnia. Hyde’s words reverberate into the enchanted heart of culture making, and the Good News presented in the Bible. Hyde writes: “A gift may be the actual agent of change, the bearer of new life. In the simplest examples, gifts carry an identity with them, and to accept the gift amounts to incorporating the new identity. It is as if such a gift passes through the body and leaves us altered. The gift is not merely the witness or guardian to new life, but the creator.”
Though Hyde does not go so far as to say this, the gift of God, “the bearer of new life,” is Christ, whom the New Testament calls not only the Savior, but also the Creator (Colossians 1:16). Christ is an example of a pure gift, and he is the Gift. During communion, the Gift literally passes through our bodies and leaves us altered (or altared, if you will)—both transforming us and sanctifying us. There is no reciprocity in this transaction: God likes to give one-way gifts that cannot be reciprocated. We cannot outgive or outgift God.
For a long time I’ve been thinking about Communion/The Lord’s Table and what I find to be the insufficiency of the memorial view that I’m most familiar with . [J. Todd Billings wrote a splendid book on the matter that I still need to finish.] Rememberance (alone) doesn’t seem to reflect what Jesus was doing, when he instituted it. We even call it The Lord’s Table, but we don’t invite him to join us there.
Hyde quote by Fujimura above, and Fujimura indicate what I think is closer to the reality and purpose. Jesus uses this gift and all that it represents to alter us.
Strangely, in a similar vein, I recently read Blood Music, which may seem to have nothing to do with all of this. But considering that what we bring into ourselves becomes part of us and also changes us, is a valuable tangent. Granted, we are not infected with intellegent noocytes, which will completely alter our biology and being. However, we take in other types of “intellegence” in the vast forms of media, in relationships, experiences and the like. Living our lives alters us. At least it should. We are not the fixed selves we like to think we are.
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He told them tales of bees and flowers, the ways of trees, and the strange creatures of the Forest, about the evil things and good things, things friendly and things unfriendly, cruel things and kind things, and secrets hidden under brambles.
As they listened, they began to understand the lives of the Forest, apart from themselves, indeed to feel themselves as the strangers where all other things were at home.
Fellowship of the Ring
In the House of Tom Bombidill
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I like that it challenges our human centric perspective. I wonder why so many think anything that isn’t all about us is superfluous, inessential and disposable. If I thought what gave rise to God belief was a centralized being apart from us I would try hard to imagine that we might not be the creature it was most concerned about or delighted in. Rather than assume what is highest regards it all as we do I’d be inclined to think from that perspective everything would be essential and wondrous. Our self absorption knows no bounds.
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Keller is not talking about the arts, but that still sure sounds like his Generous Justice.
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There is more I want to read [watch and listen to] than I have time left (in my week or in my life): Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering.
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It is not self-absorbed of a child to know that it is beloved of its father, nor is it selfish of a child to understand what its father has truthfully told them (he should tell them otherwise?). Imagine an artist’s favorite work or their favorite medium – they can’t have one? (I have a little experience – my sculpture prof in university asked me if I might change my major to art – I still want to be a sculptor when I grow up. ; - )
It would be better for us all if you did. 
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You know, it’s kind of striking to see how the desire of the self or selfish desire, is impervious to being denied, but how amazing is it that it can be redeemed. This is something I appreciate so much about how John Piper and Jamie Smith write about it.
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I’m provincial and not well read (and have senior memory to boot) and don’t know Jamie Smith, but pretty much the first hit I saw was this, and just the title is encouraging:
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My reading is pretty horrible. I do better with audiobooks. And even then I can’t listen to everything I like, or remember the main outlines of the ones I do. Definitely looking forward to that upgrade Elon has been talking about.
As far as pithy quotes, this article has ten of them from Smith’s book You are What You Love:
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A budding transhumanist! Wouldn’t have thunk it. ; - )
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Thank you for this. If only …
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