A few days ago I posted the poem I chose for "My Favorite Poem" Event, at the library. It was "How Can I Keep From Singing." Yesterday, President Donald Trump was almost assassinated, again. The war with Iran and Lebanon is still going on. Never mind, the numerous conflicts in Africa and drug wars in Mexico. I'm sure there are more situations I haven't named. Again, "How Can I Keep from Singing," comes back to mind.
I guess I'll resurrect my mantra, "All is passing. Only God abiding."
The book, The Bells of Nagasaki, takes us threw that fateful day. He was working when a blinding light, change of atmosphere, wind--it's hard to describe, threw everyone here and there. Some people were blown far away--dead. Dr. Nagai was buried under debris and gradually worked his way out. Those that survived tended to the wounded. "The blind leading the blind." They did what they could.
The most interesting part of the story is Dr. Nagai's eulogy. The was thankful for the end of the war. He was thankful for a stop of his country's suicide nationalism. He thanked God for a new chance. He thanked God for taking his wife and friends home.
May we all have his perspective in tragedy.
I'm spending a small fortune on Glenn Cooper Books. I couldn't find them in my library or the Minuteman Library network, as books. They were available, however on Hoopla.
With a little help from a librarian friend, I connected and read, Library of the Dead by Glenn Cooper. As usual lately, life was put on hold, while I read. At first, I thought I was reading a book of short stories. There seemed to be three stories. It begins in Medieval times, in a Benedictine monastery. The next story is the usual degenerate hero that Glenn Cooper has his readers lusting to meet. This hero is Will, an FBI agent. Lastly, the reader finds herself in Area 51--UFO land.
Once they all meet, it makes sense. As usual, the book is a fast-paced thriller. I think Will is in other books. If so, I'll keep you updated.
I heard this poem today that made me think of the novel "Hare." The poet, Norman Maccaig ran over a hare. We have all run over a squirrel, skunk, rabbit, etc. One time I hit a bird, rather a bird hit my windshield, and once a dog ran into my car.
This poem, Interruption to a Journey, states simple facts, but relives how I felt. It does this by meter. At least, that what I think. This is a simple experience, probably all of us have experienced. But the way it is written adds depth. We are forced to think about it. Only a poem can do justice to this experience. When we harm a living creature, it shouldn't be a small thing. Accidents change something. It leaves us in a different landscape.
The hare we had run over Bounced about the road On the springing curve Of its spine.
Cornfields breathed in the darkness, We were going through the darkness and The breathing cornfields from one Important place to another.
We broke the hare's neck And made that place, for a moment, The most important place there was, Where a bowstring was cut And a bow broken forever That had shot itself through so many Darknesses and cornfields.
It was left in that landscape. It left us in another.
Everyone has a hobby, be it watching TV, fishing, Facebook, etc.. There is something everyone enjoys doing, even if it's nothing. Well, even nothing is something.
Besides, what some people call nothing is really something to the person perceived to be doing nothing: to people working--reading is doing nothing
to some academics--sports are doing nothing
to some science nerds--liberal arts are nothing
to laborers--supervisors do nothing
to hedonists--praying is doing nothing
Well, you get the idea. Doing nothing actually is something to somebody. They are embracing something different from your something.
And that's something.
Yes, I'm racing through another Glenn Cooper thriller. This one is The Tenth Chamber. It's about a French archeologist who stumbles upon a cave with pre-historic paintings that make Lascaux caves primitive. Well, they both are primitive, but the ones at Ruac are still vibrant in color, movement and variety. The only problem is the town's people. They're really odd--really. That's the problem. The town doesn't want the publicity and there are plenty of reason why they don't.
Luc, the major character has his hands full when too many accidents happen. He gets pulled off the job. His best friend gets killed. Are they all accidents? I don't think so--too coincidental.
Tomorrow, I'm going to a "My Favorite Poem" event. I tried to find something apos pro to our times. I looked back to the sixty's era. People were angry with their government, a war was going on, and many protest songs were popular. I settled on an anthem of sorts because it mentions the craziness of that time but also offers hope. We sing it in church, called "Always Rejoicing." The folk singers usually called it "How can I keep from singing?"
It's origin seems to be a 19th century anthem, perhaps written during the Civil War. A Civil War certainly would have been the opportune time to seek hope amidst turmoil. Although some people associate the hymn to the Quakers. I can see it that, too.
Comparing the civil war times to our current polemics, I think these lyrics are apos pro. Whereas, you will hear about the political, military and anxiety-ridden disorder, what is emphasized, by the repeated last line in each stanza, there is always hope. Always.
A few days ago I posted the poem I chose for "My Favorite Poem" Event, at the library. It was "How Can I Keep From Singing...
