Hello.
Ouch!
Really?
Beautiful.
Where?
Look.
Peace.
Fire!
Stop!
How?
No.
Yes.
Sweet!
Now?
Goodbye.
Sentences? Discuss.
Monday, December 26, 2011
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Rudyard Kipling's "Mandalay"
I have been spending time enjoying all of Andrew Sullivan's remembrances of his friend Christopher Hitchens these last couple of days. It's funny how you find something else to be curious about, say, Stephen Fry and his wondrous performance as Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother, in the new Robert Downey, Jr.-Jude Law Sherlock Holmes movie. He was so wonderful and I knew I'd seen him before, but I just couldn't place him, so I came home and looked him up on the internet. He's best friends with Hugh Laurie, and a right Renaissance man. Author, playwright, actor, comedian, director, journalist, and well-known for a debate held in 2009 titled 'Intelligence Squared', where he and Christopher Hitchens paired off together against their opponents Ann Widdecombe and Archbishop John Onaiyekan in a discussion of the Catholic Church. Hichens the renowned atheist and Fry the humanist versus two well-known Catholics. That must have been something to see.
One of today's reminiscences is of Hitchens' love of poetry:
http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2011/12/a-poe.html
The key paragraph quoting Hitchens:
Yet very often, late at night, when I am not tired enough for sleep but too tired to carry on with absorbing or apprehending anything "serious" or new, I will walk over to the appropriate shelf and pull out the tried and the true: the ones that never fail me. And then I will always stay up even later than I had intended. And sometimes, in the morning, I really can "do" the whole of "Spain 1937" or "The Road to Mandalay," and can appreciate that writing is not just done by hand.
Mandalay by Rudyard Kipling
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
I feel so fortunate to have been exposed to this poem. It's bittersweet that it is because of the loss of such an amazing man of letters that I got my chance. Obviously, I know Rudyard Kipling, but there was nothing before what I read today on Andrew Sullivan's blog that would have spurred me to read this. It's wonderful, lovely and sweet and to read it feels like singing a song, and even if you can't sing, or think that you have no voice, you will hear yourself singing when you try this one. I did.
One of today's reminiscences is of Hitchens' love of poetry:
http://andrewsullivan.thedailybeast.com/2011/12/a-poe.html
The key paragraph quoting Hitchens:
Yet very often, late at night, when I am not tired enough for sleep but too tired to carry on with absorbing or apprehending anything "serious" or new, I will walk over to the appropriate shelf and pull out the tried and the true: the ones that never fail me. And then I will always stay up even later than I had intended. And sometimes, in the morning, I really can "do" the whole of "Spain 1937" or "The Road to Mandalay," and can appreciate that writing is not just done by hand.
Mandalay by Rudyard Kipling
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green,
An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat -- jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen,
An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot,
An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot:
Bloomin' idol made o'mud --
Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd --
Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow,
She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo!"
With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin' my cheek
We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak.
Elephints a-pilin' teak
In the sludgy, squdgy creek,
Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
But that's all shove be'ind me -- long ago an' fur away,
An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay;
An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells:
"If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else."
No! you won't 'eed nothin' else
But them spicy garlic smells,
An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells;
On the road to Mandalay . . .
I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones,
An' the blasted Henglish drizzle wakes the fever in my bones;
Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand,
An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand?
Beefy face an' grubby 'and --
Law! wot do they understand?
I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land!
On the road to Mandalay . . .
Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst,
Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst;
For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be --
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea;
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay,
With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay!
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
I feel so fortunate to have been exposed to this poem. It's bittersweet that it is because of the loss of such an amazing man of letters that I got my chance. Obviously, I know Rudyard Kipling, but there was nothing before what I read today on Andrew Sullivan's blog that would have spurred me to read this. It's wonderful, lovely and sweet and to read it feels like singing a song, and even if you can't sing, or think that you have no voice, you will hear yourself singing when you try this one. I did.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Christopher Hitchens, Andrew Sullivan and Friendship
Christopher Hitchens died today. Needless to say, for those of you who know Hitchens' writings - and know me - we did not have the same beliefs on a lot of things. His profoundly proud and passionately defended writings on atheism are what drew me to him. But I have learned more about him in the occasional mention at Andrew Sullivan's The Dish, where I am a devoted reader, and with whom I also have disagreements. That these two men, so different in so many ways, could nurture a friendship of truth and honor and admiration of one another is a beautiful thing. That our world as a whole, and certainly our politics here in the United States could learn so much from what these men forged, would be a wonder should it ever happen. It seems a miserable far away concept right now in this season of presidential campaign posturing.
We make note of a person's worth at their death. I wish we could all be more aware of the greatness of people and their value to each of us individually and to mankind as a whole during their lives. I am as guilty as anyone in doing this, though I feel so lucky to have had Andrew Sullivan guiding us through these last weeks of Christopher Hitchens life. He might not feel that he was doing this at all; his blog is nothing if not an at different times witty, deeply moving, oft times muddled, more times brilliant but always honest stream of consciousness. His sad, soulful postings lately, and especially today, about his friend have been such a wonderful testament to the man who was Christopher Hitchens.
Andrew posted this quote today about friendship:
"In a friend one should have one's best enemy. You should be closest to him with your heart when you resist him."
"Your compassion should be a guess--to know first whether your friend wants compassion. Perhaps what he loves in you is the unbroken eye and the glance of eternity. Compassion for the friend should conceal itself under a hard shell, and you should break a tooth on it. That way it will have delicacy and sweetness,"
I think this is so true. I think that if you cannot be honest and disagreeable with your friends, then you really do not understand what friendship means. Witnessing a beautiful friendship is an amazing thing. Having one is something nearly impossible to put into words, though I suspect Nietzsche and Sullivan have come right close to expressing it nearly perfectly in days past and today.
And go here to read an obituary. Fascinating to the end.
We make note of a person's worth at their death. I wish we could all be more aware of the greatness of people and their value to each of us individually and to mankind as a whole during their lives. I am as guilty as anyone in doing this, though I feel so lucky to have had Andrew Sullivan guiding us through these last weeks of Christopher Hitchens life. He might not feel that he was doing this at all; his blog is nothing if not an at different times witty, deeply moving, oft times muddled, more times brilliant but always honest stream of consciousness. His sad, soulful postings lately, and especially today, about his friend have been such a wonderful testament to the man who was Christopher Hitchens.
Andrew posted this quote today about friendship:
"In a friend one should have one's best enemy. You should be closest to him with your heart when you resist him."
"Your compassion should be a guess--to know first whether your friend wants compassion. Perhaps what he loves in you is the unbroken eye and the glance of eternity. Compassion for the friend should conceal itself under a hard shell, and you should break a tooth on it. That way it will have delicacy and sweetness,"
-Friedrich Nietzsche.
I think this is so true. I think that if you cannot be honest and disagreeable with your friends, then you really do not understand what friendship means. Witnessing a beautiful friendship is an amazing thing. Having one is something nearly impossible to put into words, though I suspect Nietzsche and Sullivan have come right close to expressing it nearly perfectly in days past and today.
Rest in peace, Christopher Hitchens.
And go here to read an obituary. Fascinating to the end.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Merry Christmas
SEASON'S GREETINGS!
I love the Christmas season. I love the decorations and the music and the philosophy of peace and good will to all. I am not religious, but I even like the 'reason for the season' stuff. I think that if people find comfort in their religion, that's perfectly fine with me ... so long as they don't scream it in my face!
As you all mostly know, my decorations for Christmas are decidedly themed. Here are a few photos from years past of what I mean:
Yes, that is an artificial tree. I like my Christmas season to last as long as possible, so I am okay with a fake tree. Up close it is obviously not real, but you really need to get up close to it to know that. It's a great looking tree and I have had it for years. And yes, all of the ornaments are dog-related. Hundreds of them. Oh, yes!
And it's not just on the tree that we have this theme. There are Christmas stuffed dogs, five small trees, two to three feet high, also adorned with doggie ornaments, a series of great pewter dog ornaments that hang from the bookcases, dog snow globes, etc., etc. And of course ... the caroling dogs:
Aren't they cute? I have over 30 of them. So adorable.
But my cutest decorations of all? My real dogs. My guys are always decked out for the holidays. This year it is a western-style scarf with pointsettias, festive red and green on a black background, and they really are darling:
Whatever your holiday, enjoy this season, and have a Happy 2012!
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