Two Poems by Me and Ed

It's been a while, so you get one of mine and one from Edmund Spenser. It's fitting that I post some religious sonnets, since this next group of my poems is from when I was a missionary in northern Italy.

Jonni
1996

And there is bounteous peace across the way
In trees where evening light is still and gray.
The old stone wall, long work of hands, still stands
With drapes of hanging ivy’s greening strands.
Above the wall dead pines mix well with live,
And showing soft their pink, the roses thrive
And break the hold of green and brown and night
And say, "Here’s peace, here’s constant, living light.”
The cobblestones below, that make the street,
Support a simple way for moving feet
To pass from here to there, but feet don’t move.
The man says, “All is good,” yet searches love.
He only sees the cars that pass and honk—
No vision for the trunk of tree, but trunk
Of car as “friends” drive by, not headed for
The peace, but to and fro outside his door.
“My friends pass by, and all is good. That peace
Is far. It’s peaceful here with all the noise.
All is good. The peace is here for me,
And look, there’s almost no one by the Tree.
I’d be alone with all the distant growth.
My God’s companionship’s not near enough."


Edmund Spenser 1552-1599

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin,
And having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
May live forever in felicity:
And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same again;
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
May love with one another entertain.
So let us love, dear love, like as we ought,
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

I think of the beauties . . .

Time to post one of my poems. I think I'll start chronologically with what I consider the first good poem I wrote. I'm not going to explain them because they are richer if I don't. If I feel like editing them now, I will. I'd love to know what you think. Maybe it will inspire me to start writing again.

I think of the beauties . . .
1995

Have you felt leaves of a fall maple tree
Shed on your face clean, fragrant rain?
Have you looked into the eyes of beauty
And seen a friend, and let thought sustain
A hope that a thought might quietly start
Within her soul and draw her near?
Have your words flown with your heart
Into the air where no one will hear?
I think of the beauties our lives briefly hold—
White on white clouds pierced by mountainous peak,
The earth’s welcome brown from which seedlings unfold—
Then one final beauty enters my mind,
For I have watched eyes hear me speak
And seen in their softness a heart that is kind.

Household Carbon Emissions

There is an interesting article on policy changes that could reduce carbon emissions in the US by a significant amount over 10 years, with minimal lifestyle changes. The Science Now synopsis is a little misleading, but a lot less work to understand. I believe both of these articles are freely available. If not, I'll try summarizing the PNAS article when I've had time to look at it more thoroughly.

www.pnas.org/content/early/2009/10/23/0908738106

Science Now Synopsis

Giovannino Guareschi--Italian Politcal Satirist

My dad introduced me to The Little World of Don Camillo when I was a teenager. I then went to Italy and discovered that Guareschi was quite a prolific writer. His most famous work is short stories about a small, fictional town in northcentral Italy on the plains of the broad, Po river valley. Don Camillo is the parish priest, and his arch rival and sometimes friend is Peppone, the communist mayor of the town. Guareschi spent two years in a prisoner of war camp in Germany during the last part of World War II. He later published the things he wrote to entertain his fellow prisoners during their time in the camp. There is usually a morbid bent to this humor, unlike his political satire, which can be serious or even sad, but is fundamentally positive. I read one of his brief journal entries, and found it very funny. It took me three readings to get the last line, though. I hope my English translation makes it easier for the rest of you. I've asked an Italian about the meaning of a couple of cultural references. He'll see if he can figure them out for me, but didn't know off the top of his head. I'll edit it when he gets back to me.

The Father
Once upon a time there was a father: a lordly man of notable dignity, two important mustachios, and formidable experience.

This father would say, scandalized, that the youth of his day never smoked, drank alcohol, danced, or stayed out late, never asked for money, never asked for new clothes, didn’t wear out the toes or heels of their shoes, never ate junk from pastry shop, never cruised around in cars, or wasted their lives at the movies, never lit matches and left the sticks lying around, never read the idiocies published in the newspapers, didn’t leave dirty water in the bathroom, didn’t murder all of their socks in the heels, never went without a hat, never planted themselves in front of the radiator, didn’t leave the lights on until two in the morning, never wasted time in frivolous pursuits like skiing, biking, playing tennis, or listening to various Semprini(?), never wasted money on mail(?), never tracked mud in the house, never asked what was for dinner, etc.

A most authoritative figure who made it his duty to teach that the serious minded man must never get involved in politics, but must only follow the masses and respect his superiors and the institutions of the State, and obey orders without ever questioning, thus avoiding, assuredly, any responsibility or trouble.

And the children treasured his fatherly teachings and, in this way, found themselves—surrounded by safe fences—the wisdom of the youth of their father’s day. And they didn’t smoke any more, they didn’t dance, didn’t stay out late, didn’t waste their lives at the movies, didn’t eat junk from the pastry shops, etc. etc.

But Papa, if we ever get home! . . .

The Quilt Project goes up tomorrow! (Around lunchtime, Oct. 24 in Australia)

I'll be checking it out when it does, and you can have a look, too, when the website comes online!

http://thequiltproject.blogspot.com

Sir Philip Sidney 1554-1586

That's all I know about him, but here's one of his sonnets:

Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light,
That doth both shine and give us light to see.
O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide
In this small course which birth draws out to death,
And think how evil becometh him to slide
Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.
Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see:
Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.

Finished Quilt Square

A website will go up with the entire quilt in late October. I'll put the link up when I have it. For now, here are some pictures a friend took of the finished product.