Words, music and imagery
The following are poems, words, music and ideas that resonate well with our philosophy
The Peace of Wild ThingsWhen despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. - Wendell Berry Death is nothing at allDeath is nothing at all,
I have only slipped away into the next room, I am I and you are you; Whatever we were to each other, That we still are. Call me by my old familiar name, Speak to me in the easy way which you always used, Put no difference in your tone, Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we shared together. Let my name ever be the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant, It is the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well. - Henry Scott Holland, Canon of St. Paul’s Cathedral, London Appalachian Round UpTake me back oh hills I love,
Lift me from this lonely bed, Light my way with stars above, Curl soft winds about my head, Wash my feet in crystal streams, Cradle my arms in boughs of oak, Breathe the scent of pine for dreams, Wrap me tight in earthen cloak. - traditional folk song from Psalm 103As for man, his days are as grass:
as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more. "Years ago I found this quote from Psalm 103 to describe Usk. I still think it sums it up perfectly." Charles Cowling ”Nothing ceases to exist- there is no example of this in nature.. There is an entire mass of things that cannot rationally be explained. There are newborn thoughts that have not yet found form. How foolish to deny the existence of the soul. After all, that a life has begun, as it can be demonstrated that the atoms of life or the spirt of life must continue to exist after the body’s death. But of what does exist, this characteristic of holding a body together, causing matter to change and develop, this spirt of life.
I felt it as a sensual delight that I should become one with - become this earth which is forever radiated by the sun in a constant ferment and which lives - lives and which will grow plants from my decaying body - trees and flowers - and the sun will warm them and I will exist in them- and nothing will perish - and that is eternity” - Edvard Munch Danny BoyOh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide. But come ye back when summer's in the meadow Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow 'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so. And if you come, when all the flowers are dying And I am dead, as dead I well may be You'll come and find the place where I am lying And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me. And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me. I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me. - Frederic Weatherly I'd like the memory of me to be a happy one,
I'd like to leave an after glow of smiles, when life is done I'd like to be an echo whispering softly down the ways Of happy times and laughing times and bright and sunny days. I'd like the tears of those who grieve to dry before the sun Of happy memories when I leave when my life is done. - Carol Mirkel Landscape, September, 2010Looking at this landscape,
no words come but a tiny thread extends -- an anchor drops, my ballast lost is found love at last I'm home - Lara Hiller - Poetry Soup W A MozartW A MozartSoave sia il vento - aria from Cosi Fan Tutte
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMY3Ou9L5xE The words can be translated to: May the wind be gentle, may the waves be calm, and may every one of the elements warmly fulfil your wishes. The aria comes in Act I when the young men are leaving and the young women don't know when or whether they'll see their partners again. The women and Don Alfonso are singing a farewell, and as it turns out in the opera, things will never be the same again. Gabriel FauréRalph Vaughan WilliamsJules MassenetSupertrampHandelO Lord, whose mercies numberless from Handel's Saul. It's about one person trying to console another...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O6g-KxEBYwc Robert SchumannRomanze Op. 28 No 2
www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ny5gNCTZpk0 This simple but beautiful piano music is the very last piece Clara Schumann heard, at her request, played to her by her grandson Ferdinand Ray DaviesThank you for the days
This version with the Crouch End Festival Chorus www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVbvuYeecu0 Henry PurcellDido's Lament
When I am laid in earth (Dido's Lament) from the opera 'Dido and Aeneas' by Henry Purcell (first performance 1688), words written by Nahum Tate, performed by Andreas Scholl (countertenor). www.youtube.com/watch?v=9M2CN3Vnhrs Do not stand at my grave and weepDo not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep, I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I an the sunlight on ripened grain I am the gentle autumn rain, When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there, I did not die. - Mary Elizabeth Frye The Farmer among the TombsI am oppressed by all the room taken up by the dead,
Their headstones standing shoulder to shoulder, The bones imprisoned under them. Plow up the graveyards! Haul off the monuments! Pry open the vaults and the coffins So the dead may nourish their graves And go free, their acres traversed all summer By crop rows and cattle and foraging bees. - Wendell Berry Death must be so beautiful.To lie in the soft brown earth,
with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. - Oscar Wilde The Canterville Ghost To be as we were before we were bornPerhaps the best cure for the fear of death is to reflect that life has a beginning as well as an end. There was a time when you were not: that gives us no concern. Why then should it trouble us that a time will come when we shall cease to be? To die is only to be as we were before we were born.
- William Hazlitt essayist (1778-1830) If I should go before the rest of you
Break not a flower or inscribe a stone Nor when I'm gone, speak in a Sunday voice But be the usual selves that I have known Weep if you must, parting is hell But life goes on, so sing as well. - Joyce Grenfell 'Bois Epais'Ode to natural burial -
Lonely woods, with paths dim and silent A haunt of peace for weary hearted there's healing in your shade and in your stillness balm here, all who seek repose from the world's strife and clamour find a haven calm and secure and go forth strengthened and renewed - Jean Baptiste Lully |
Recension DayUnburn the boat, rebuild the bridge,
Reconsecrate the sacrilege, Unspill the milk, decry the tears, Turn back the clock, relive the years Replace the smoke inside the fire, Unite fulfilment with desire, Undo the done, gainsay the said, Revitalise the buried dead, Revoke the penalty and the clause, Reconstitute unwritten laws, Repair the heart, untie the tongue, Change faithless old to hopeful young, Inure the body to disease And help me to forget you please. - Duncan Forbes Sage advice, from an old guy...Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see. As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks. - G Snow (on Reddit) Invisible KissesIf there was ever one
Whom when you were sleeping Would wipe your tears When in dreams you were weeping; Who would offer you time When others demand; Whose love lay more infinite Than grains of sand. If there was ever one To whom you could cry; Who would gather each tear And blow it dry; Who would offer help On the mountains of time; Who would stop to let each sunset Soothe the jaded mind. If there was ever one To whom when you run Will push back the clouds So you are bathed in sun; Who would open arms If you would fall; Who would show you everything If you lost it all. If there was ever one Who when you achieve Was there before the dream And even then believed; Who would clear the air When it’s full of loss; Who would count love Before the cost. If there was ever one Who when you are cold Will summon warm air For your hands to hold; Who would make peace In pouring pain, Make laughter fall In falling rain. If there was ever one Who can offer you this and more; Who in keyless rooms Can open doors; Who in open doors Can see open fields And in open fields See harvests yield. Then see only my face In the reflection of these tides Through the clear water Beyond the river side. All I can send is love In all that this is A poem and a necklace Of invisible kisses. - Lemn Sissay LeisureWhat is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare. No time to stand beneath the boughs And stare as long as sheep or cows. No time to see, when woods we pass, Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass. No time to see, in broad daylight, Streams full of stars, like skies at night. No time to turn at Beauty's glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance. No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began. A poor life this if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare. - W H Davies Parta QuiesGood-night; ensured release,
Imperishable peace, Have these for yours, While sea abides, and land, And earth’s foundations stand, And heaven endures. When earth’s foundations flee, Nor sky nor land nor sea At all is found, Content you, let them burn: It is not your concern; Sleep on, sleep sound. - AE Housman Stopping by Woods on a Snowy EveningHe gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake. The only other sound's the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep, But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep. - Robert Frost The Way through the WoodsTHEY shut the road through the woods
Seventy years ago. Weather and rain have undone it again, And now you would never know There was once a road through the woods Before they planted the trees. It is underneath the coppice and heath, And the thin anemones. Only the keeper sees That, where the ring-dove broods, And the badgers roll at ease, There was once a road through the woods. Yet, if you enter the woods Of a summer evening late, When the night-air cools on the trout-ringed pools Where the otter whistles his mate, (They fear not men in the woods, Because they see so few.) You will hear the beat of a horse's feet, And the swish of a skirt in the dew, Steadily cantering through The misty solitudes, As though they perfectly knew The old lost road through the woods. But there is no road through the woods. - Rudyard Kipling Woodland BurialDon’t lay me in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall
Where the dust of ancient bones has spread a dryness over all, Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold. There kindly and affectionately, plant a native tree To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me. The roots will not disturb me as they wend their peaceful way To build the fine and bountiful, from closure and decay. To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the sun. - Pam Ayers (link to official website) My Orcha'd in Lindèn Lea'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleäded,
By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenèn grass-bleädes, timber sheäded, Now do quiver under voot; An' birds do whissle auver head, An' water's bubblèn in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leätley wer a-springèn Now do feäde 'ithin the copse, An' païnted birds do hush their zingèn Up upon the timber's tops; An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnèn red, In cloudless zunsheen, auver head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea. Let other vo'k meäke money vaster In the aïr o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish meäster; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teäke ageän my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea. - William Barnes (1801-1886) Onto a Vast PlainThis poem by Rainer Maria Rilke follows the course of change though seasons and captures the loneliness of uncertainty in everyday life. Yet there is a sense of connection to the earth and a feeling of humility in the final verse...
You are not surprised at the force of the storm-- you have seen it growing. The trees flee. Their flight sets the boulevards streaming. And you know: he whom they flee is the one you move toward. All your senses sing him, as you stand at the window. The weeks stood still in summer. The trees' blood rose. Now you feel it wants to sink back into the source of everything. You thought you could trust that power when you plucked the fruit: now it becomes a riddle again and you again a stranger. Summer was like your house: you know where each thing stood. Now you must go out into your heart as onto a vast plain. Now the immense loneliness begins. The days go numb, the wind sucks the world from your senses like withered leaves. Through the empty branches the sky remains. It is what you have. Be earth now, and evensong. Be the ground lying under that sky. Be modest now, like a thing ripened until it is real, so that he who began it all can feel you when he reaches for you. - from Joanna Macy and Anita Barrows' translation of Book of Hours by Rainer Maria Rilke |
