Medellín Magi

Huge Wise Ones from the Medellín Alumbrados ~ 2016

"Three for the kings
bringing gold, bringing myrrh, bringing incense . . . "
1. Song of the Camels
Not born to the forest are we,
Not born to the plain,
To the grass and the shadowing tree
And the splashing of rain.
Only the sand we know
And the cloudless sky.
The mirage and the deep-sunk well
And the stars on high.
To the sound of our bells we came
With huge soft stride,
Kings riding upon our backs,
Slaves at our side.
Out of the east drawn on
By a dream and a star,
Seeking the hills and the groves
Where the fixed towns are.
Our goal was no palace gate,
No temple of old,
But a child on his mother's lap
In the cloudy cold.
The olives were windy and white,
Dust swirled through the town,
As all in their royal robes
Our masters knelt down.

~ Elizabeth Coatsworth (1893 – 1986)


2. The Journey Of The Magi
A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.
And the camels galled, sorefooted, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
and running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you might say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

~ T. S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
Collected Poems, 1909-1962
This poem has been shared here under fair use guidelines.


3. The Meeting Place

(after Rubens: The Adoration of the Magi, 1634)

It was the arrival of the Kings
that caught us unawares;
we'd looked on the woman in the barn,
curiosity you could call it,
something to do on a cold winters night;
we'd wished her well—
that was the best we could do, she was in pain,
and the next thing we knew
she was lying on the straw
—the little there was of it—
and there was a baby in her arms.

It was as I say the Kings
that caught us unawares—
Women have babies every other day,
not that we are there—
lets call it a common occurrence though,
giving birth. But Kings
appearing in a stable with a
'Is this the place?' and kneeling,
each with his gift held out towards the child!

They didn't even notice us.
Their robes trailed on the floor,
rich, lined robes that money couldn't buy.
What must this child be
to bring Kings from distant lands
with costly incense and gold?
What could a tiny baby make of that?

And what were we to make of it?
was it angels falling through the air,
entwined and falling as if from the rafters
to where the gaze of the Kings met the child's
—assuming the child could see?

What would the mother do with the gift?
What would become of the child?
And we'll never admit there are angels

or that between one man's eye and another's
is a holy place, a space where a king could be
at one with a naked child,
at one with an astonished soldier.

~ Christopher Pilling (b 1936)
[I first heard this poem, given as a reading
entitled "A Soldier’s Recollection," at
Ex Cathedra, 21 Dec 2017, Birmingham, UK]

More Magi
Three More Wise Ones
Magi and Fruitcake
"The Magi" ~ Peter, Paul & Mary

Mandalay Bay Cat

Favorite Pic from Las Vegas last summer ~ June 2017 ~
I encountered this independent feline
~ who bears a striking resemblance to our dear departed Pine ~
on the walking path at Mandalay Bay.
There was no way I could know this tabby's name or gender, but the following poem offers some helpful tips on feline etiquette should you find yourself in a similar situation:

The Ad-dressing of Cats
You’ve read of several kinds of Cat,
And my opinion now is that
You should need no interpreter
To understand their character.
You now have learned enough to see
That Cats are much like you and me
And other people whom we find
Possessed of various types of mind.
For some are sane and some are mad
And some are good and some are bad
And some are better, some are worse —
But all may be described in verse.
You’ve seen them both at work and games,
And learnt about their proper names,
Their habits and their habitat:
But

How would you ad-dress a Cat?

So first, your memory I’ll jog,
And say: A CAT IS NOT A DOG.

Now Dogs pretend they like to fight;
They often bark, more seldom bite;
But yet a Dog is, on the whole,
What you would call a simple soul.
Of course I’m not including Pekes,
And such fantastic canine freaks.
The usual Dog about the Town
Is much inclined to play the clown,
And far from showing too much pride
Is frequently undignified.
He’s very easily taken in —
Just chuck him underneath the chin
Or slap his back or shake his paw,
And he will gambol and guffaw.
He’s such an easy-going lout,
He’ll answer any hail or shout.

Again I must remind you that
A Dog’s a Dog — A CAT’S A CAT.

With Cats, some say, one rule is true:
Don’t speak till you are spoken to.
Myself, I do not hold with that –
I say, you should ad-dress a Cat.
But always keep in mind that he
Resents familiarity.
I bow, and taking off my hat,
Ad-dress him in this form: O CAT!
But if he is the Cat next door,
Whom I have often met before
(He comes to see me in my flat)
I greet him with an OOPSA CAT!
I’ve heard them call him James Buz-James —
But we’ve not got so far as names.
Before a Cat will condescend
To treat you as a trusted friend,
Some little token of esteem
Is needed, like a dish of cream;
And you might now and then supply
Some caviar, or Strasbourg Pie,
Some potted grouse, or salmon paste —
He’s sure to have his personal taste.
(I know a Cat, who makes a habit
Of eating nothing else but rabbit,
And when he’s finished, licks his paws
So’s not to waste the onion sauce.)
A Cat’s entitled to expect
These evidences of respect.
And so in time you reach your aim,
And finally call him by his NAME.

So this is this, and that is that:
And there’s how you AD-DRESS A CAT.

by T. S. Eliot (1888 - 1965)
from Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats

Some Fun Feline Father's Day Cards

"Happy Father's Day
from the pouncing, stalking
awesomest cat in the neighborhood!"
[card by Marian Heath]

"Happy Father's Day
to our Fearless leader!"
[card by Avanti]
Thanks to Ben & Cathleen for this one!

Darth Vader Cat ~ reddit

Looking Ahead to Halloween!

A Question of Apple Paring

An Apple - Peeling Coincidence!

"There will be time . . . for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate . . . "
~ T. S. Eliot ~
from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

***************

The Spell of the Apple Paring
Pare an apple, take the skin,
And fling it straight behind you;
Whatever letter it may frame,
That will being your true love's name,
And (s)he will surely find you.

The Apple Parings
With a sharp knife pare an apple
Round and round and round.
Toss the paring o'er your shoulder --
The initial found
Will be the one you'll marry --
Do not be afraid?
'Tis an old prophetic omen
Good for man or maid.

both rhymes found in
Halloween
Romantic Art and Customs of Yesteryear
by Diane C. Arkins (p 23)

***************

And this is just me, playing with the food
on my plate at Cafestar, Astana, Kazakhstan

What Groups Together

See my recent
Fortnightly Posts

~ Prepare Ye the Way ~
"In the room the women come and go.
Talking of Michelangelo."
T. S. Eliot
from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

~ Notes Toward a Heroine of Sensibility ~
"The whole of anything is never told;
you can only take what groups together."
from
The Notebooks of Henry James
and
Kitti's Book List

~ Suggestions for Sam ~
"Books are the way that
we communicate with the dead."
Neil Gaiman

from his essay:
"Why our future depends on libraries,
reading and daydreaming"

Harriet, Velma & Daphne

Some fun intertextual connections on my current
Fortnightly Blog Post:
1. Scooby and the Gang

2. Harriet and Friends

For more, see my essay "There on the Edge of Autumn"
featuring the writing of Jan Donley and T. S. Eliot

Copyright

A few brief excerpts from Jan Donley's story, "Blind"
and T. S. Eliot's "Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
available on my latest
Fortnightly Blog Post:
"There on the Edge of Autumn"
After having his manuscript of Sons and Lovers rejected, D. H. Lawrence exclaimed: "Curse the blasted, jelly-boned swines, the slimy, belly - wriggling invertebrates, the miserable, sodding rotters, the flaming sods, the snivelling, dribbling, dithering, palsied, pulse - less lot that make up England today. God, how I hate them."

Now, I realize that publishers and copyright attorneys are not one and the same. Still, I have to wonder if Lawrence would approve of how difficult and costly it can be to obtain permission to quote from his work. It certainly was for me anyway, back in the late 20th Century, though times are quickly changing (e.g., "The Captain's Doll" ~ on line!).

When I came across Lawrence's outburst on a page of literary insults, I was struck by the irony of the literary establishment's initially rejecting -- only to now so fiercely protect -- his work. The issue also came up recently when writer Jan Donley told me of the difficulties she was having in placing her short story "Blind": "I have not posted it because I was trying to get it published, only to find out that I need permission from Eliot's publisher to use the quotations in the short story. Sigh."

I could certainly commiserate with Jan about the copyright requests. Getting those permissions was one of the most disedifying experiences with publishing my doll book (dissertation) 10 years ago. Some were so kind, but others . . . not so much! Can you guess who was the meanest and the most costly -- The D. H. Lawrence Trust. So it looks like a similar crowd of Dickensian attorneys must have control of Eliot's work as well.

Another irony that has stayed in my mind -- one of the easiest to deal with and at minimal cost was the Angela Carter Trust, even though Carter had died young (at age 51, in 1992) and left behind a child, who deserved and could no doubt use the profit from his mother's work for his own education -- but no one was asking that from Carter's readers. On the other hand, there were no living relatives in receipt of the D. H. Lawrence money -- just some rule - bound law firm holding his work hostage and extorting the reading public!

I shortened the Lawrence passages as much as possible (not easy, since his short story "The Captain's Doll" was the focus of an entire chapter), but even then it cost me $250. And even though I had a "real" publisher (Assoc. Univ. Presses), I was responsible for paying the copyright fees (thank goodness for the McCartney Foundation!).

I called one of my advisors to be sure that I wasn't being hoodwinked by the copyright people, and he said, no, it's heinous, but that's the way it's done, and just bite the bullet and pay up, frustrating though it is! Really, I ask myself, is that what T. S. Eliot and D. H. Lawrence wanted? What would Jesus do, etc. etc. Still and all, I remain yours in scholarship, stumbling blocks and all!

Do I Dare to Eat a Peach?

Basketful of Peaches from a Neighborhood Tree

"And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” . . .
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. . . .
Do I dare to eat a peach? . . . "

from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"
by T. S. Eliot
A couple of weeks ago, I noticed that a neglected but nevertheless very healthy peach tree just up the street was dropping dozens of golden peaches. Those on the bough were absolutely perfect, and even the slightly damaged windfall fruit was too beautiful to pass by! As a public service, to prevent squashing and slipping, I picked up whatever had fallen on the sidewalk and in the street. Growing bolder each time I biked by, I started clearing the ground under the tree in addition to the street & sidewalk. However, I did not dare to touch any still on the tree! That might be robbing! But was this fruit really forbidden? I had to know! So, on my next trek up the street, I knocked on the door to ask if the householders were planning to harvest. A nice young man (student? renter?) answered and said, with some surprise, as though he had not yet noticed the bounty right outside the door, "No we are not! Please, take all you want, even from the tree." There you go: permission granted!

In fact, I couldn't really pick from the tree since all the fruit - bearing branches were just too high to reach without a ladder; however, for the next week, I went up once a day to harvest whatever had fallen and share with friends. At first there were dozens per day, ripening by the minute! A few times, even as I was bending over to retrieve peaches from the ground, a flutter of ripe ones would fall from the sky, landing right beside me! The harvest has gradually dwindled down to just one or two every other day or so, but during the exciting thick of the season, in addition to eating as many as possible whole and fresh, we baked two large peach crumbles for immediate consumption and froze four make - ahead pies for future feasts and holidays.

We took the first one from the freezer yesterday afternoon and baked it for the Purdue University Glee Club Ice Cream Social, where a piece of delicious pie was had by all:

Black Cat, Blue Willow, Russian Dolls:
This lovely Irish linen dish towel, a gift from Gerry's parents,
combines several of my favorite motifs!

See also
"Kiss Pie!" & "A Pie for Your Thoughts"

P.S. September 2016

Action = Eloquence, Freedom

"Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf"

from T. S. Eliot's The Four Quartets
Part I, "Burnt Norton"
A couple of days ago, Gerry told me that he had come across a really good quotation about action.

I got all excited and jumped the gun: "Oh is it the one about "right action is freedom"?

No, that wasn't it. Gerry's new quote was new for me also:

"Action is eloquence."

from Shakespeare's Coriolanus
I read Coriolanus once years ago but can't recall ever learning this passage. Thus, I'm counting it as a new -- and intriguing concept -- to think about. Or, even better, to act upon!

Still, though I couldn't quite put my finger on it, that other line kept echoing through my head: "Right action . . . right action . . . right action."

Then yesterday, in a completely unrelated search (or maybe not so unrelated after all!), I was browsing through my posts to find an Eliot passage that I wanted to share with a friend: we "are only undefeated / because we have gone on trying." As I got ready to cut and paste, can you guess what words came into my line of sight?

Let's hear it for connection and coincidence! Suddenly it all fell into place:
"And right action is freedom
From past and future also.
For most of us, this is the aim
Never here to be realised;
Who are only undefeated
Because we have gone on trying . . . "

from T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets:
Part III, The Dry SalvagesCentral Park in June

This Year's Words

Sunrise on Friday the Thirteenth[I've read many explanations for why the sun may appear as a horizontal oval, especially when setting, but none for why it would appear as a vertical oblong when rising. Does anyone know?]

"Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers."
from The Wasteland
by T. S. Eliot
A new year full of new words!

Some of the best New Year's words I know come from T. S. Eliot's "Four Quartets":

For last year's words belong to last year's language
And next year's words await another voice . . .
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make and end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from . . .
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.*

from the Fourth Quartet, "Little Gidding" (sections II & V)

*These great lines from Eliot have already
appeared a couple of times previously on this blog:
see ~ "Three Passions"
and ~ "Parallax"
A Little Window on Winter
These passages are from my latest fortnightly post
"This Year's Words"

Read more on
The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker:
A Fortnightly [every 14th & 28th] Literary Blog of
Connection & Coincidence; Custom & Ceremony

Rosemary for Remembrance

"I had not thought death had undone so many."
from The Waste Land
Part I: "The Burial of the Dead"
by T. S. Eliot
As Ophelia says,
"There's rosemary, that's for remembrance . . . "
Hamlet, IV, v
Wise words from my sister Diane, describing a life - changing sadness "that was hard to see, even a deeper or different sadness than losing [your mate] /other half of so many years. Life is hard, we were never told any different. But when those times come it sorta takes the breath away."

June 9, 2025

&

July 9, 2026