Friday, April 29, 2022

Banana Arbor

HAPPY ARBOR DAY!
Bananas growing
right in your own front yard!
Charleston, South Carolina

Banana Trees

They are tall herbs, really, not trees,
though they can shoot up thirty feet
if all goes well for them. Cut in cross

section they look like gigantic onions,
multi-layered mysteries with ghostly hearts.
Their leaves are made to be broken by the wind,

if wind there be, but the crosswise tears
they are built to expect do them no harm.
Around the steady staff of the leafstalk

the broken fronds flap in the breeze
like brief forgotten flags, but these
tattered, green, photosynthetic machines

know how to grasp with their broken fingers
the gold coins of light that give open air
its shine. In hot, dry weather the fingers

fold down to touch on each side--
a kind of prayer to clasp what damp they can
against the too much light.


Joseph Stanton (b 1949)
in A Field Guide to the Wildlife of Suburban O’ahu

Previous Arbor Day Posts
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2019
2020
2021
2022

"On the last day of the world
I would want to plant a tree . . . "
~ W. S. Merwin ~

*******************
Green & Leafy Charleston

Wednesday, April 27, 2022

Majolica

My Stovetop

My mother always diplayed these
late 19th C plates in our dining room.
They had been her grandmother's
(her mother's mother)

Antique Majolica Leaf & Flower Plate

&

Etruscan Begonia Leaf Tray
Griffen, Smith & Hill
approx value: $75 each

You know what looks beautiful on a Majolica plate?
Fresh asparagus from Gerry's garden!

Literary Tie - Ins

"What If the Majolica Plate"
by Jane Goldman

Majolica Poetry Event

Sunday, April 24, 2022

The Door Stands Open

Interior, Open Door at Etretat, 1920
by Henri Matisse, 1869 – 1954
"The door stands open in that home,
the special chair for us reserved.
"

You Know Who You Are: This Is For You My Friend

You went west to where mountains stop,
and did not stop but built a home,
a whole new life that was not new
to you but real as Kansas loam.

Always in your mind was that far
place whence you came and that far place
where you were. Distance you would bridge --
root, trunk, limb -- all the ways

you could say Friend and mean it such
a way no stream could be denied.
The door stands open in that home,
the special chair for us reserved.

Friend, take this small token, if you
will, as tribute from all of us
who have too long remained silent
about your heart and human trust.


by Jim Barnes ~ American Poet ~ b 1933
in The Sawdust War: Poems by Jim Barnes

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

Additional Jim Barnes on QK & FN & KL
Additional Henri Matisse on QK & FN

I picked this painting and this poem for today
in cherished memory of my lovely friend Celine,
fellow Kansan and luminous litterateur
~ 55 years of light ~
August 29, 1942 ~ April 24, 1997

Can it be 25 years gone already?


Additional Celine Carrigan on QK & FN & KL


P.S.
"Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.”

by Norman Maclean (1902 - 1990)
from A River Runs Through It

Friday, April 22, 2022

Earth Day Perspective

A Story for Earth Day
by my brother ~ at age 7
For additional grade school projects
by Bruce, circa 1964,
see Fall & Thanksgiving


Sam's Cosmic Perspective, 1997

Previously on Earth Day

Thursday, April 21, 2022

Spring Planting

Spring Planting at Town & Gown!
"May [or April!] is a rush to plant a hundred flower boxes with pansies, petunias, impatiens, and vining vinca and to mulch the hill of colorful perennials in the back of the Inn. These are our efforts to provide a suitable backdrop to the parade of caps and gowns that bustle with such excitement, such elegance, such promise, and such hope on their way to life's fulfillment."

from The Seasons at Walden Inn:
Signature Recipes from an Elegant Country Inn
(1997)
by Chef Matt O'Neill
Good For You!

Sunday, April 17, 2022

Canticles of Turning

A Favorite for the Season
Remember, O Thou Man
Words and music
by Thomas Ravenscroft (1582 - 1635)

A Song for Easter Morning
Reflections of My Life

The changing of sunlight to moonlight
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

The greetings of people in trouble
Reflections of my life
Oh, how they fill my eyes

Oh, my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

Oh, my crying (Oh, my crying)
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

I'm changing, arranging
I'm changing
I'm changing everything
Everything around me

The world is
A bad place
A mad place
A terrible place to live
Oh, but I don't want to die

Oh, my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home

Oh, my crying (Oh, my crying)
Feel I'm dying, dying
Take me back to my own home

Oh, my sorrows
Sad tomorrows
Take me back to my own home


By The Marmalade

A Song for Easter Evening
Canticle of the Turning

My soul cries out with a joyful shout
That the God of my heart is great
And my spirit sings of the Wondrous things
That you bring to the ones who wait
You fixed your sight on your servant's plight
And my weakness you did not spurn
So from east to west shall my name be blest
Could the world be about to turn?

My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears for the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!

Though I am small, my God, my all,
You work great things in me
And your mercy will last
from the depths of the past
to the end of the age to be
Your very name puts the proud to shame
And to those who would for you yearn
You will show your might, put the strong to flight
For the world is about to turn

My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears for the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!

From the halls of power to the fortress tower
Not a stone will be left on stone
Let the king beware for your justice tears
ev'ry tyrant from his throne
The hungry poor shall weep no more
For the food they can never earn
There are tables spread, ev'ry mouth be fed
For the world is about to turn

My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears for the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!

Though the nations rage from age to age
We remember who holds us fast
God's mercy must deliver us
from the conqueror's crushing grasp
This saving word that our forebears heard
Is the promise which holds us bound
'Til the spear and rod can be crushed by God
Who is turning the world around

My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears
For the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!

My heart shall sing of the day you bring
Let the fires of your justice burn
Wipe away all tears
For the dawn draws near
And the world is about to turn!


Lyrics by Rory Cooney
The World is About to Toon!

Friday, April 15, 2022

A Gentle Pool of Wine

In observation of Passover
& Holy Week:
a rare piece from Sam's brief phase as an iconographer ~ 1998.
Thoughtfully annotated by Grandma Rosanne.

Lyrics from Jesus Christ Superstar

Look at all my trials and tribulations
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine.
Don't disturb me now, I can see the answers
'Till this evening is this morning, life is fine.
Always hoped that I'd be an apostle.
Knew that I would make it if I tried.
Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels,
So they'll still talk about us when we've died. . . .

For all you care, this wine could be my blood.
For all you care, this bread could be my body.
The end! This is my blood you drink.
This is my body you eat.
If you would remember me when you eat and drink. . . .

In the Wine Time

Look at all my trials and tribulations
Sinking in a gentle pool of wine.
What's that in the bread? It's gone to my head,
'Till this morning is this evening, life is fine.
Always hoped that I'd be an apostle.
Knew that I would make it if I tried.
Then when we retire, we can write the Gospels,
So they'll all talk about us when we've died. . . .
Think while you still have me!
Move while you still see me!


Room Service at the Hotel Valley Ho


Close - up of Cafe Monarch ~ Scottsdale, AZ


Also for Holy Week
& more photos from Scottsdale,

see my recent post
"Palm Sun-day, Palm Moon-night"

@The Fortnightly Kitti Carriker
A literary blog of connection & coincidence;
custom & ceremony

Wednesday, April 13, 2022

Saffron Flame

"Set your life on fire.
Seek those who fan your flames."
House Specialitea
Afghan Kabob of Charlottesville, Virginia


"Flowers open every night across the sky,
a breathing peace and sudden flame catching."
Gorgeous Saffron Sky from the talented, generous
Missouri photographer: Jay Beets


“When light returns to its source,
it takes nothing
of what it has illuminated.

It may have shone on a garbage dump, or a garden,
or in the center of a human eye. No matter.

It goes, and when it does,
the open plain becomes passionately desolate,
wanting it back.”
poetry from
The Essential Rumi

[and so many more ~ as well as previously]

Saturday, April 9, 2022

World - Mothering Air

Mary of Open Arms
The Salt of the Earth . . . Just Don't Look Back!
Although she is facing forward, somehow, the texture
of this granular Madonna reminds me of Lot's Wife.

Unlike the enigmatic brass rubbings,
the origin of this household treasure is not a mystery.
Gerry remembers purchasing it for one penny (!)
at a jumble sale in England, in 1976.

As my friend Matt pointed out to me a few weeks ago, this blog needs more Gerard Manley Hopkins. In my attempt to address Matt's request, I have picked the following -- also appropriate to Palm Sunday weekend. It might not be one of The [10] Best Gerard Manley Hopkins Poems Everyone Should Read -- but is certainly one of the longest (including a very long title)!

The Blessed Virgin Compared to the Air we Breathe
[Cf., The Miracle of Oxygen]

WILD air, world-mothering air,
Nestling me everywhere,
That each eyelash or hair
Girdles; goes home betwixt
The fleeciest, frailest-flixed
Snowflake; that ’s fairly mixed
With, riddles, and is rife
In every least thing’s life;
This needful, never spent,
And nursing element;
My more than meat and drink,
My meal at every wink;
This air, which, by life’s law,
My lung must draw and draw
Now but to breathe its praise,
Minds me in many ways
Of her who not only
Gave God’s infinity
Dwindled to infancy
Welcome in womb and breast,
Birth, milk, and all the rest
But mothers each new grace
That does now reach our race—
Mary Immaculate,
Merely a woman, yet
Whose presence, power is
Great as no goddess’s
Was deemèd, dreamèd; who
This one work has to do—
Let all God’s glory through,
God’s glory which would go
Through her and from her flow
Off, and no way but so.

I say that we are wound
With mercy round and round
As if with air: the same
Is Mary, more by name.
She, wild web, wondrous robe,
Mantles the guilty globe,
Since God has let dispense
Her prayers his providence:
Nay, more than almoner,
The sweet alms’ self is her
And men are meant to share
Her life as life does air.

If I have understood,
She holds high motherhood
Towards all our ghostly good
And plays in grace her part
About man’s beating heart,
Laying, like air’s fine flood,
The deathdance in his blood;
Yet no part but what will
Be Christ our Saviour still.
Of her flesh he took flesh:
He does take fresh and fresh,
Though much the mystery how,
Not flesh but spirit now
And makes, O marvellous!
New Nazareths in us,
Where she shall yet conceive
Him, morning, noon, and eve;
New Bethlems, and he born
There, evening, noon, and morn—
Bethlem or Nazareth,
Men here may draw like breath
More Christ and baffle death;
Who, born so, comes to be
New self and nobler me
In each one and each one
More makes, when all is done,
Both God’s and Mary’s Son.

Again, look overhead
How air is azurèd;
O how! nay do but stand
Where you can lift your hand
Skywards: rich, rich it laps
Round the four fingergaps.
Yet such a sapphire-shot,
Stain light. Yea, mark you this:
It does no prejudice.
The glass-blue days are those
When every colour glows,
Each shape and shadow shows.
Blue be it: this blue heaven
The seven or seven times seven
Hued sunbeam will transmit
Perfect, not alter it.
Or if there does some soft,
On things aloof, aloft,
Bloom breathe, that one breath more
Earth is the fairer for.
Whereas did air not make
This bath of blue and slake
His fire, the sun would shake,
A blear and blinding ball
With blackness bound, and all
The thick stars round him roll
Flashing like flecks of coal,
Quartz-fret, or sparks of salt,
In grimy vasty vault.

So God was god of old:
A mother came to mould
Those limbs like ours which are
What must make our daystar
Much dearer to mankind;
Whose glory bare would blind
Or less would win man’s mind.
Through her we may see him
Made sweeter, not made dim,
And her hand leaves his light
Sifted to suit our sight.

Be thou then, O thou dear
Mother, my atmosphere;
My happier world, wherein
To wend and meet no sin;
Above me, round me lie
Fronting my froward eye
With sweet and scarless sky;
Stir in my ears, speak there
Of God’s love, O live air,
Of patience, penance, prayer:
World-mothering air, air wild,
Wound with thee, in thee isled,
Fold home, fast fold thy child.


Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844 – 1889)

World - Mothering Goddess ~ Oestara

Thursday, April 7, 2022

The Brass Rubbing Mystery

" . . . my idea of a perfect marriage is twin headstones side by side in a cemetery. . . . Whenever I went to a cemetery I always looked jealously at the names on the tombstones. Michael Rafter and Helen Rafter, James Totheroh and Ada Totheroh, Max Block and Jennie Block, names in stone beside each other forever. That was my idea of commitment. That was marriage. After years of fighting and infidelity, sexlessness and dirty looks, you could end up together in a dignified manner." (256 - 57)

~ Jennifer Belle ~
from her novel
High Maintenance
Back in the day, when Gerry and I first co-mingled our belongings, these two over - sized brass rubbings, rolled up safely in a cardboard tube, were part of the package deal. Sorting through the various options for wall hangings, we both agreed -- apparently without much discussion -- that these two prints deserved to be unrolled, framed and displayed.

For the next 15 years, they hung side by side in our various houses: first -- for 4 years -- on Covington Street in West Lafayette, Indiana; then in West Philadelphia for the next 8 years; and 3 more years in downtown Philadelphia. When at last we decided to return to Indiana, we carefully inventoried what items would or would not be making the move.
Kit: What about your brass rubbings?

Ger: My brass rubbings?

Kit: Yeah.

Ger: Those are your brass rubbings.

Kit: No, those are your brass rubbings.

Ger: Uh, no . . .

Kit: What?!?!
Neither of us could conjure up any clear -- or even hazy -- memory of how this noble pair had made their way into our lives.For 15 years, we had each been assuming that the Lord and Lady belonged to the other. Well, we couldn't leave them stranded in Philadelphia, so we brought them back to Indiana with us, hung them up in the stairwell, and have continued to wonder about their provenance for a further 18 years.

To this day, the issue has never been resolved. The brass rubbings, however, have found a new home, with a kind friend who is in the process of redecorating and agreed to adopt them despite their uncertain origins. We don't even know whose effigies they represent. Perhaps one day, it shall be revealed to us!

Thanks to friend & scholar Curtis Cottrell
for sharing the following poem:

An Arundel Tomb

Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd—
The little dogs under their feet.

Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.

They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.

They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they

Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,

Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:

Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.


~ Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985) ~
{previously}

Sunday, April 3, 2022

T & G ~ By Night, By Day,

By Twilight!
Holly held the curtain back at Town & Gown Bistro
so that we could see the Golden City!

Neon by Night

Sunshine by Day

Mimosas by Morning

Malbec by Evening

After Dinner Mood Lighting

We'll Be Back for Breakfast!

Ellie loves Town & Gown Bistro, where they always
know her name & they're always glad she came --
and her shirt kind of matches the cushions!

Once & Future Posts

May Day
All Felled

Spring Planting
night & day

gather
open
lattes
spiced coffee
whiskey
scenic views
autumnal ~ flora
leftovers

Previous ~ OPEN ~ Signs
Matt's Roses in the Parking Lot