poetry

What of Art?

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Les Misérables

Les Misérables

The following was written in response to a comment by “nate” on a post at Millennial Star which discussed the merits of the new film Les Misérables. In summary, the commenter claimed that art is “just art,” and in the end is escapism, overrated, simple entertainment, will not change your life (no matter how great or inspiring it is), won’t have long term influence on your soul, is overblown, is an addiction, is short-lived, no matter how seemingly life-changing it is dangerous, an idol, a quick fix, a drug, not “real life” or a part of our “real world,” and a distraction. I thought such condemnation of art called for a reply.

Allow me to resuscitate art for a moment (as if it needs it).

Art is not simply entertainment. It’s not simply art. It’s not simply escapism. And it is certainly not simply a drug.

Art is found abundantly in most expressions of humanity, including the traditional forms of drawing, painting, sculpture, photography, and dance, but also in literature, industrial design, architecture, film, interior design, graphic design, puppetry, music, singing, drama/theatre, animation, poetry, woodworking, weaving, vocal performance, interactive media, calligraphy, printmaking, pottery, sound, and technology.

Without art, most of what we know in our world today would not exist. [Read more…]

The Universal Creation Song

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Music is a fundamental part of worship, and was even more so anciently than it is today.  Before the printed word made the sacred word so accessible to the masses, it was passed on from generation to generation orally.  But this was not just the spoken word.  In order for the word to be remembered and said the same way over and over again, over decades and centuries, a mnemonic device was employed to facilitate the reciter.  This device was music.  The sacred word, every word, was put to music.

This can be seen in the way the Bible is written in Hebrew, one of the oldest languages in the world.  In Hebrew, particularly the Hebrew Bible, there are cantillation marks that specify how the text should be sung:  [Read more…]

The Wolf, The Goat, And The Kid

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Woodcut. Author unknown. From "The book of pictures and parables, fables." 1859. Oxford University.

Woodcut. Author unknown. From "The book of pictures and parables, fables." Oxford University. 1859.

One of our readers, Walt, emailed me a link to a fable that is intriguing.  It is entitled “The Wolf, The Goat, And The Kid,” and was originally penned by the popular 17th century French poet and fabulist Jean de la Fontaine.

THE WOLF, THE GOAT, AND THE KID
by Jean de la Fontaine

As went the goat her pendent dugs to fill,
And browse the herbage of a distant hill,
She latched her door, and bid,
With matron care, her kid; —
‘My daughter, as you live,
This portal don’t undo
To any creature who
This watchword does not give:
“Deuce take the wolf and all his race!”‘
The wolf was passing near the place
By chance, and heard the words with pleasure,
And laid them up as useful treasure;
And, hardly need we mention,
Escaped the goat’s attention.
No sooner did he see
The matron off, than he,
With hypocritic tone and face,
Cried out before the place,
‘Deuce take the wolf and all his race!’
Not doubting thus to gain admission.
The kid, not void of all suspicion,
Peer’d through a crack, and cried,
‘Show me white paw before
You ask me to undo the door.’
The wolf could not, if he had died,
For wolves have no connection
With paws of that complexion.
So, much surprised, our gormandizer
Retired to fast till he was wiser.

How would the kid have been undone
Had she but trusted to the word
The wolf by chance had overheard!
Two sureties better are than one;
And caution’s worth its cost,
Though sometimes seeming lost. ((Jean de la Fontaine, translated by Elizur Wright, Jr., Fables of La Fontaine, University of California, 1860, link.  The original French version, “Le Loup, La Chèvre et le Chevreau,” can be read here.))

Comments?

Trailing Clouds of Glory

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The Lake District, England - William Wordsworth's home

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing Boy,
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows,
He sees it in his joy;
The Youth, who daily farther from the east
Must travel, still is Nature’s priest,
And by the vision splendid
Is on his way attended;
At length the Man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.

Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own;
Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind,
And, even with something of a mother’s mind,
And no unworthy aim,
The homely nurse doth all she can
To make her foster-child, her Inmate Man,
Forget the glories he hath known,
And that imperial palace whence he came.

–William Wordsworth (From Ode: Intimations of Immortality)

A Reply to Sonnet 18

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William Shakespeare once wrote a sonnet about love, probably the best-known among the 154 he wrote – Sonnet 18. I heard a beautiful song on YouTube this morning sung by David Gilmour and put to the words of this sonnet. It inspired me to write this reply:

What would thy lines in memory provide,
When life’s dear moments in our presence shine?
Thy constant words recall a former tide,
But lasting coupled souls far more we pine.
In heaven’s home where flames eternal glaze,
A thought so pleasant swiftly warms a heart;
Yet hand in hand together we’ll be raised,
A perfect seal upon our heads support.
The pen makes her a summer sun so bright,
Still there’s one Son whose gift comes most supreme;
Atonement brings us to the Source of light,
And further binds our love in endless beam.

So don’t chance breath or eyes alone to save,
That which the Christ can keep beyond the grave.

-Bryce Haymond