"One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture
and, if possible, speak a few reasonable words." ~Goethe

~ also, if possible, to dwell in "a house where all's accustomed, ceremonious." ~Yeats

Saturday, January 28, 2023

Emerald Eye

THE EMERALD: MYSTERIOUS AND MENACING,
ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS
Emerald, 1900 ~ Alphonse Mucha (1860 – 1939)
[Part of a Series ~ See Below]

I learned the following poem from my husband Gerry, who can still recite large segments from over fifty years ago, when he memorized it in junior high. He was inspired by looking through an old notebook belonging to his Grandfather Harry and discovering that Harry had written out the entire poem, longhand. Gerry cannot recall his grandfather ever reciting or reading the poem aloud; and, sadly, Harry (1891 - 1967) had already died a few years before Gerry found the notebook, so Gerry was never able to learn more about whatever special connection it was that Harry felt to "The Green Eye of the Little Yellow God." Perhaps it was just a personal favorite, and he enjoyed the discipline of writing it out word for word.

The Green Eye Of The Little Yellow God
There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.

He was known as "Mad Carew" by the subs at Khatmandu,
He was hotter than they felt inclined to tell;
But for all his foolish pranks, he was worshipped in the ranks,
And the Colonel's daughter smiled on him as well.

He had loved her all along, with a passion of the strong,
The fact that she loved him was plain to all.
She was nearly twenty-one and arrangements had begun
To celebrate her birthday with a ball.

He wrote to ask what present she would like from Mad Carew;
They met next day as he dismissed a squad;
And jestingly she told him then that nothing else would do
But the green eye of the little Yellow God.

On the night before the dance, Mad Carew seemed in a trance,
And they chaffed him as they puffed at their cigars:
But for once he failed to smile, and he sat alone awhile,
Then went out into the night beneath the stars.

He returned before the dawn, with his shirt and tunic torn,
And a gash across his temple dripping red;
He was patched up right away, and he slept through all the day,
And the Colonel's daughter watched beside his bed.

He woke at last and asked if they could send his tunic through;
She brought it, and he thanked her with a nod;
He bade her search the pocket saying "That's from Mad Carew,"
And she found the little green eye of the god.

She upbraided poor Carew in the way that women do,
Though both her eyes were strangely hot and wet;
But she wouldn't take the stone and Mad Carew was left alone
With the jewel that he'd chanced his life to get.

When the ball was at its height, on that still and tropic night,
She thought of him and hurried to his room;
As she crossed the barrack square she could hear the dreamy air
Of a waltz tune softly stealing thro' the gloom.

His door was open wide, with silver moonlight shining through;
The place was wet and slipp'ry where she trod;
An ugly knife lay buried in the heart of Mad Carew,
'Twas the "Vengeance of the Little Yellow God."

There's a one-eyed yellow idol to the north of Khatmandu,
There's a little marble cross below the town;
There's a broken-hearted woman tends the grave of Mad Carew,
And the Yellow God forever gazes down.


by J. Milton Hayes (1884 – 1940)
Speaking of green eyes, this poem reminds me of the ancient accounts of Nero looking at the world through a green gemstone.
"According to the records of Pliny the Elder, Roman Emperor Nero during gladiatorial fights looked at the arena through a concave emerald. In this way, he eliminated the glare of the sun and his nearsightedness . . . [perhaps] the first sunglasses in history. Ancient Romans valued emeralds (smaragdus) . . . [and] generally called all green beautiful stones emeralds. . . . Although ancient sources do mention Nero’s emerald, today the opinion is that Nero actually used another transparent stone with a beautiful green colour, such as olivine. . . . Thus, the word 'emerald' used by Pliny to refer to Nero’s 'eyepiece' cannot be read strictly according to our present-day criteria, but rather broadly – simply as a transparent green stone."
If you've ever watched the 1951 epic film Quo Vadis, you might have seen Nero ogling women through his emerald eyepiece. As described in the full text of the screenplay, "Nero grabs his emerald monocle, puts it up to his eye," and leers at Lygia from across the room, making crude sexist remarks to Petronius and Tigellinus. In the novel, after a split second of eye contact with Nero, Lygia is "straitened with terror" and suddenly re-possessed by a childhood fear of dragons:
" . . . it seemed to her now that all at once
the greenish eye of such a monster was gazing at her
." (47 / 79)

Even as his wife, Poppea, makes a grand entrance, Nero, continues to stare at Lygia, turning his "emerald monocle around in front of his eye like a prism." Poppea is so angered that she snatches the monocle out of his hand, demanding that he look at her instead.

In retaliation, Nero tears a ruby from Poppea's neck, twirling the stone in front of his eye until its facets, kaleidoscope - style, reveal a vision of Poppea with five heads. Nero threatens to "get rid of at least four of them," and angry Poppea warns him to "watch for your own head, Nero."

In the novel, Poppea's misgivings are revealed: "Wounded vanity quivered in Poppea, alarm seized her, and various fears shot through her head":
"Perhaps Nero has not seen the girl, or, seeing her through the emerald, has not appreciated her. But what would happen should he meet such a marvel in the daytime, in sunlight?" (65 / 101)
Petronius also has his doubts. When he views the dissolute assemblage of party guests through Nero's emerald monocle. Rather than softening the view, the eerie green light heightens the harshness of their intemperance. Petronius returns the jewel to Nero, along with these poetic words of warning:

"Close your ears, Nero,
lest the words of fools hurt them.
Your world is like an emerald.
Rare and fragile."

Nero's emerald eyepiece appears throughout the story (both film & book) as a symbol of his evil vision. He peers into it to enhance his view of carnage and public torture. It enables him to focus his attention on lions and gladiators, otherwise too far for his view across the amphitheater. He takes a gleeful delight in the magnification of every sinister detail.

Quo Vadis, the movie, is based on the novel (1895 - 96) by Henryk Sienkiewicz (1846 – 1916), a saga of early Roman Christian times, standing alongside such historical fiction as Ben Hur and The Robe. The strongest connection for me, however, was the imagery of Nero's gemstone, so similar to the colored beads described by Ralph Waldo Emerson; and the windowpanes described by Gustave Flaubert, and Philippa Pearce.

In his 1844 essay "Experience," Emerson compares life to "a string of beads, and as we pass through them they prove to be many-colored lenses which paint the world their own hue, and each shows only what lies in its focus." We hold beads of experience to the light, watching them become prisms, deciding which of the many colors we feel most moved by, which bead, which color we will choose. To choose but one hue is to choose a dream, an illusion, but such is our inability to perceive experience in more than one way at a time.

Writing in France a few years later (1857), in a section sadly omitted from the final version of Madame Bovary, Flaubert pictures Emma looking out at the countryside through the variously colored window panes of a guest cottage: yellow, blue, green, red, each color altering her impression of the experience. Like Nero's emerald, through the green pane, everything appears leaden and frozen; like his ruby, through the red pane, the landscape is so frightening that Emma averts her gaze back to a clear pane of glass.

Writing a century later, British author Philippa Pearce described an incredibly similar scene, from a child's perspective, in her mystical young adult novel Tom's Midnight Garden (1958):
Tom and Hatty looked through "the coloured panes that bordered the glass panelling of the upper half [of the doorway of the greenhouse]. Through each colour of pane, you could see a different garden outside. Through the green pane, Tom saw a garden with green flowers under a green sky; even the geraniums were green-black. Through the red pane lay a garden as he might have seen it through the redness of shut eyelids. The purple glass filled the garden with thunderous shadow and with oncoming night. The yellow glass seemed to drench it in lemonade."
Which vision will it be: yellow, red, purple, green?
The Four Jewels ~ 1900
~ Topaz, Ruby, Amethyst, Emerald ~
Also of interest: The Four Seasons
[In three series: 1896, 1897, 1900]

Next Fortnightly Post
Tuesday, February 14th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST ~ Summer Books: I Did It
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com


As the samaras dried out:
Still Life with Book

Saturday, January 14, 2023

Out of the East, Into the West

SETTING UP THE CRÈCHE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~
We have owls, a wooden pig,
a shepherd girl, and a wise woman,
who also appeared on last year's post.

Last month, I enjoyed all the pre-Christmas commentary from various sources about the proper time to place the Holy Babe in the Holy Crib. My friend Natalia led one such lively discussion:

"To all those with a nativity scene:
Baby Jesus should NOT be out right now. . .
He was born CHRISTMAS DAY.
Is it Christmas Day? Absolutely not.
Put the baby away!

Growing up, we had some neighbors who used to set up their manger scene early in the season but hide the Baby Jesus in the bread box until Christmas Day because he wasn't born yet. These days, I'm not so sure that anybody even has a bread box. Or how about a bread drawer -- that's what we had, although we did not keep the Christ Child in there!

Concerning Epiphany, my friend Megan asked if I was "slowly slowly building the manger scene and then ending on January 6th?" I had to confess that my Two Kings and One Queen were already in place, in fact, had been since the very first day. However, that's not to say that I don't thorougly admire those who have the discipline to put the Wise Travelers across the room at first, because they are still on their way, proceeding from afar.

Here is our set - up, including ice - hockey;
non-conventional perhaps, but not as odd as some!
In addition to previously posted Epiphany poems by Peter Yarrow, Elizabeth Coatsworth and T. S. Eliot; Muriel Spark and Sara Teasdale; and so many others, here are a few more in celebration of the extended season:

1. New to me this year,
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's
extensive re-telling of the Journey of the Magi:


The Three Kings

Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.

The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.

Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.

And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.

“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,
“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews.”

And the people answered, “You ask in vain;
We know of no King but Herod the Great!”
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, who cannot wait.

And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, “Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king.”

So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the grey of morn;
Yes, it stopped — it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David, where Christ was born.

And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.

And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.

His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.

They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body’s burying.

And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone,
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David’s throne.

Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.


By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)


2. This lovely lilting hymn,
sung so beautifully by Chanticleer:


Beautiful Star Of Bethlehem

O beautiful star of Bethlehem
Shining afar through shadows dim
Giving the light for those who long have gone
Guiding the wise men on their way
Unto the place where Jesus lay
O beautiful star of Bethlehem Shine on

O beautiful star the hope of life
Guiding the pilgrims through the night
Over the mountains 'til the break of dawn
Into the land of perfect day
It will give out a lovely ray
O beautiful star of Bethlehem Shine on

O beautiful star of Bethlehem
Shine upon earth until the glory dawns
Give us a lamp to light the way
Unto the land of perfect day
O beautiful star of Bethlehem Shine on

O beautiful star the hope of rest
For the redeemed, the good and the blessed
Yonder in glory when the crown is won
Jesus is now the star divine
Brighter and brighter He will shine

O beautiful star of Bethlehem Shine on


Lyrics by Adger M. Pace (1882 - 1959)
Music by R. Fisher Boyce (1887 - 1968)


3. And this deeply stirring favorite:

Out of the East ~ sung by Charley Pride

[lyrics to follow]

Words & music by Harry Noble, Jr.

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, January 28th

Between now and then, read
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com