Late Summer Cranes

CRANES FLYING TOGETHER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

The Cranes

We thought they were gulls at first,
while they were distant-
The two cranes flying out of a natural morning,
They circled twice about our house and sank,
Their long legs drooping, down over the wood.
We saw their wings flash white,
Frayed at the black tip,
And heard their harsh cry, like a rusty screw.

Down in the next field, shy and angular,
They darted their long necks in the grass for fish.
They would not have us close, but shambled coyly,
Ridiculous, caught on the ground. Yet our fields
Under their feet became a fen: the sky
That was blue July became watery November,
And echoing with the cries of foreign birds.

By Anne Ridler

The Sandhills

The language of cranes
we once were told
is the wind. The wind
is their method,
their current, the translated story
of life they write across the sky.
Millions of years
they have blown here
on ancestral longing,
their wings of wide arrival,
necks long, legs stretched out
above strands of earth
where they arrive
with the shine of water,
stories, interminable
language of exchanges
descended from the sky
and then they stand,
earth made only of crane
from bank to bank of the river
as far as you can see
the ancient story made new.

By Linda Hogan

The Flight

We are two eagles
Flying together
Under the heavens,
Over the mountains,
Stretched on the wind.
Sunlight heartens us,
Blind snow baffles us,
Clouds wheel after us
Ravelled and thinned.

We are like eagles,
But when Death harries us,
Human and humbled
When one of us goes,
Let the other follow,
Let the flight be ended,
Let the fire blacken,
Let the book close.

by Sara Teasdale
Also Flight & Flight & Faults

~ Wedgwood Bell Kutani Crane ~
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, September 14th

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

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

At the Clavier

THE CLAVIER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~
Clavier = a variety of keyboard instruments,
including harpsichords, pianos, organs, and virginals.

The Music Lesson (c. 1662–1665)
aka Woman Seated at a Virginal
aka Lady at the Virginals with a Gentleman

by Johannes Vermeer (1632 - 1675)
Vermeer's "The Music Lesson"
explained by Meryl Streep

This post contains all of Goethe's suggestions for a good day:
"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."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749 – 1832) ~

Firstly, a fine picture -- as seen above & below:

Susanna and the Elders (1751)
by Pompeo Batoni (1708 – 1787)

and to follow -- a little song,
a good poem, a few reasonable words.

Secondly, the song:
Click to hear
"The Well-Tempered Clavier" (1722)
by J. S. Bach (1685 - 1750)
explained by Karen Rile


Thirdly, the poem:
A hard one to grasp back in the 1970s, and still
many mysteries of perception to grapple with

Peter Quince at the Clavier
I
Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.

Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna:

Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

The basses of their beings throb

In witching chords, and their thin blood

Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.

II
In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.

Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.

She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.

A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
And roaring horns.

III
Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.

They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;

And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.

And then, the simpering Byzantines,
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.

IV
Beauty is momentary in the mind —
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives,
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of Winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.

Susanna's music touched the bawdy strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scrapings.

Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise. (1915)

by Wallace Stevens (1879 – 1955)
Set to music: by Dominick Argento


Fourthly, a few reasonable words
from blogger Ira Fader,
bringing Stevens' poem into the 21st Century


Fifthly, fun - fact movie tie - in:

In Galaxy Quest, Tim Allen's character plays a character named Peter Quincy Taggart. That character is named after the character from Midsummer Night's Dream, Peter Quince, who was the leader of an incompetent acting troupe made of skilled laborers.

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, August 28th

Between now and then, read ~ more Stevens on FN & QK
THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blogs
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

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