Mea Culpa

I apologize; I was busy yesterday and the day before and so did not post any poetry, and the Sunday before I was absent. Therefore, I am now going to post a poem that deeply ensnares my fascination. A quirk about my mind is that I am strongly attracted by shipwrecks, the stories, causes of, precautions taken against, etc. The one I read about first was not, as you may suppose, the ever-classic Titanic, but the Lusitania, in memory of which this poem was written. It would seem that before the Lusitania's last voyage in 1915, in the midst of WWII, the Germans published newspaper articles warning citizens to boycott the vessel. The warnings went unheeded, and that spring Lusitania set out with 3000 passengers, 1198 of which never returned. A Nazi submarine sunk the ship on May 7th, in only forty-five minutes. America's first explosion of indignation was summed up in Joyce Kilmer's passionate poem:

The White Ships and the Red

(For Alden March)

With drooping sail and pennant
That never a wind may reach,
They float in sunless waters
Beside a sunless beach.
Their mighty masts and funnels
Are white as driven snow,
And with a pallid radiance
Their ghostly bulwarks glow.

Here is a Spanish galleon
That once with gold was gay,
Here is a Roman trireme
Whose hues outshone the day.
But Tyrian dyes have faded,
And prows that once were bright
With rainbow stains wear only
Death's livid, dreadful white.

White as the ice that clove her
That unforgotten day,
Among her pallid sisters
The grim Titanic lay.
And through the leagues above her
She looked aghast, and said:
"What is this living ship that comes
Where every ship is dead?"

The ghostly vessels trembled
From ruined stern to prow;
What was this thing of terror
That broke their vigil now?
Down through the startled ocean
A mighty vessel came,
Not white, as all dead ships must be,
But red, like living flame!

The pale green waves about her
Were swiftly, strangely dyed,
By the great scarlet stream that flowed
From out her wounded side.
And all her decks were scarlet
And all her shattered crew.
She sank among the white ghost ships
And stained them through and through.

The grim Titanic greeted her
"And who art thou?" she said;
"Why dost thou join our ghostly fleet
Arrayed in living red?
We are the ships of sorrow
Who spend the weary night,
Until the dawn of Judgment Day,
Obscure and still and white."

"Nay," said the scarlet visitor,
"Though I sink through the sea,
A ruined thing that was a ship,
I sink not as did ye.
For ye met with your destiny
By storm or rock or fight,
So through the lagging centuries
Ye wear your robes of white.

"But never crashing iceberg
Nor honest shot of foe,
Nor hidden reef has sent me
The way that I must go.
My wound that stains the waters,
My blood that is like flame,
Bear witness to a loathly deed,
A deed without a name.

"I went not forth to battle,
I carried friendly men,
The children played about my decks,
The women sang -- and then --
And then -- the sun blushed scarlet
And Heaven hid its face,
The world that God created
Became a shameful place!

"My wrong cries out for vengeance,
The blow that sent me here
Was aimed in Hell. My dying scream
Has reached Jehovah's ear.
Not all the seven oceans
Shall wash away that stain;
Upon a brow that wears a crown
I am the brand of Cain."

When God's great voice assembles
The fleet on Judgment Day,
The ghosts of ruined ships will rise
In sea and strait and bay.
Though they have lain for ages
Beneath the changeless flood,
They shall be white as silver,
But one -- shall be like blood.

Sensations under a Staircase

A few days ago, I walked into a spacious new library with Margaret, the tantalizing prospect of a bit of quiet reading dominating my mind.

After seeing Margaret off with her Latin tutor, I settled in a warm, shadowed nook wedged between a large staircase (the principal one of that building) and a convenient wall. Dropping into a plush chair, I pulled out Virgil's Aeneid, and fell gently through the pages into Carthage, where Dido cried, implored, and raged in vain, and Aeneas slowly followed an unusually insistent Mercury down to the shore. As Dido opened her mouth to defy Aeneas' immortal parentage, what should reach my ears but the sound of a heavy fall, apparently from several millenniums ahead.

Rather curious, I surfaced from my fantastical daydream, and as Dido's shrieks grew faint, I became aware of a fluent stream of profanity. As the library came back into focus, I glanced upwards, and beheld a passerby prone upon the staircase that rose above me, now angrily uprighting herself and fabricating the colorful phrases that had interrupted me.

Not thinking this of any particular importance, I drifted back to Dido. I shadowed her through her insanity, her countless sacrifices, and her suicide, only to have my attention seized at the crucial moment by labored breathing and a panted, "Good - exercise; keep - it up." Upon examination, there proved to be a ponderous lady ascending the evidently popular and relatively long staircase.

Mildly amused by a double encounter with expressions not meant for my ears, and marveling slightly at the coincidence, I rejoined Dido, only to find that she had died in my absence, and I was now to attend the funeral games of Anchises.

The boat race, my favorite event, came first, and I joined the Nereids in propelling the foremost vessel, Scylla, to victory. As I watched Aeneas dole out the prizes, a strange voice muttered, not far away, "Knees, knees, knees!" My attention was instantaneously reverted to the staircase, from whence I supposed this extraordinary exclamation to issue, and sure enough, there was the speaker, an elderly gentleman nearing the top step. I very much wanted to laugh, but waited until Margaret and I were packed in the car on the way home, as I attempted to relate the tale.

How Fanciful

This is rather interesting. It's a quiz to see which classic Heroine you're most like. My results are not quite what I expected them to be. According to the quiz, I am
50% Lizzie Bennett
46% Emma Woodhouse
38% Juliet Capulet
36% Wendy Darling
27% Jo March
26% Maid Marian
24% Jane Eyre
21% Helen of Troy
16% Eowyn of Rohan
11% Anne Shirley
I agree wholeheartedly with Lizzie Bennett and Emma Woodhouse, but where did they get Juliet Capulet?????

Sunday installment

I'm going to follow Love2learn Mom's example and post poetry once a week. This will probably occur on Sundays, because I feel most poetic then. Here is a poem I enjoy every time I read it. It reminds me of the poem 'Only to Rise' in The Shadow of the Bear.

A Day Dream

By Emily Bronte

On a sunny brae alone I lay

On summer afternoon;

It was the marriage month of May

With her young lover, June.

From her mother’s heart seemed loath to part

That queen of bridal charms;

But her father smiled on the fairest child

He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,

The glad birds caroled clear;

And I, of all the wedding guests,

Was only sullen there.

There was not one but wished to shun

My aspect void of cheer;

The very grey rocks looking on

Asked, ‘What do you do here?’

And I could utter no reply-

In sooth I did not know

Why I had brought a clouded eye

To greet the general glow.

So resting on a heathy bank

I took my heart to me

And we together sadly sank

Into a reverie.

We thought-‘When winter comes again

Where will these bright things be?

All vanished like a vision vain-

And unreal mockery!

‘The birds that now so blithely sing-

Through deserts frozen dry,

Poor specters of the perished Spring

In famished troops will fly.

‘And why should we be glad at all?

The leaf is hardly green

Before a token of the fall

Is on its surface seen.’

Now whether it be really so

I never could be sure-

But as in fit of peevish woe

I stretched me on the moor

A thousand thousand glancing fires

Seemed kindling in the air-

A thousand thousand silver lyres

Resounded far and near.

Methought the very breath I breathed

Was full of sparks divine

And all my heather-couch was wreathed

By that celestial shine-

And while the wide Earth echoing rang

To their strange minstrelsy,

The little glittering spirits sang

Or seemed to sing to me,-

‘O mortal, mortal, let them die-

Let Time and Tears destroy,

That we may overflow the sky

With universal joy.

‘Let grief distract the sufferer’s breast

And Night obscure his way;

They hasten him to endless rest

And everlasting day.

‘To thee the world is like a tomb-

A desert’s naked shore;

To us-in unimagined bloom

It brightens more and more.

‘And could we lift the veil and give

One brief glimpse to thine eye

Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live

Because they live to die.’

The music ceased-the noonday Dream

Like dream of night withdrew,

But fancy still will sometimes deem

Her fond creation true.

Now, I know I once posted on Liber Parma about my preference of Charlotte Bronte's writing over her sister's, but Emily's poetry is far more eloquent in my eyes. Some is, alas, rather morbid and depressing, but there are hopeful poems as well. I've been meaning to read more of Anne Bronte's poetry, too, and there's always plenty of Chesterton to be absorbed, and re-read, I want to get through Dante's 'Divine Comedy'....Why was it called a Comedy anyway???

Ahhhhh, rapture!!!

I am absolutely ecstatic!!! I have joined The Word Nerds, a new Love2Learn blog for multiloquent minds. I have a fetish for words, and am anticipating effusive diversion, both in reading and writing.

Mythological Headache

I have recently come upon a contradiction in mythology. You might say, 'that's 'cause it's mythology, not history', but this is more serious than whether a crab was involved in a certain labor of Hercules or not. Namely, when was Eros/Cupid/Amor born?? and to whom??? One source (D'Aulaire's Book of Greek Myths) says he was the son of Aphrodite/Venus/Lady of Cythera, and another (Guerber's Myths of Greece and Rome) that he was born to Aether (light) and Hemera (day) before the beginning of the world.
Imagine how frustrating!!!! If anyone has any explanation for this calamity I would be most grateful for it. Is there a preferred version??? Are there two different gods of love, as there are two sun gods???

Diamantes

Cathy and I just received our Lit assignment, requesting us each to write a Diamante. As you probably know, this is a diamond-shaped poem about a pair of opposites. We chose to do them about us and our sisters.

Cathy
sarcastic, operatic
singing, doodling, laughing
joy, melodrama, vivacity, extroversion
intoxicating, bubbling, bouncing
optimistic, voluble
Mari

gilbertgirl
contrary, abstracted
ditzing, imagining, reading
melodrama, verbosity, contemplation, precision
contradicting, observing, studying
calm, quiet
Margaret

Our friends from Love2learn know this portrays us perfectly!

YIPPEE!!!!!!!

I got to sing with the Sollerod Girls' Choir from Denmark!!!!! Thanks to our choir director, who was their contact here in the US, my homeschooled youth choir got a chance to perform several songs with them during their tour through this part of America. In addition, we went to the mall with them today!!!!! It was amazing to hear how well they harmonize and how closely they listen to each other. I had a blast singing with them. I also enjoyed trading fashion ideas!!!!!

AT LAST book meme

1. One book that changed your life.

The Shadow of the Bear, by Regina Doman. This was the book that introduced me to Chesterton.

2. One book that you've read more than once.

The Phantom Tollbooth, by Norton Juster

3. One book you'd want on a desert island.

The Everlasting Man, by G. K. Chesterton

4. One book that made you laugh.

The Midshipman Quinn Collection, by Showell Styles

5. One book that made you cry.

Great Expectaions, by Charles Dickens

6. One book that you wish had been written.

The blacks, whites, and grays of Theology, by G. K. Chesterton, in so many words.

7. One book that you wish had never been written.

That's a very strong statement! I don't think I've read any myself.

8. One book you're currently reading.

Chaucer, by G. K. C.

9. One book you've been meaning to read.

The Divine Comedy, by Dante

since it is the beginning of the school year, I will just tag anyone who wants to.

I have finally decided

...why I named this blog Catastrophic Pontifications. The reason is very simple: it's catastrophic because I don't pontificate.

Family Vacation(s)

Where I've been, and what I've been doing all summer; or to put it more simply, my excuse for not posting.

We took a lllllloooooonnnnngggg family vacation to Virginia's Eastern Shore, and stayed in a yurt. For those of you, who don't know, that's a small wigwam like structure with a wood frame, insulated canvas covering and air conditioning. No, you're not out-of-the-loop because you don't know what a yurt is. None of us did, until we slept in one. To give you an idea of the mishaps necessary to make a vacation for us, I'll chronicle the first few days.


FRIDAY, JULY 28
Margaret and I spent at least half of our packing time this morning fishing coins out of the tape player in our minivan, placed there by astonishingly deft two-year-old fingers. We embarked at 10:43 AM, listening to Around the World in Eighty Days. An early-afternoon frosty cured the temporary car sickness, that is the most common by-product of Chicago. We made it as far as Toledo that night.


SATURDAY, JULY 29
We visited Franciscan University as we passed. At about five o'clock we looked about us for a Church, and even asked directions to one. We then commenced what we called our 'steeplechase,' literally looking for steeples, and chasing them. We didn't find any that had Saturday Masses, so we kept on until we reached Front Royal.


SUNDAY, JULY 30
Went to Mass at St. John the Baptist and loved it. Visited Christendom College briefly, then spent the rest of the afternoon on Skyline Drive. I was in charge of the camera, much to my delight, and took about 80 pictures just that day. Now, looking back at them, I have dozens of lovely pictures of glorious panoramas, but can't tell them apart, or remember which of the scores of outlooks from which they were taken. Ah well.


At 10:00, a sleepy, whiny, slightly grumpy carful of kids with two tired parents pulled up to a narrow boardwalk extending off the road, out of the glare of the headlights, toward an ominous black hulk faintly illuminated between the trees against a moonlit background of glittering sea and sky. The YURT. What was it??? Did it have a fridge? A kitchenette? Is it clean??, wondered Mom. PLEASE let there be SEPARATE bedrooms!!! prayed the teenage girls, who hated the hotel rooms they had to share with their little brothers. "I just wanna go to bed!!!" wailed the two-year-old. After a long confusion about procuring the key, we unloaded the car, hobbled up the boardwalk burdened with suitcases, pillows, coolers...opened the door, turned on the light.... It was perfect!!!!! It had enough beds even for our family. It was cozily furnished, with tables, chairs, couches and a fridge, and had a lovely view of the beach.

THE END

We also went to Illinois for a week, visited an English tea room, went canoeing and spelunking in Iowa, and on Friday we're headed to Minnesota to spend some time with Grandparents in a cabin. On top of this, Mom & I have been devising ways to deal with the surfeit of tomatoes on our back porch. Luckily, I'm not yet sick of canning, chopping, seeding, and eating.

I hope this explains why I haven't been on the internet a whole lot in the past three months, but I'm trying to make up for it now. Speaking of which, I was tagged by love2learnmom for the book meme, and I need to attend to that directly.

Prayers Needed!!

Please pray for Regina and Andrew Doman and their son Joshua Michael who passed away on July 8th.

Dickens quote

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of dispair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way..."

~Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

How many times in history has that been false???

Post-retreat Exhilaration

You know how, after a retreat, you spend your first 24 hours back home in a happy world of your own, the music still resounding through your mind, not letting anything break your happy, serene little bubble, and casually chatting with God; little prayers, observations, and just generally trying to keep in touch???? That's me right now.

Hello to all my Discipleship Week friends!!!!!

Please read

Dr. Thursday's Campus post.

Cogitating...

My list of Comfirmation names...I still have a couple years to choose one...

St. Martina
St. Prisca
St. Daria
St. Eleutherius (no, I can't pronounce it)
St. Philomena
Philip Neri (patron saint of teens)
St. Maria Goretti
St. Dominic Savio
St. Bernadette
St Gemma Galgani
St. Penelope
St. Agustine
St. Benedict
St. Rose of Lima
St. Jane
St. Thomas Aquinas
St. Vitus
St. Cecilia
St. Lucy
St.Julia

Welcome, welcome!!!!!

Welcome to my humble corner of cyberspace. As a prepratory warning, this blog was not meant to be particularly informing, as the title might suggest. However, you may pick up a few laughs at my unique trains of thought, or learn a little Latin willy-nilly.

I'm thrilled to be officially opening this lovely new blog with the first post, And I apologize ahead of time if my writing style proves illegible.