beneath a phrygian sky

I am having a difficult time concentrating on the novel I am re-reading, the one that is the subject of the only essay standing between me and my degree. It doesn't help that my sister made me enormously jealous because someone bought her tickets to see Loreena McKennitt in concert (I swear, she's the only musical artist we both like). I was listening through her newest CD today, An Ancient Muse. Now, I don't know that I can pick a favorite among all her other CDs, but there are certain tracks I love. Like "Cé Hé Mise Le Ulaingt? / The Two Trees" and "Full Circle" from The Mask and the Mirror, "Dante's Prayer" from The Book of Secrets, "The Old Ways" from The Visit, and "Ancient Pines" from Parallel Dreams. I'll have to listen through the album a few more times, but the following lyric really spoke to me, particularly the line refering to God that says "We travelled the wide oceans / Heard many call your name / With sword and gun and hatred / It all seemed much the same." So here you have it, my affinity for poetry leaning towards the musical, as ever.

BENEATH A PHRYGIAN SKY
(Loreena McKennitt)

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy

A voice from down the ages
So in haunting in its song
These ancient stones will tell us
Our love must make us strong

The breeze it wrapped around me
As I stood there on the shore
And listened to this voice
Like I never heard before

Our battles they may find us
No choice may ours to be
But hold the banner proudly
The truth will set us free

My mind was called across the years
Of rages and of strife
Of all the human misery
And all the waste of life

We wondered where our God was
In the face of so much pain
I looked up to the stars above
To find you once again

We travelled the wide oceans
Heard many call your name
With sword and gun and hatred
It all seemed much the same

Some used your name for glory
Some used it for their gain
Yet when liberty lay wanting
No lives were lost in vain

Is it not our place to wonder
As the sky does weep with tears
And all the living creatures
Look on with mortal fear

It is ours to hold the banner
Is ours to hold it long
It is ours to carry forward
Our love must make us strong

And as the warm wind carried
Its song into the night
I closed my eyes and tarried
Until the morning light

As the last star it shimmered
And the new sun’s day gave birth
It was in this magic moment
Came this prayer for mother earth

The moonlight it was dancing
On the waves, out on the sea
The stars of heaven hovered
In a shimmering galaxy

A voice from down the ages
So in haunting in its song
The ancient stones will tell us
Our love will make us strong

I fear no more. I wish...

S appears to have broken his toe. One of his little toes, to be precise. He appears to have kicked the door frame. I'll admit I'm not quite sure how that happened, but I think he was imitating a comedian from TV. He hurts. That's not fun. But the good news is that this morning, it didn't hurt as much as last night. That is very good news.

A friend and I tried the polenta recipe that was in the Times last week (or was it the week before?) There were moments of doubt as to the success of our meal as the polenta was cooking, but in the end it turned out quite nicely. Very enjoyable. Though it's very heavy. But it was delicious, yes it was.

At our review session yesterday, the professor made a joke about the person in sackcloth and wearing ashes would have been more appropriate to the Wednesday. I chuckled. I'm suck a dork. But in that Lenten spirit, here's a poem (that is also a hymn text) by one of my favorite poets in the English language, John Donne.

A Hymn to God the Father

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun,
Which was my sin, though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sins their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallow'd in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done;
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;
But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:
And having done that, Thou hast done;
I fear no more.

Who doesn't love Sor Juana?

In the spirit of my studies... and this is not at all a reflection on my husband, who is wonderful. But it's a pretty great poem. Especially when you consider it was written by a Mexican nun in the seventeenth century. I can't find an English translation online, so I apologize to my readers who cannot read Spanish. For your benefit, the first verse goes something like, "Stubborn men who accuse / women without reason / without seeing that they are the motivation / of that which they blame."

"Hombres necios"

Hombres necios que acusáis
a la mujer sin razón,
sin ver que sois la ocasión
de lo mismo que culpáis:

si con ansia sin igual
solicitáis su desdén,
¿por qué queréis que obren bien
si las incitáis al mal?

Combatís su resistencia,
y luego con gravedad
decís que fue liviandad
lo que hizo la diligencia.

Queréis con presunción necia
hallar a la que buscáis,
para pretendida, Tais,
y en la posesión, Lucrecia.

¿Qué humor puede ser más raro
que el que falta de consejo,
él mismo empaña el espejo
y siente que no esté claro?

Con el favor y el desdén
tenéis condición igual,
quejándoos, si os tratan mal,
burlándoos, si os quieren bien.

Opinión ninguna gana,
pues la que más se recata,
si no os admite, es ingrata
y si os admite, es liviana.

Siempre tan necios andáis
que con desigual nivel
a una culpáis por cruel
y a otra por fácil culpáis.

¿Pues cómo ha de estar templada
la que vuestro amor pretende,
si la que es ingrata ofende
y la que es fácil enfada?

Mas entre el enfado y pena
que vuestro gusto refiere,
bien haya la que no os quiere
y quejaos enhorabuena.

Dan vuestras amantes penas
a sus libertades alas,
y después de hacerlas malas
las queréis hallar muy buenas.

¿Cuál mayor culpa ha tenido
en una pasión errada,
la que cae de rogada
o el que ruega de caído?

¿O cuál es más de culpar,
aunque cualquiera mal haga:
la que peca por la paga
o el que paga por pecar?

Pues ¿para qué os espantáis
de la culpa que tenéis?
Queredlas cual las hacéis
o hacedlas cual las buscáis.

Dejad de solicitar
y después con más razón
acusaréis la afición
de la que os fuere a rogar.

Bien con muchas armas fundo
que lidia vuestra arrogancia,
pues en promesa e instancia
juntáis diablo, carne y mundo.

-- Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, 1651-1695