{"id":3548,"date":"2009-02-27T10:33:55","date_gmt":"2009-02-27T15:33:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=3548"},"modified":"2009-02-27T10:33:55","modified_gmt":"2009-02-27T15:33:55","slug":"morning-instructions","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2009\/02\/morning-instructions\/","title":{"rendered":"Morning Instructions"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

On Angels<\/strong><\/p>\n

All was taken away from you: white dresses,
\nwings, even existence.
\nYet I believe you,
\nmessengers.<\/p>\n

There, where the world is turned inside out,
\na heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts,
\nyou stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams.<\/p>\n

Short is your stay here:
\nnow and then at a matinal hour, if the sky is clear,
\nin a melody repeated by a bird,
\nor in the smell of apples at close of day
\nwhen the light makes the orchards magic.<\/p>\n

They say somebody has invented you
\nbut to me this does not sound convincing
\nfor the humans invented themselves as well.<\/p>\n

The voice — no doubt it is a valid proof,
\nas it can belong only to radiant creatures,
\nweightless and winged (after all, why not?),
\ngirdled with the lightning.<\/p>\n

I have heard that voice many a time when asleep
\nand, what is strange, I understood more or less
\nan order or an appeal in an unearthly tongue:<\/p>\n

day draws near
\nanother one
\ndo what you can.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

<\/strong><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Czeslaw Milosz)<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>:<\/p>\n

Last Sunday morning at eleven forty-five I astonished my music teacher. It can’t possibly happen again for another six months. But I began to play the third movement of a Kuhnau sonata and it went<\/em>. I felt the angels protecting me from all the pitfalls, which I had investigated so thoroughly, in any case, that they were like old friends. I tell you this, not from lack of modesty, but from the certainty that you will rejoice with me and for me, and know that today the angels are not there, and the thumping is better kept behind closed doors.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Sylvia Townsend Warner, The Element of Lavishness<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Dawn with her rose-red fingers might have shone
\nupon their tears, if with her glinting eyes
\nAthena had not thought of one more thing.
\nShe held back the night, and night lingered long
\nat the western edge of the earth, while in the east
\nshe reined in Dawn of the golden throne at Ocean’s banks,
\ncommanding her not to yoke the windswift team that brings men light,
\nBlaze and Aurora, the young colts that race the morning on.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Homer, The Odyssey<\/em>, XXIII.273-280, translated by Robert Fagles)<\/p>\n

Finally, a morning imperative of another sort (lyrics below):<\/p>\n

(As always with this little audio-player thing: click the Play button
\nto start; the volume control — visible once the song begins —
\nis at the left, in a little row of vertical bars.)<\/em><\/p>\n

[audio:meetmeinthemorning_bobdylan.mp3|titles=Meet Me in the Morning|artists=Bob Dylan]<\/div>\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

Meet Me In The Morning
\n<\/strong>music, lyrics, and performance by Bob Dylan<\/em><\/p>\n

Meet me in the morning, 56th and Wabasha
\nMeet me in the morning, 56th and Wabasha
\nHoney, we could be in Kansas
\nBy time the snow begins to thaw.<\/p>\n

They say the darkest hour is right before the dawn
\nThey say the darkest hour is right before the dawn
\nBut you wouldn’t know it by me
\nEvery day’s been darkness since you been gone.<\/p>\n

Little rooster crowin’, there must be something on his mind
\nLittle rooster crowin’, there must be something on his mind
\nWell, I feel just like that rooster
\nHoney, ya treat me so unkind.<\/p>\n

The birds are flyin’ low babe, honey I feel so exposed
\nWell, the birds are flyin’ low babe, honey I feel so exposed
\nWell now, I ain’t got any matches
\nAnd the station doors are closed.<\/p>\n

Well, I struggled through barbed wire, felt the hail fall from above
\nWell, I struggled through barbed wire, felt the hail fall from above
\nWell, you know I even outran the hound dogs
\nHoney, you know I’ve earned your love.<\/p>\n

Look at the sun sinkin’ like a ship
\nLook at the sun sinkin’ like a ship
\nAin’t that just like my heart, babe
\nWhen you kissed my lips?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From whiskey river: On Angels All was taken away from you: white dresses, wings, even existence. Yet I believe you, messengers. There, where the world is turned inside out, a heavy fabric embroidered with stars and beasts, you stroll, inspecting the trustworthy seams. Short is your stay here: now and then at a matinal hour, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[38,247,74,251],"tags":[895,1045,1046,1047,1048,1049],"class_list":{"0":"post-3548","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-backwards","7":"category-ruminations","8":"category-music","9":"category-poetry-writing_cat","10":"tag-bob-dylan","11":"tag-czeslaw-milosz","12":"tag-angels","13":"tag-morning","14":"tag-morning-lessons","15":"tag-sylvia-townsend-warner","16":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-Ve","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3548","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3548"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3548\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3563,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3548\/revisions\/3563"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3548"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3548"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3548"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}