{"id":6712,"date":"2010-02-05T10:32:38","date_gmt":"2010-02-05T15:32:38","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=6712"},"modified":"2018-10-20T13:22:00","modified_gmt":"2018-10-20T17:22:00","slug":"the-gods-beside-us-and-in-our-mirrors","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2010\/02\/the-gods-beside-us-and-in-our-mirrors\/","title":{"rendered":"The Gods Beside Us (and in Our Mirrors)"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image above depicts a representation of The Parthenon as it appears at a location in the Second Life virtual world\/alternative universe\/simulation\/etc. Click the image for more information, including a link to the location itself.]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

We find comfort only in
\nanother beauty, in others’
\nmusic, in the poetry of others.
\nSalvation lies with others,
\nthough solitude may taste like
\nopium. Other people aren’t hell
\nif you glimpse them at dawn, when
\ntheir brows are clean, rinsed by dreams.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Adam Zagajewski, from Another Beauty<\/em>)<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

This is what I believe: That I am I. That my soul is a dark forest. That my known self will never be more than a little clearing in the forest. That gods, strange gods, come forth from the forest into the clearing of my known self, and then go back. That I must have the courage to let them come and go. That I will never let mankind put anything over me, but that I will try always to recognize and submit to the gods in me and the gods in other men and women.<\/p>\n

There is my creed.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(D.H. Lawrence)<\/p>\n

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

For a Moment<\/strong><\/p>\n

For a moment, at evening, tired, as he stepped off the tram-car,
\n— the young tram-conductor in a blue uniform, to himself
\nforgotten, —<\/span>
\nand lifted his face up, with blue eyes looking at the electric rod
\nwhich he was going to turn round,<\/span>
\nfor a moment, pure in the yellow evening light, he was Hyacinthus.<\/p>\n

In the green garden darkened the shadow of coming rain
\nand a girl ran swiftly, laughing breathless, taking in her
\nwhite washing<\/span>
\nin rapid armfuls from the line, tossing it in the basket,
\nand so rapidly, and so flashing, fleeing before the rain,
\nfor a moment she was Io, Io, who fled from Zeus, or the Danae.<\/p>\n

When I was waiting and not thinking, sitting at a table on the
\nhotel terrace,<\/span>
\nI saw suddenly coming towards me, lit up and uplifted with
\npleasure,<\/span>
\nadvancing with the slow-swiftness of a ship backing her
\nwhite sails into port,<\/span>
\nthe woman who looks for me in the world
\nand for the moment she was Isis, gleaming, having found
\nher Osiris.<\/span><\/p>\n

For a moment, as he looked at me through his spectacles,
\npondering, yet eager, the broad and thick-set Italian who works in
\nwith me,<\/span>
\nfor a moment he was the Centaur, the wise yet horse-hoofed
\nCentaur<\/span>
\nin whom I can trust.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(D.H. Lawrence [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and (courtesy of The Writer’s Almanac<\/em><\/a>):<\/p>\n

Grecian Temples<\/strong><\/p>\n

Because I’m getting pretty gray at the temples,
\nwhich negatively impacts my earning potential
\nand does not necessarily attract vibrant young women
\nwith their perfumed bosoms to dally with me
\non the green hillside,
\nI go out and buy some Grecian Hair Formula.<\/p>\n

And after the whole process, which involves
\nrubber gloves, a tiny chemistry set,
\nand perfect timing, I look great.
\nI look very fresh and virile, full of earning potential.
\nBut when I take my fifteen-year-old beagle
\nout for his evening walk, the contrast is unfortunate.
\nNext to me he doesn’t look all that great,
\nwith his graying snout, his sort of faded,
\nworn-out-dog look. It makes me feel old,
\nwalking around with a dog like that.<\/p>\n

It’s not something a potential employer,
\nmuch less a vibrant young woman with a perfumed bosom
\nwould necessarily go for. So I go out
\nand get some more Grecian Hair Formula —
\nLight Brown, my beagle’s original color.
\nAnd after all the rigmarole he looks terrific.
\nI mean, he’s not going to win any friskiness contests,
\nnot at fifteen. But there’s a definite visual improvement.
\nThe two of us walk virilely around the block.<\/p>\n

The next day a striking young woman at the bookstore
\nhappens to ask me about my parents,
\nwho are, in fact, long dead, due to the effects of age.
\nThey were very old, which causes death.
\nBut having dead old parents does not go
\nwith my virile, intensely fresh new look.<\/p>\n

So I say to the woman, my parents are fine.
\nThey love their active lifestyle in San Diego.
\nYou know, windsurfing, jai alai, a still-vibrant sex life.
\nAnd while this does not necessarily cause her
\nto come dally with me on the green hillside, I can tell
\nit doesn’t hurt my chances.<\/p>\n

I can see her imagining dinner
\nwith my sparkly, young-seeming mom and dad
\nat some beachside restaurant
\nwhere we would announce our engagement.<\/p>\n

Your son has great earning potential,
\nshe’d say to dad, who would take
\na gander at her perfumed bosom
\nand give me a wink, like he used to do
\nback when he was alive, and vibrant.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(George Bilgere)<\/p>\n

I’ve always had mixed feelings about the Canadian singer-songwriter Loreena McKennitt (a favorite of The Missus, as it happens). She has an undeniably exquisite voice, and I like many of the subjects she tackles (and the way she tackles them: the evocations of ancient music, poetry, Shakespeare, sensibilities). But for some reason it’s hard for me to listen to her music for more than one album at a time, or in rewind\/replay mode. But the first time I heard her, it was on her 1994 album The Mask and the Mirror<\/em>, which opens with a song called “The Mystic’s Dream.”<\/p>\n

The song is in two parts, the first almost entirely vocal, and the second a mixture of voice (that voice!<\/em>) and rhythm instruments which I’m pretty sure I’d never heard before (oud, udu drum, esraj, huhsaywhat?). At the first hanging vocal note, my mind said, Whoa. Who is that<\/strong><\/em>?<\/em> But I’d almost lost interest by the point when the second part begins (about three minutes into the seven-plus-minute song) — and for me, redeemed the wait.<\/p>\n

From McKennitt’s liner notes<\/a> for the song:<\/p>\n

January 24, 1993 – Granada, Spain…evening…lights across the city embrace the body of the Alhambra; the smells of woodsmoke and food hang in the narrow streets. Rambled around the Moorish section of the city; picked up a little gold mirror, an incense burner, a tiny bottle of perfume…<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Yeah. That’s the feel of it.<\/p>\n

Here’s “The Mystic’s Dream”; lyrics, per usual, are below.<\/p>\n\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

The Mystic’s Dream<\/strong>
\n(music\/lyrics\/performance by Loreena McKennitt)<\/em><\/p>\n

A clouded dream on an earthly night
\nHangs upon the crescent moon
\nA voiceless song in an ageless light
\nSings at the coming dawn
\nBirds in flight are calling there
\nWhere the heart moves the stones
\nIt’s there that my heart is longing
\nAll for the love of you<\/p>\n

A painting hangs on an ivy wall
\nNestled in the emerald moss
\nThe eyes declare a truce of trust
\nThen it draws me far away
\nWhere deep in the desert twilight
\nSand melts in pools of the sky
\nDarkness lays her crimson cloak
\nYour lamps will call me home<\/p>\n

And so it’s there my homage’s due
\nClutched by the still of the night
\nNow I feel you move
\nAnd every breath is full
\nSo it’s there my homage’s due
\nClutched by the still of the night
\nEven the distance feels so near
\nAll for the love of you<\/p>\n

A clouded dream on an earthly night
\nHangs upon the crescent moon
\nA voiceless song in an ageless light
\nSings at the coming dawn
\nBirds in flight are calling there
\nWhere the heart moves the stones
\nIt’s there that my heart is longing
\nAll for the love of you<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image above depicts a representation of The Parthenon as it appears at a location in the Second Life virtual world\/alternative universe\/simulation\/etc. Click the image for more information, including a link to the location itself.] From whiskey river: We find comfort only in another beauty, in others’ music, in the poetry of others. Salvation lies with […]<\/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":[247,1393,74,5,251],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-6712","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-music","9":"category-06_writing","10":"category-poetry-writing_cat","11":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-1Kg","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6712","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=6712"}],"version-history":[{"count":24,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6712\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":20655,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6712\/revisions\/20655"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6712"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6712"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6712"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}