{"id":7890,"date":"2010-09-02T17:20:35","date_gmt":"2010-09-02T21:20:35","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=7890"},"modified":"2010-09-03T11:52:17","modified_gmt":"2010-09-03T15:52:17","slug":"sky-blessed","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2010\/09\/sky-blessed\/","title":{"rendered":"Sky-Blessed"},"content":{"rendered":"

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

[Image: ‘Untitled, Hateruma-jima, Okinawa, 1971,’ by Shomei Tomatsu]<\/em><\/p>\n

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

How to Grow Clouds<\/strong><\/p>\n

It takes a lot of work: it is necessary to weed very carefully, to toss out muck and small stones by hand, to kneel on the earth, bend over, dig about in the soil, water profusely, collect caterpillars, exterminate aphids, loosen the ground and serve the earth; when your back hurts from all this and you straighten up and look at the sky, you will have the prettiest clouds.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Karel Capek, translated by Andrew Malcovsky)<\/p>\n

…and<\/a>:<\/p>\n

Postscript<\/strong><\/p>\n

And some time make the time to drive out west
\ninto County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
\nin September or October, when the wind
\nand the light are working off each other
\nso that the ocean on one side is wild
\nwith foam and glitter, and inland among stones
\nthe surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
\nby the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
\ntheir feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
\ntheir fully grown headstrong-looking heads
\ntucked or cresting or busy underwater.
\nUseless to think you’ll park and capture it
\nmore thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
\na hurry through which known and strange things pass
\nas big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
\nand catch the heart off guard and blow it open.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Seamus Heaney, from The Spirit Level<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

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

Thanks<\/strong><\/p>\n

Listen
\nwith the night falling we are saying thank you
\nwe are stopping on the bridges to bow from the railings
\nwe are running out of the glass rooms
\nwith our mouths full of food to look at the sky
\nand say thank you
\nwe are standing by the water thanking it
\nsmiling by the windows looking out
\nin our directions<\/p>\n

back from a series of hospitals back from a mugging
\nafter funerals we are saying thank you
\nafter the news of the dead
\nwhether or not we knew them we are saying thank you<\/p>\n

over telephones we are saying thank you
\nin doorways and in the backs of cars and in elevators
\nremembering wars and the police at the door
\nand the beatings on stairs we are saying thank you
\nin the banks we are saying thank you
\nin the faces of the officials and the rich
\nand of all who will never change
\nwe go on saying thank you thank you<\/p>\n

with the animals dying around us
\nour lost feelings we are saying thank you
\nwith the forests falling faster than the minutes
\nof our lives we are saying thank you
\nwith the words going out like cells of a brain
\nwith the cities growing over us
\nwe are saying thank you faster and faster
\nwith nobody listening we are saying thank you
\nwe are saying thank you and waving
\ndark though it is<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(W.S. Merwin [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

Ahead of me, over the projecting point, a gigantic rainbow of incredible perfection had sprung shimmering into existence. Somewhere toward its foot I discerned a human figure standing, as it seemed to me, within the rainbow, though unconscious of his position. He was gazing fixedly at something in the sand.<\/p>\n

Eventually he stooped and flung the object beyond the breaking surf. I labored toward him over a half-mile of uncertain footing. By the time I reached him the rainbow had receded ahead of us, but something of its color still ran hastily in many changing lights across his features. He was starting to kneel again.<\/p>\n

In a pool of sand and silt a starfish had thrust up its arms stiffly and was holding its body away from the stifling mud.<\/p>\n

“It’s still alive,” I ventured.<\/p>\n

“Yes,” he said, and with a quick yet gentle movement he picked up the star and spun it over my head and far out into the sea. It sank in a burst of spume, and the waters roared once more.<\/p>\n

…He stooped again, oblivious of my curiosity, and skipped another star neatly across the water.<\/p>\n

“The stars,” he said, “throw well. One can help them.”<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Loren Eiseley, from “The Star Thrower” in The Unexpected Universe<\/em> [source<\/em><\/a>])<\/p>\n

Finally… “Over the Rainbow” has been covered so many times, by such a wide variety of performers, that a dozen people in a room may name a dozen different favorite versions. If I were one of them, I’d vote for the one by Eva Cassidy<\/a>. Maybe because it’s just her and a guitar to start, and unassertive instrumentation throughout; maybe it’s because Cassidy died as young (and as quickly) as she did, with such a relatively small body of work, before ever knowing how successful she’d become outside the Washington DC area; maybe it’s just the pure piercing beauty of a few of the notes…<\/p>\n

Whatever the reason, this simply (as the saying goes) slays me every time I hear it. (Lyrics below, should you need them.)<\/p>\n

[Below, click Play button to begin <\/em>Over the Rainbow. While audio is playing, volume control appears at left — a row of little vertical bars. This clip is 5:00 long.]<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

[audio:overtherainbow_evacassidy.mp3|titles=’Over the Rainbow’|artists=Eva Cassidy]<\/div>\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

Over the Rainbow<\/strong>
\n(music by Harold Arlen, lyrics by E.Y. Harburg;
\nperformance by Eva Cassidy)<\/em><\/p>\n

Somewhere over the rainbow
\nWay up high
\nIn the land that I heard of
\nOnce, once in a lullaby<\/p>\n

Somewhere over the rainbow
\nSkies are blue
\nAnd the dreams that you dare you dream
\nReally do come true<\/p>\n

Someday I’ll wish upon a star
\nAnd wake up where the clouds
\nAre far behind me
\nWhere troubles melt like lemon drops
\nAway above the chimney tops that’s where you’ll find me<\/p>\n

[instrumental break]<\/em><\/p>\n

Someday I’ll wish upon a star
\nAnd wake up where the clouds
\nAre far behind me
\nWhere troubles melt like lemon drops
\nAway above the chimney tops that’s where you’ll find me<\/p>\n

Somewhere over the rainbow
\nSkies are blue
\nAnd the dreams that you dare to dream
\nReally do come true<\/p>\n

If happy little bluebirds fly
\nAbove the rainbow
\nWhy, oh why, can’t I?<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

[Image: ‘Untitled, Hateruma-jima, Okinawa, 1971,’ by Shomei Tomatsu] From whiskey river: How to Grow Clouds It takes a lot of work: it is necessary to weed very carefully, to toss out muck and small stones by hand, to kneel on the earth, bend over, dig about in the soil, water profusely, collect caterpillars, exterminate aphids, […]<\/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":[247,1393,405,74,5,36,251],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-7890","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-whiskey-river-runningaftermyhat","8":"category-nature","9":"category-music","10":"category-06_writing","11":"category-reading","12":"category-poetry-writing_cat","13":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-23g","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7890","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=7890"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7890\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7890"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7890"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7890"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}