Ding Dong Merrily on High
December 21, 2012 § Leave a comment
The melody to this piece is from 1589 – did you know that? It began as a dance tune, and was made into a carol much later. Isn’t it marvelous how melodies can be carried on through centuries? One of the great things about carols, particularly, is the way they rise up each season and urge us to sing them. Outside of church or choir, how often do we otherwise make an effort to sing together in our culture? And to think that we can carry history through, and on, by singing the same words as so many others so long ago.
The story this song always makes me think of is Little Women. I have read about Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy cover to cover so many times, as if I might join their world – their little family? – by doing so. I was in 7th or 8th grade when it the film first came out, and my parents took us to see it very near to Christmas. I still remember the excitement of the opening music and the title curling across the screen, and my mother looking down the row at me and grinning. Oh the joy!
“Ding Dong Merrily on High” brings me at once to the scene when the girls are walking all donned in capes and ribbons out in the snow to share their Christmas with a family in need. Family – generosity – food – togetherness. A happy holiday.
Ding Dong Merrily on High
Ding dong! merrily on high
In heav’n the bells are ringing:
Ding dong! verily the sky
Is riv’n with Angel singing.
REFRAIN
Gloria,
Hosanna in excelsis!
Gloria,
Hosanna in excelsis!
E’en so here below, below,
Let steeple bells be swungen,
And “Io, io, io!”
By priest and people sungen.
REFRAIN
Pray you, dutifully prime
Your matin chime, ye ringers;
May you beautifully rime
Your evetime song, ye singers.
REFRAIN
You can listen to the King’s College (Cambridge) boys choir singing this carol, here.
I Taught Myself to Live Simply
November 30, 2012 § 5 Comments
I taught myself to live simply and wisely,
to look at the sky and pray to God,
and to wander long before evening
to tire my superfluous worries.
When the burdocks rustle in the ravine
and the yellow-red rowanberry cluster droops
I compose happy verses
about life’s decay, decay and beauty.
I come back. The fluffy cat
licks my palm, purrs so sweetly
and the fire flares bright
on the saw-mill turret by the lake.
Only the cry of a stork landing on the roof
occasionally breaks the silence.
If you knock on my door
I may not even hear.
-Anna Akhmatova
After Apple Picking
September 16, 2012 § Leave a comment
My long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
-Robert Frost, 1914
(I am about to go to an orchard myself. I can hardly wait – but here is the difference between a few hours of leisurely picking and the farmer’s long day of work.)
III. Nature, XXVIII, Autumn
September 8, 2012 § Leave a comment
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry’s cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarf,
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I’ll put a trinket on.
-Emily Dickinson
Summer Sun
July 24, 2012 § 2 Comments
Great is the sun, and wide he goes
Through empty heaven with repose;
And in the blue and glowing days
More thick than rain he showers his rays.
Though closer still the blinds we pull
To keep the shady parlour cool,
Yet he will find a chink or two
To slip his golden fingers through.
The dusty attic spider-clad
He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;
And through the broken edge of tiles
Into the laddered hay-loft smiles.
Meantime his golden face around
He bares to all the garden ground,
And sheds a warm and glittering look
Among the ivy’s inmost nook.
Above the hills, along the blue,
Round the bright air with footing true,
To please the child, to paint the rose,
The gardener of the World, he goes.
-Robert Louis Stevenson, A Child’s Garden of Verses
Summer Evening
July 3, 2012 § Leave a comment
The sandy cat by the Farmer’s chair
Mews at his knee for dainty fare;
Old Rover in his moss-greened house
Mumbles a bone, and barks at a mouse.
In the dewy fields the cattle lie
Chewing the cud ‘neath a fading sky;
Dobbin at manger pulls his hay:
Gone is another summer’s day.
– Walter de la Mare
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
June 7, 2012 § Leave a comment
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honeybee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
-William Butler Yeats, 1888
Silly, dreamy love songs
April 27, 2012 § Leave a comment
Happy to hear this one today, for no particular reason. Or maybe because it’s spring.
A country lad
April 22, 2012 § 2 Comments
The Passionate Shepherd
Who can live in heart so glad
As the merry country lad?
Who upon a fair green balk
May at pleasure sit and walk,
And amid the azure skies
See the morning sun arise;
While he hears in every spring
How the birds do chirp and sing;
Or before the hounds in cry
See the hare go stealing by;
Or along the shallow brook
Angling with a baited hook,
See the fishes leap and play
In a blessed sunny day;
Or to hear the partridge call
Till she have her covey all;
Or to see the subtle fox,
How the villain plies the box,
After feeding on his prey
How he closely sneaks away
Through the hedge and down the furrow,
Till he gets into his burrow;
Then the bee to gather honey,
And the little black hair’d coney
On a bank for sunny place
With her forefeet wash her face:
Are not these, with thousands moe
Than the courts of kings do know,
The true pleasing-spirits sights
That may breed true love’s delights?
– Nicholas Breton
After driving through a thunderstorm
April 15, 2012 § Leave a comment
“The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night-
And I love the rain.”
-Langston Hughes, “April Rain Song”
Kinds of Honey 