Consolamentum
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Sunday, May 5, 2019
The reality of death.
So our family get-together, the seeds of which were planted two years ago, is getting closer.
Less than three weeks away.
The idea is to celebrate the life we’ve had together, so far, the wonderful several days we’re going to be spending together during the reunion, and the recognition that, at some point, who knows when, death will descend.
The idea is that this celebration will better prepare us for when we are visited by death.
My sister Evelyn had such a going-away party, with the codicil that her death was imminent.
She decided that, death in the offing, the pain and suffering that attended her every day so reduced the quality of her life that she wanted it ended.
When, even during the height of her going-away party, when we were all laughing loudly at a remembrance or a wise crack, when she was at this happy moment, then, when I reminded her that life had many such moments in store for her if she continued taking her medications, and asked wouldn’t she reconsider, and she turned and said, “Absolutely no chance,” she made me to understand the depth of her pain, the clarity of her mind.
What response is there to that but a hand-squeeze and a nod.
Preparation for death for many people is a rush to their stocks and bonds, and wills, real estate family jewelry and other treasures.
Important for those who have them.
But universally, preparation for death for the target and her close family and friends alike, is the quiet happiness of remembering the wonderful moments we had.
And the rejection of a mindset that begrudges the years of joyous moments we’re not going to have.
We must face the reality of death and nod acceptance.
The weather in the next few days is decidedly ticking upwards in temperature and in sun, especially look to Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday for milder temperatures.
Let’s exult in this coming glorious weather.
The hours are ticking away and if we don’t make the most of our time another day will soon click past.
Unnoticed.
Unappreciated.
Tick Tock.
In clock language:
Enjoy today.
Enjoy the week.
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Postings Count, Weather Brief, and Dinner
Sunday, May 5, 2019
Our 394th consecutive posting, committed to 5,000.
After 394 posts we’re at the 7.88 mark of our commitment, the commitment a different way of marking the passage of time.
Time is 12.01am.
On Sunday, Boston’s temperature will reach a high of 52* with a feels-like of 50* with cloudy skies and showers.
Dinner for tonight will be Spaghetti and Meat Balls.
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Question of the Day:
What is “Elegy Written n a Country Churchyard?”
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Sunday, May 5, 2019
Love your notes.
Contact me at domcapossela@hotmail.com
This from Howard re: conversations on preparation for death:
the “Hebraic” perspective on death? Seriously?
Is the only qualification that you be circumcised? Will your friend write it in Hebrew?
Are you soliciting other points of view as well, presumably by upbringing, if not present belief: Buddhist, Jainist, Zoroastrian, Vulcan?
I have an attitude towards death, about which I’ve had some experience as an observer and these days is ever mindful. I was born and raised, to a certain age, now 60 years ago, as a Jew. And I don’t deny it, but I wouldn’t say my views on death are representative of the “Hebraic” (you do realize how this is off-putting…or actually maybe you don’t). Nevertheless, as for death, I can say this, with utter succinctness. I’m against it.
Web Meister Responds: Love you, my friend.
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Chuckle for Sunday, May 5, 2019
I can remember where I got married.
I can remember when I got married.
I just can’t remember why.
William Blake's watercolour illustration of the first stanza
William Blake - ngFruxpdb8t29Q at Google Cultural Institute maximum zoom level
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Answer to the Question of the Day: Sunday, May 5, 2019
What is “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard?”
One of my favorite poems.
To be read in a soft, respectful voice .
Perhaps in memory of someone dear.
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard is a poem by Thomas Gray, completed in 1750 and first published in 1751.
The poem's origins are unknown, but it was partly inspired by Gray's thoughts following the death of the poet Richard West in 1742.
Originally titled Stanzas Wrote in a Country Church-Yard, the poem was completed when Gray was living near St Giles' parish church at Stoke Poges.
It was sent to his friend Horace Walpole, who popularized the poem among London literary circles.
Gray was eventually forced to publish the work on 15 February 1751 in order to preempt a magazine publisher from printing an unlicensed copy of the poem.
The poem is an elegy in name but not in form; it employs a style similar to that of contemporary odes, but it embodies a meditation on death, and remembrance after death.
The poem argues that the remembrance can be good and bad, and the narrator finds comfort in pondering the lives of the obscure rustics buried in the churchyard.
The two versions of the poem, Stanzas and Elegy, approach death differently; the first contains a stoic response to death, but the final version contains an epitaph which serves to repress the narrator's fear of dying. With its discussion of, and focus on, the obscure and the known, the poem has possible political ramifications, but it does not make any definite claims on politics to be more universal in its approach to life and death.
Claimed as "probably still today the best-known and best-loved poem in English", the Elegy quickly became popular.
It was printed many times and in a variety of formats, translated into many languages, and praised by critics even after Gray's other poetry had fallen out of favor.
Later critics tended to comment on its language and universal aspects, but some felt the ending was unconvincing—failing to resolve the questions the poem raised—or that the poem did not do enough to present a political statement that would serve to help the obscure rustic poor who form its central image.
The poem begins in a churchyard with a speaker who is describing his surroundings in vivid detail. The speaker emphasizes both aural and visual sensations as he examines the area in relation to himself:
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r
The moping owl does to the moon complain
Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her ancient solitary reign. (lines 1–12)
As the poem continues, the speaker begins to focus less on the countryside and more on his immediate surroundings. His descriptions move from sensations to his own thoughts as he begins to emphasize what is not present in the scene; he contrasts an obscure country life with a life that is remembered. This contemplation provokes the speaker's thoughts on the natural process of wastage and unfulfilled potential.
First page of Dodsley's illustrated edition of Gray's Elegy with illustration by Richard Bentley
Bentley, Richard - Bentley, Richard. Designs by Mr. R. Bentley for Six Poems by Mr. T. Gray. London: R Dodsley, 1775.
Reprint of the 1753 edition, from google books. Cropped and modified.
Full many a gem of purest ray serene,
The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:
Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast
The little tyrant of his fields withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
The applause of listening senates to command,
The threats of pain and ruin to despise,
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes,
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'd alone
Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd;
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne,
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind,
The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,
Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride|With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. (lines 53–72)
The speaker focuses on the inequities that come from death, obscuring individuals, while he begins to resign himself to his own inevitable fate. As the poem ends, the speaker begins to deal with death in a direct manner as he discusses how humans desire to be remembered. As the speaker does so, the poem shifts and the first speaker is replaced by a second who describes the death of the first:
For thee, who mindful of th' unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
If chance, by lonely contemplation led,
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate,
Haply some hoary-headed swain may say,
Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn
Brushing with hasty steps the dews away
To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. (lines 93–100)
The poem concludes with a description of the poet's grave, over which the speaker is meditating, together with a description of the end of the poet's life:
There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His listless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn,
Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove,
Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn,
Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.
One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,
Along the heath and near his fav'rite tree;
Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;
Molest her ancient solitary reign. (lines 1–12)
Thomas Gray, by John Giles Eccardt, 1747–48, National Portrait Gallery, London
The next with dirges due in sad array
Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him borne.
Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay,
Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." (lines 101–116)
An epitaph is included after the conclusion of the poem. The epitaph reveals that the poet whose grave is the focus of the poem was unknown and obscure. Circumstance kept the poet from becoming something greater, and he was separated from others because he was unable to join in the common affairs of their life:
Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
A youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown.
Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth,
And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heav'n did a recompense as largely send:
He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,
He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.
No farther seek his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,
(There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God. (lines 117–128)
The original conclusion from the earlier version of the poem confronts the reader with the inevitable prospect of death and advises resignation, which differs from the indirect, third-person description in the final version:
The thoughtless World to majesty may bow
Exalt the brave, & idolize Success
But more to Innocence their Safety owe
Than Power & Genius e'er conspired to bless
And thou, who mindful of the unhonour'd Dead
Dost in these Notes thy artless Tale relate
By Night & lonely contemplation led
To linger in the gloomy Walks of Fate
Hark how the sacred Calm, that broods around
Bids ev'ry fierce tumultous Passion ease
In still small Accents whisp'ring from the Ground
A grateful Earnest of eternal Peace
No more with Reason & thyself at strife;
Give anxious Cares & endless Wishes room
But thro' the cool sequester'd Vale of Life
Pursue the silent Tenour of thy Doom.
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Good Morning on this Sunday, the fifth day of May, 2019
Our homily dealt with a family get-together to celebrate past memories and, with this weekend of coming together, to create new ones. The point being, if we are at some point closed off from new experiences together, new memories, we’re better prepared for death.
The question and answer related to the poem, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.
We posted a letter from Howard and a chuckle.
We posted, with some notes and background from Wikipedia, the poem, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.
And now? Gotta go.
Che vuoi? Le pocketbook?
See you soon.
Your love.