Kipling has number, dials it

Below is Rudyard Kipling's "The Gods of the Copybook Headings".    Written almost a century ago, it anticipates our own age's worst problem:  the tendency to reject reality (as it is) and supply our own reality in its place.   Problem is: the truth will out.

-----------------

AS I PASS through my incarnations in every age and race,
I make my proper prostrations to the Gods of the Market Place.
Peering through reverent fingers I watch them flourish and fall,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings, I notice, outlast them all.

We were living in trees when they met us. They showed us each in turn
That Water would certainly wet us, as Fire would certainly burn:
But we found them lacking in Uplift, Vision and Breadth of Mind,
So we left them to teach the Gorillas while we followed the March of Mankind.

We moved as the Spirit listed. They never altered their pace,
Being neither cloud nor wind-borne like the Gods of the Market Place,
But they always caught up with our progress, and presently word would come
That a tribe had been wiped off its icefield, or the lights had gone out in Rome.

With the Hopes that our World is built on they were utterly out of touch,
They denied that the Moon was Stilton; they denied she was even Dutch;
They denied that Wishes were Horses; they denied that a Pig had Wings;
So we worshipped the Gods of the Market Who promised these beautiful things.

When the Cambrian measures were forming, They promised perpetual peace.
They swore, if we gave them our weapons, that the wars of the tribes would cease.
But when we disarmed They sold us and delivered us bound to our foe,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "Stick to the Devil you know."

On the first Feminian Sandstones we were promised the Fuller Life
(Which started by loving our neighbour and ended by loving his wife)
Till our women had no more children and the men lost reason and faith,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "The Wages of Sin is Death."

In the Carboniferous Epoch we were promised abundance for all,
By robbing selected Peter to pay for collective Paul;
But, though we had plenty of money, there was nothing our money could buy,
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings said: "If you don't work you die."

Then the Gods of the Market tumbled, and their smooth-tongued wizards withdrew
And the hearts of the meanest were humbled and began to believe it was true
That All is not Gold that Glitters, and Two and Two make Four
And the Gods of the Copybook Headings limped up to explain it once more.

As it will be in the future, it was at the birth of Man
There are only four things certain since Social Progress began.
That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool's bandaged finger goes wabbling back to the Fire;

And that after this is accomplished, and the brave new world begins
When all men are paid for existing and no man must pay for his sins,
As surely as Water will wet us, as surely as Fire will burn,
The Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return!


ht:Douglas Wilson

Creatures of Contact

David Rakoff reads his poetic retelling of the Turtle and the Scorpion.

A Baby Sermon

"A Baby Sermon" - George MacDonald


The lightning and thunder
They go and they come:
But the stars and the stillness
Are always at home.

Blake's Jerusalem

And did those feet in ancient time,
Walk upon Englands mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!


And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here,
Among these dark Satanic Mills?


Bring me my Bow of burning gold;
Bring me my Arrows of desire:
Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my Chariot of fire!


I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England's green & pleasant Land.

— from Milton, by William Blake

Mary Karr interview

I've posted a poem by Mary Karr before, but here's a longer interview with her.   I've yet to read some of her longer works, but I think they'll make the list after watching this.

As a bonus, here's a link to one of her poems.

Quote #145

"Surely, if each one saw another’s heart,
There would be no commerce,
No sale or bargain pass: all would disperse.
And live apart."

— George Herbert

Dying Tomcats

Mary Karr's poem "For a Dying Tomcat Who's Relinquished His Former Hissing and Predatory Nature".  Click through to read the whole thing:  it's well worth your time.

[...] Thanks
for that. I’m not one to whom offerings
often get made. You let me feel
how Christ might when I kneel,
weeping in the dark
over the usual maladies: love and its lack.
[...]

Read the whole poem...

"Praise Him"

An excellent poem by Brad Davis.   The conclusion:

Idols cannot save, nor theologies.
Only God, and that is no great comfort.

Link to full poem @ Mockingbird blog...

"Kapiolani"

When from the terrors of Nature a people have
      fashion'd and worship a Spirit of Evil,
Blest be the Voice of the Teacher who calls to
      them
'Set yourselves free!'

— from "Kapiolani", by A.L. Tennyson

"Ballade of Building"

Aelswith who built to the praise of Her
    Whose glory is most plain,
Walkelyn who founded Winchester
    To all men's after gain,
    Builders of Sarum, of Romsey fane,
Princes and priests long gone,
    Knew all that more than this was vain, —
'One stone on another stone.'


Bishop or queen, each labourer
    Builded in half disdain;
'What good', they said, 'though our word make stir
    Trowel and hod and crane?
    For this at best shall the work remain,
To teach one thing alone, —
    The marvel and might that sets with strain
One stone on another stone.'


It is told of the days when great deeds were
    That there was a king in Spain
Planned a church for his sepulchre;
    'Mid pomp of his whole demesne
    The second brick to the first was ta'en:
Then he ceased and from his throne
    Cried: 'Lo, be this the word of a reign,
One stone on another stone.'


L'Envoi:


Prince, dig and build and set in train
    Works, that thy name be known:
But only, at ending, of this be fain,
    One stone on another stone!

— Charles Williams, from Poems of Conformity.