Happy Belated Birthdaze! :)

Hello everyone –

Last Thursday, November 8^th, marked the 23^rd birthday of the RHC Fortnightly Quotemail emailing list! J The list now known as the RHC Quotemail began during my graduate school days in the German Department at the U of I. Its original name was REEL – Rob’s Eclectic Edutainment List. It was primarily aimed at friends and colleagues in the German Department, but it began to expand slowly but surely as my worksites changed over the years. When I moved to the Graduate College Information Office in 1997, this list became the “Quote of the Week,” and when I moved to the ACES James Scholar Honors Program in 2000, it was simply called “Quotemail.” Today, this list can boast over 130 members who receive snippets of poetry and prose, mixed in with some inspiration and humor, every other Friday.

In honor of this auspicious occasion, here are two of my favorite “philosophy of life” poems, which I would like to dedicate to my cousin, Zenaida, on the occasion of her own 23^rd birthday, which was also last Thursday. :)

“A Psalm of Life”

(What the Heart of the Young Man Said to the Psalmist)

By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream ! —

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real !   Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal ;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way ;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, though stout and brave,

Still, like muffled drums, are beating

Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,

In the bivouac of Life,

Be not like dumb, driven cattle !

Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, however pleasant !

Let the dead Past bury its dead !

Act,— act in the living Present !

Heart within, and God overhead !

Lives of great men all remind us

We can make our lives sublime,

And, departing, leave behind us

Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,

Sailing o'er life's solemn main,

A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,

Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate ;

Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to labor and to wait.

“The Rainbow Connecti8on” (1979)

Songwriters: Kenny Ascher / Paul Hamilton Williams

Rainbow Connection lyrics © Walt Disney Music Company

1. Why are there so many

Songs about rainbows

And what's on the other side?

Rainbows are visions;

They're only illusions,

And rainbows have nothing to hide

So we've been told and some chose to

Believe it;

But I know they're wrong, wait and see.

Someday we'll find it,

The Rainbow Connection,

The lovers, the dreamers and me.

2. Who said that every wish

Would be heard and answered

When wished on the morning star?

Somebody thought of that

And someone believed it

And look what it's done so far.

What's so amazing

That keeps us stargazing,

What do we think we might see?

Someday we'll find it,

That Rainbow Connection,

The lovers the dreamers and me.

All of us under its spell,

We know that it’s probably magic!

3. Have you been fast asleep

And have you heard voices?

I've heard them calling my name.

Is this the sweet sound that calls

The young sailors?

The voice might be one and the same.

I've heard it too many times to ignore it;

It's something that I’m supposed to be.

Someday we'll find it,

The rainbow connection...

The lovers, the dreamers and me.

Happy 23^rd Birthday to Quotemail and to my amazing cousin, Zenaida! :)

Rob

SPECIAL EDITION: Remembrance Day 100th Anniversary

Hello everyone –

This Sunday, November 11^th, marks the 100^th anniversary of the Armistice that ended World War I. Known variously as Armistice Day, Remembrance Day, and Veterans Day, this date marks a time for us to remember, and to be grateful for, all the veterans who made the ultimate sacrifice to ensure our freedom. In this special edition of Quotemail, I have included two poems, both written in 1914, that encapsulate the experience of so many heroes who lived and died in their own time so that future generations might enjoy the blessings of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness in turn.

“For the Fallen”

By Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Published in The London Times on 21 September 1914

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,

England mourns for her dead across the sea.

Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,

Fallen in the cause of the free.

Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal

Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres.

There is music in the midst of desolation

And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,

Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.

They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,

They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;

They sit no more at familiar tables of home;

They have no lot in our labor of the day-time;

They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,

Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,

To the innermost heart of their own land they are known

As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,

Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain,

As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,

To the end, to the end, they remain.

“Abraham Lincoln Walks at Midnight” (1914)

By Vachel Lindsay (1879-1931)

It is portentous, and a thing of state

That here at midnight, in our little town

A mourning figure walks, and will not rest,

Near the old court-house pacing up and down,

Or by his homestead, or in shadowed yards

He lingers where his children used to play,

Or through the market, on the well-worn stones

He stalks until the dawn-stars burn away.

A bronzed, lank man! His suit of ancient black,

A famous high top-hat and plain worn shawl

Make him the quaint great figure that men love,

The prairie-lawyer, master of us all.

He cannot sleep upon his hillside now.

He is among us: — as in times before!

And we who toss and lie awake for long

Breathe deep, and start, to see him pass the door.

His head is bowed. He thinks on men and kings.

Yea, when the sick world cries, how can he sleep?

Too many peasants fight, they know not why,

Too many homesteads in black terror weep.

The sins of all the war-lords burn his heart.

He sees the dreadnaughts scouring every main.

He carries on his shawl-wrapped shoulders now

The bitterness, the folly and the pain.

He cannot rest until a spirit-dawn

Shall come; — the shining hope of Europe free:

The league of sober folk, the Workers’ Earth,

Bringing long peace to Cornland, Alp and Sea.

It breaks his heart that kings must murder still,

That all his hours of travail here for men

Seem yet in vain. And who will bring white peace

That he may sleep upon his hill again?

“In Great Deeds” by Joshua Chamberlain (1828-1914, Union General from Maine)

In great deeds, something abides. On great fields, something stays. Forms change and pass; bodies disappear; but spirits linger, to consecrate ground for the vision-place of souls. … Generations that know us not and that we know not of, heart-drawn to see where and by whom great things were suffered and done for them, shall come to this deathless field, to ponder and dream; and lo! The shadow of a mighty presence shall wrap them in its bosom, and the power of the vision pass into their souls.

Rob

November Is Here!

Hello everyone –

November has arrived, with autumn splendor, cool breezes, starlit frosty nights, and holidays to remember and celebrate! Here are some of my favorite poems about late autumn (and yes, early winter – it’s definitely on the way!).

“Leaves”

By Anonymous

The leaves had a wonderful frolic.

They danced to the wind’s loud song.

They whirled, and they floated, and scampered.

They circled and flew along.

The Moon saw the little leaves dancing.

Each looked like a small brown bird.

The Man in the Moon smiled and listened.

And this is the song he heard.

“The North Wind is calling, is calling,

And we must whirl round and round,

And then, when our dancing is ended,

We’ll make a warm quilt for the ground.”

“A Calendar of Sonnets: November”

By Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885)

This is the treacherous month when autumn days
With summer's voice come bearing summer's gifts.
Beguiled, the pale down-trodden aster lifts
Her head and blooms again. The soft, warm haze
Makes moist once more the sere and dusty ways,
And, creeping through where dead leaves lie in drifts,
The violet returns. Snow noiseless sifts
Ere night, an icy shroud, which morning's rays
Will idly shine upon and slowly melt,
Too late to bid the violet live again.
The treachery, at last, too late, is plain;
Bare are the places where the sweet flowers dwelt.
What joy sufficient hath November felt?
What profit from the violet's day of pain? 

“November Morning”

By Evaleen Stein (1863-1923)

A tingling, misty marvel 
  Blew hither in the night, 
And now the little peach-trees 
  Are clasped in frozen light.

Upon the apple-branches 
  An icy film is caught, 
With trailing threads of gossamer 
  In pearly patterns wrought.

The autumn sun, in wonder, 
  Is gaily peering through 
This silver-tissued network 
  Across the frosty blue.

The weather-vane is fire-tipped, 
  The honeysuckle shows 
A dazzling icy splendor, 
  And crystal is the rose.

Around the eaves are fringes 
  Of icicles that seem 
To mock the summer rainbows 
  With many-colored gleam.

Along the walk, the pebbles 
  Are each a precious stone; 
The grass is tasseled hoarfrost, 
  The clover jewel-sown.

Such sparkle, sparkle, sparkle 
  Fills all the frosty air, 
Oh, can it be that darkness 
  Is ever anywhere!

Enjoy the longest weekend of the year! :)

Rob