#WingedWordsWindsday: 11/17/2021 -- In Tenebris Lux: Reflections on Homer

 

WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY

Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)

Vol. 1, No. 3: November 17, 2021

 

In Tenebris Lux: Reflections on Homer

“Ad Niniannam, Sibyllam Caecam et Animam Caram”

Editor’s Note

                In recent months, I have been doing a lot of reminiscing about Homer, the legendary epic poet of ancient Greece – thinking not only about the poems and tales ascribed to him, but also about Homer as a literary character himself. As a Classics major at the University of Illinois during the late 1980s and early 1990s, Homer was an inspirational figure to me because I have lived all my life with low vision, and he was widely believed in antiquity to have been blind. Here is a short introduction to Homeric studies, along with my favorite poem about Homer, and a short Homeric hymn to the Muses.

 

Excerpts from Chapter 35 of The Age of Fable by Thomas Bulfinch (1796-1867)

                Homer, from whose poems of the Iliad and Odyssey we have taken the chief part of our chapters of the Trojan War and the return of the Grecians, is almost as mythical a personage as the heroes he celebrates. The traditionary story is that he was a wandering minstrel, blind and old, who travelled from place to place singing his lays to the music of his harp, in the courts of princes or the cottages of peasants, and dependent upon the voluntary offerings of his hearers for support.

                The prevailing opinion of the learned, at this time, seems to be that the framework and much of the structure of the poems belong to Homer, but that there are numerous interpolations and additions by other hands. The date assigned to Homer, on the authority of Herodotus, is 850 BC.

 

“In tenebris lux.” (Latin)

“In the darkness is the Light.”

 

“To Homer”

By John Keats (1795-1821)

Standing aloof in giant ignorance,

Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,

As one who sits ashore and longs perchance

To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.

So thou wast blind; -- but then the veil was rent,

For Jove uncurtained Heaven to let thee live,

And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,

And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;

Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,

And precipices show untrodden green,

There is a budding morrow in midnight,

There is a triple sight in blindness keen;

Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befell

To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.

 

Homeric Hymn #25: “To the Muses and Apollo”

Translated by Hugh G. Evelyn-White (1914)

                I will begin with the Muses and Apollo and Zeus. For it is through the Muses and Apollo that there are singers upon the Earth and players upon the lyre; but kings are from Zeus. Happy is he whom the Muses love: sweet flows speech from his lips.

                Hail, children of Zeus! Give honor to my song! And now I will remember you and another song also.

 

In this detail from The Parnassus by Raphael, Homer is wearing a crown of laurels atop Mount Parnassus, with Dante on his right and Virgil on his left.

A Birthday Tribute to Vidandi, My First Peer Mentor at the University of Illinois

EDITOR'S NOTE: This special blog post is dedicated to the memory of Vidandi, my first peer mentor at the University of Illinois. During the summer of 1987, between my freshling and sophomore years at Illinois, I was reading the Legends of Charlemagne volume of Bulfinch's Mythology, and it occurred to me that the good, wise wizard Melissa, depicted in the Italian Renaissance romances about Charlemagne and his knights, bore a strong resemblance to Vidandi, at least in my mind. Vidandi, two years my elder, took me under her wing, introduced me to her circle of friends, gave me sage advice about how to navigate campus life as a student with a disability, and showed me what philia (the love between friends) is all about.

Today would have been her 56th birthday, but her life was cut short by cancer a few years ago. This is my heartfelt tribute to Vidandi -- who was (and still is) truly the best friend of my undergraduate days at Illinois. Requiescat in potestate, amica mea. (Latin) = Rest in power, my friend.

In this illustration from a public-domain edition of Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, the good wizard Melissa (standing) imparts sage advice to the noble knight Bradamante (kneeling), a warrior woman who would later marry the Frankish paladin Rogero.

A Tribute to Vidandi on Her Birthday: November 15^th

Dedicated with Gratitude to My First Peer Mentor at the University of Illinois

Compiled by @RHCLambengolmo (2021)

 

“In that part of the book of my memory, before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life.’ Under that heading I find written the words that it is my intention to copy into this little book: and if not all, at least their essence.”

-- Dante (1265-1321): La Vita Nuova

 

“The Sack of the Gods”

By Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

Strangers drawn from the ends of the Earth, jeweled and plumed were we;

I was Lord of the Inca race, and she was Queen of the Sea.

Under the stars beyond our stars where the new-forged meteors glow,

Hotly we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago!

Ever 'neath high Valhalla Hall the well-tuned horns begin,

When the swords are out in the underworld, and the weary gods come in.

Ever through high Valhalla Gate the Patient Angel goes;

He opens the eyes that are blind with hate – he joins the hands of foes.

Dust of the stars was under our feet, glitter of stars above;

Wrecks of our wrath dropped reeling down as we fought, and we spurned, and we strove.

Worlds upon worlds we tossed aside, and scattered them to and fro,

The night that we stormed Valhalla, a million years ago!

They are forgiven as they forgive all those dark wounds and deep.

Their beds are made on the Lap of Time, and they lie down and sleep.

They are forgiven as they forgive all those old wounds that bleed.

They shut their eyes from their worshippers; they sleep till the world has need.

She with the star I had marked for my own – I with my set desire –

Lost in the loom of the Night of Nights – lighted by worlds afire –

Met in a war against the gods where the headlong meteors glow,

Hewing our way to Valhalla, a million years ago!

They will come back – come back again, as long as the red Earth rolls.

He never wasted a leaf or a tree. Do you think He would squander souls?

 

“Everything perishes except the world itself and its keepers. But while life lasts, everything on Earth has its use. The wise seek ways to be helpful to the world, for the helpful ones are sure to live again.”

-- L. Frank Baum (1856-1919): The Life and Adventures of Santa Claus

 

“Death, Be Not Proud” (Holy Sonnet #10)

By John Donne (1571-1631)

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally,

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

 

“From the unreal, lead us to the Real; from the darkness, lead us to the Light; from death, lead us to immortality.”

-- Brihadāraṇyaka Upanishad 1.3.28

 

“When Earth’s Last Picture Is Painted”

By Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)

When Earth's last picture is painted and the tubes are twisted and dried,

When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died,

We shall rest, and faith, we shall need it – lie down for an aeon or two,

Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall put us to work anew.

And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair;

They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comet's hair.

They shall find real saints to draw from – Magdalene, Peter, and Paul;

They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all!

And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame;

And no one will work for the money, and no one will work for the fame,

But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star,

Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of Things as They are!

 

“That is not dead which can eternal lie,

And with strange aeons even death may die.”

-- H. P. Lovecraft (1890-1937)

 

In this picture, we see Vidandi playing her guitar. She was a talented singer and songwriter who brought joy to all her adoring fans! (Digital image processed by the Editor.)

 

 

 

#WingedWordsWindsday: A Trio of Poems for November Days

 

WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY

Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)

Vol. 1, No. 2: November 10, 2021

 

A Trio of Poems for November Days

 

“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 gayly 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!

 

“The Leaves”

(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.:

 

“The North Wind Doth Blow”

(Traditional English Rhyme – 16th Century)

The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow.

And what will poor robin do then, poor thing?

He’ll sit in a barn, and keep himself warm,

And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.

The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow.

And what will the dormouse do then, poor thing?

Rolled up like a ball, in his nest snug and small,

He’ll sleep till warm weather comes in, poor thing.

The north wind doth blow, and we shall have snow.

And what will the children do then, poor things?

When lessons are done, they must skip, hop, and run,

Until they have made themselves warm, poor things.

 

In November 2013, the Editor arranged and led a field trip for members of the James Scholar Media Team (JSMT) to Japan House for a Saturday afternoon tea ceremony. You can learn more about Japan House and its excellent program offerings @ https://japanhouse.illinois.edu. (Photo Credit: Japan House Staff)

Happy Birthdays to Plato, Quotemail, & Zenaida :)

 Hello everyone –

 

Monday, November 8^th marks the 26^th birthday of the Quotemail emailing list AND the 26^h birthday of my younger cousin, Zenaida. In honor of these two birthdays, and the longstanding interest in astronomy that I share with many of our list members, here’s a selection of my favorite poems about the stars. We begin with an invocation to Urania, the Greek Muse of Astronomy, and we conclude with an epigram by the greatest Greek philosopher of  all time, Plato, in honor of his birthday on November 7^th. 😊

 

From Paradise Lost: Book 7, Lines 1-20

By John Milton (1608-1674)

 

Descend from Heaven, Urania, by that name
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar,
Above the flight of Pegasean wing!
The meaning, not the name, I call: for thou
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top
Of old Olympus dwellest; but, heavenly-born,
Before the hills appeared, or fountain flowed,
Thou with eternal Wisdom didst converse,
Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play
In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased
With thy celestial song. Up led by thee
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed,
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air,
Thy tempering: with like safety guided down
Return me to my native element:
Lest from this flying steed unreined, (as once
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime,)
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall,
Erroneous there to wander, and forlorn.

 

“Out of the mists which surround the remote past, a Universe of stars has appeared. And here we are on the Earth, this planet of ours, while all around and above us, Nature is staging a grand play of events, inviting our interest in the wonderful Universe in which we live.”

– Robert H. Baker (1883-1964), Third Director of the University of Illinois Observatory (1923-1951): When the Stars Come Out (1934)

 

“The Heart of Night”

By Bliss Carman (1861-1929)

 

When all the stars are sown

Across the night-blue space,

With the immense unknown,

In silence face to face.

We stand in speechless awe

While Beauty marches by,

And wonder at the Law

Which wears such majesty.

How small a thing is man

In all that world-sown vast,

That he should hope or plan

Or dream his dream could last!

O doubter of the light,

Confused by fear and wrong,

Lean on the heart of night

And let love make thee strong!

The Good that is the True

Is clothed with Beauty still.

Lo, in their tent of blue,

The stars above the hill!

 

“Stars”

By Sara Teasdale (1884-1933)

 

Alone in the night on a dark hill

With pines around me spicy and still,

And a heaven full of stars over my head,

White and topaz and misty red;

Myriads with beating hearts of fire

That aeons cannot vex or tire;

Up the dome of heaven like a great hill,

I watch them marching stately and still,

And I know that I am honored to be

Witness of so much majesty.

 

“Stars”

By Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall (1883-1922)

 

Now in the West the slender Moon lies low,

And now Orion glimmers through the trees,

Clearing the Earth with even pace and slow,

And now the stately-moving Pleiades,

In that soft infinite darkness overhead

Hang jewel-wise upon a silver thread.

 

And all the lonelier stars that have their place,

Calm lamps within the distant southern sky,

And planet-dust upon the edge of space,

Look down upon the fretful world, and I

Look up to outer vastness unafraid

And see the stars which sang when Earth was made.

 

“It is clear to everyone that astronomy at all events compels the soul to look upwards, and draws it from the things of this world to the other.”

-- Plato (427-347 BCE)

Plato, as depicted in "The School of Athens" by the Italian Renaissance maestro Raphael. Starting in Renaissance Europe, the custom began of celebrating Plato's birthday on November 7th with symposia, feasting, and readings from his dialogues and other writings.

#WingedWordsWindsday: 11/3/2021 -- A Remembrance of Things Past

 

WINGED WORDS WINDSDAY

Compiled by Rob Chappell (@RHCLambengolmo)

Vol. 1, No. 1: November 3, 2021

 

A Remembrance of Things Past

Editor’s Note

                In 1959, the University had chosen to name its new flagship Honors Programs after Dr. Edmund J. James, the fourth President of the University of Illinois. Three years ago, I was researching James Scholar history in preparation for the Diamond Jubilee (60^th anniversary) of the ACES James Scholar Honors Program. I was assisted in my research by my intrepid student worker, Megan Finfrock. While we were in the midst of reviewing archival materials and conducting interviews with local experts, Megan was able to locate the gravesite of President James in the Mount Hope Cemetery in Urbana.

                We visited the gravesite on November 2, 2018 (All Souls’ Day, appropriately enough), and I read the following poem out loud as we stood there reflecting on President James’ legacy of academic excellence. It was a very moving experience for me, one that will stay with me for a long time yet to come. It’s amazing to think that the legacy of a great leader who served the University with distinction over 100 years ago inspired the creation of the James Scholar Honors Programs that I’ve been involved with for more than two decades.

 

Requiescat in potestate, Demarchus Jacomus!

Rest in power, President James!

 

“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 tomorrow

Find us farther than today.

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 over 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.

 

Dr. Edmund J. James (1855-1925) was the fourth President of the University of Illinois from 1904 to 1920. This photo appeared in the 1912 edition of the Illio yearbook. (Photo Credit: Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons)