Mildred's Blog

For Jan. 20, 2009

Mildred — Mon, 19 Jan 2009 10:46:51 EST

On January 9th, 2008, at a fundraiser in NYC, I bashfully said to Barack Obama that I had a quote for him...and then recited William Wordsworth's famous line at the onset of the French Revolution, so inspired by the ideals of the Enlightenment:

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,

But to be young was very heaven.

The quote was apt then, it is doubly apt now.

So Close to the Election

Mildred — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 09:04:30 EST

Two days away from the election...I along with millions of others have watched Senator Obama's ascent, courage, and indefatigability with amazement and pride. He stands as a beacon to all who dream of a world free of divisiveness, prejudice, and animosity. On the eve of the election, I have selected this poem in my Politics and Literature blog to reflect the indomitable strength of this man. Good luck Barack Obama and thank you for daring to enter the world stage.

William Ernest Henley. 1849–1903 7. Invictus OUT of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance 5 I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody, but unbowed. Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the Horror of the shade, 10And yet the menace of the years Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: 15 I am the captain of my soul.

In Preparation for November

Mildred — Fri, 29 Aug 2008 08:42:16 EDT

Obama has secured the nomination. The hardest work is still to be done. Summer is fast fading and a new season approaches. Bliss Carman captured the mood of this marvelous change, a metaphor for the beauty and majesty of the change that Senator Obama embodies. We will follow that call for a new season and a fresh beginning.

THERE is something in the autumn that is native to my blood—

Touch of manner, hint of mood;

And my heart is like a rhyme,

With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time.

The scarlet of the maples can shake me like a cry

Of bugles going by.

And my lonely spirit thrills

To see the frosty asters like a smoke upon the hills.

There is something in October sets the gypsy blood astir;

We must rise and follow her,

When from every hill of flame

She calls and calls each vagabond by name.

And Now It Begins (Thomas Carlyle)

Mildred — Sun, 08 Jun 2008 09:36:08 EDT

Hillary has made her concession speech. It's time to organize anew, mobilize, and move on. Each day will count toward the general election. As a third-grader, I had to memorize this poem. It has stuck with me for close to seventy years! That is lasting power, a metaphor for the durability of the welcome and needed changes Barack will bring to this country.

Today by Thomas Carlyle

So here hath been dawning
Another blue day:
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away?

Out of Eternity
This new day is born:
In to Eternity
At night will return.

Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did:
So soon it forever
From all eyes is hid.

Here hath been dawning
Another blue day:
Think, wilt thou let it
Slip useless away

On the Eve of Capturing the Nomination, a poem by C.P. Cavafy)

Mildred — Tue, 03 Jun 2008 16:01:23 EDT

But the Wise Perceive Things about to Happen

                                “For the gods perceive future things,
                                ordinary people things in the present, but
                                the wise perceive things about to happen.”

                                Philostratos, Life of Apollonios of Tyana, viii, 7.

Ordinary people know what’s happening now,
the gods know future things
because they alone are totally enlightened.
Of what’s to come the wise perceive
things about to happen.

Sometimes during moments of intense study
their hearing’s troubled: the hidden sound
of things approaching reaches them,
and they listen reverently, while in the street outside
the people hear nothing whatsoever

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard

And We the supporters of Barack Obama have consistently shown our wisdom.

Barack, A Brother for All Humankind (E.A. Robinson)

Mildred — Fri, 30 May 2008 09:33:53 EDT

The World by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Some are the brothers of all humankind,
And own them, whatsoever their estate;
And some, for sorrow and self-scorn, are blind
With enmity for man's unguarded fate.
For some there is a music all day long
Like flutes in Paradise, they are so glad;
And there is hell's eternal under-song
Of curses and the cries of men gone mad.
Some say the Scheme with love stands luminous,
Some say 't were better back to chaos hurled;
And so 't is what we are that makes for us
The measure and the meaning of the world.

For Barack and his supporters, there is music all day long for it is what we are: brothers (and sisters) of all humankind.

Barack's the Fire (Emily Dickinson)

Mildred — Thu, 29 May 2008 09:59:35 EDT

You cannot put a fire out;

  A thing that can ignite

Can go, itself, without a fan

  Upon the slowest night.



You cannot fold a flood


  And put it in a drawer,—

Because the winds would find it out,

And tell your cedar floor.

Thanks to Emily Dickinson for this metaphor....

Obama, both writer and public servant, depicted by Robert Frost

Mildred — Tue, 27 May 2008 13:26:39 EDT

To write memoirs, history, poetry, and speeches requires privacy, quiet, and solitude...requirements vastly different from the hullabaloo of political campaigning and activity. Barack Obama is engaged in both, the world of his writing and the world of his public commitments. In the latter he knows that he has "promises to keep." Thus he pauses briefly by those dark and lovely woods, a moment of respite and reflection to inspire his soul, before he continues on his unprecedented public journey.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

On the eve of the Oregon Primary (Ithaka by C.P. Cavafy)

Mildred — Mon, 19 May 2008 20:13:36 EDT

How relevant is the poem Ithaka by C.P. Cavafy. Here is advice to Odysseus on his journey, a journey not unlike the journey of Barack Obama in his wondrous quest to the democratic nomination and to the presidency. Enjoy the journey at every moment. It will be a transformative one. So many of us here are with you on this journey enjoying every minute that is available to us. Godspeed.

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon-don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon-you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you're seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
sensual perfume of every kind-
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you're destined for.
But don't hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you're old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you've gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.
Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn't have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won't have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you'll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The Star of Hope on the Steeple of the Church - Marianne Moore's Steeple-jack

Mildred — Tue, 29 Apr 2008 13:37:23 EDT

Marianne Moore, a 20th century poet, often saw the world from two perspectives: one from afar; the other close up. In "The Steeple-Jack," she is describing a seacoast town with whales and seagulls and a "sea the purple of the peacock neck." The steeple-jack sees all these sights from his perch way up. A storm is brewing, so the steeple-jack lets down a rope like a spider spinning a thread. Now we shift in the poem to the ground level, to a sidewalk where a

sign says C.J. Poole, Steeple-Jack

in black and white; and one in red

and white says

Danger. The church portico has four fluted

columns, each a single piece of stone, made

modester by white-wash. This would be a fit haven for

waifs, children, animals, prisoners,

and presidents who have repaid

sin-driven

senators by not thinking about them. The

place has a school-house, a post-office in a

store, fish-houses, hen-houses, a three-masted

schooner on

the stocks. The hero, the student,

the steeple-jack, each in his way,

is at home.

It could not be dangerous to be living

in a town like this, of simple people,

who have a steeple-jack placing danger-signs by the church

while he is gilding the solid-

pointed star, which on a steeple

stands for hope."

The significance? Yes, there is danger in this seacoast town, physical danger from the storm that comes without warning as well as danger in living in world overly romanticised. On the ground one sees up close the post-office and school house and hen-houses, parts of the everyday world.

"The point is that when the danger has been fairly faced, as it has here by the acknowledgment of the realistic situation, it has been contained. The realistic view has neutralized the sentimental one: and from ground level looking up one may safely entertain hope--a hope based on solid foundations as the star is based on the steeple of the church." (1)

1.A.K. Weatherhead, "Two Kinds of Vision in Marianne Moore," ELH. Vol.31, No..4 (Dec., 4, 1964). pp 482-496.