Monday, May 17, 2010

Postscript…

A walk?

What on earth for

Asked Auden at someone’s country home.

Cardinal Spellman of New York once sent Pope Pius X11 a Cadillac automobile with solid gold handles.

Eight miles of books

What time was it forty five minutes before the beginning of time?

Why should we honor those who die on the field of battle, a man may show as reckless a courage in entering the abyss of himself.

Said Yeats.

And I say,  let me listen, live, to the Conga Kings,  once a week, every week, and there would be no abyss.  Kings like I heard on Saturday night. Hands fluttering, flying, banging, skittering across the skins of drums, driving me to tears, to shouts. Joy, joy, joy. Visible and irresistible.

Posted by Brenda in 19:08:06 | Permalink | Comments (3)

More rambling

Thoughts before  heading out the door: (via David Markson)

The word ghetto originally meant foundry.

Until the Jews of Venice were forced to live on an island that previously had been one.

The word synogogue is actually Greek.

And originally meant a Christian assembly.

Salvador Dali once gave a lecture in London while

wearing a diving helmet.

And nearly suffocated.

Before the Normans brought despair, the Anglo-Saxon word was wanhope.

Wanhope.

Posted by Brenda in 17:58:22 | Permalink | No Comments »