I just have to remember that Yeats is the one with the creepy obsession with Greek mythology.
Seriously!
It made my physically sick to my stomach to read the one about Leda. (Poor, poor girl...) I don't like reading that kind of stuff! If Dr. Brewton brought it up in class, I would probably have asked to be excused and go sit in the bathroom for a while or something. (Yes, I would have.) It didn't help that it felt like I was going to have a gallbladder attack, anyway (so, yes, your comment about trauma surgeons switching to general surgery and dealing with gallbladders was morbidly appropriate, Dr. Brewton.)
Let Us Never Speak Of This Again.
Anyway, I had actually encountered "The Second Coming" before, in one of my literature books in high school. I didn't think much of it then, and I think less of it now (my Brutal Honesty coming into play again), knowing this time around that he was into Theosophy and other illogical religions. Mostly, I remember "The Second Coming" for the last couple of lines, about the rough beast slouching to Bethlehem to be born. They're very memorable lines, but I cannot decipher the meaning behind them.
This leads to one of my biggest beefs with poetry. Why can it not make sense? Oh, I'm fine with usages of apostrophe, metaphor, simile, and the like. In fact, I expect them. What I don't get is when the author appears to switch topics randomly and talk about something very metaphorical. (Metaphorical. Metamorphorical rock. Read one of the Discworld books by Pterry, and you will never view that word the same way again.)
It gets so that I feel that poets should provide an explanation of their poems, saying what they intended to write about and what the various symbols and things mean. Of course, such poets would likely roundly condemn doing such a thing, as it would no doubt detract from the value of their poetry and the inherent mystery of their wordplay and symbolisms, yadda, yadda, yadda...
Dr. Brewton made the interesting comment today about how, "We don't read as much poetry as we should." This was intriguing. How much, exactly, poetry should we read? Should we even read poetry? Who decides how much and what types of poetry we should read? How should we read it?
Sorry. When statements are pronounced categorically in my hearing, I have the tendency to start questioning them. People don't cite their sources often; instead, they prefer to state their subjective opinions as objective fact. I ran into this the other day in one of my classes. It was rather annoying. *headdesk*
Anyway, I am not wholly against poetry. I just think it should tell a story, no matter how brief (capturing an emotion or a snapshot in time are perfectly acceptable), and it should make some sort of sense. Narrative poetry is probably my favorite. Hey, I've slogged through The History of Middle-earth with the Lay of Leithan (...is it spelled Leithian? I'm not sure. Help... they're coming to take my Tolkien nerd credentials away...) and the poem-version of Narn i Hin Hurin, and liked them. I also like Beowulf. (Apparently, I like alliterative, Old-English-style poetry. Go figure.)
In fact, some of my favorite parts in The Lord of the Rings actually are the poems! Sadly, very few of them make their way into the movies. However, the most memorable are ones like, "All that is gold does not glitter/ Not all those who wander are lost..." and, "Out of doubt, out of dark, to the day's rising/ I came singing in the sun, sword unsheathing..." And what about Galadriel's song: "I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew;/ Of wind I sang, a wind there came, and in the branches blew"? And, "Where are the horse and the rider?/ Where is the horn that was blowing?"
I know all of those by heart.
And who can forget the heart-breaking one that concludes the chapter The Battle of the Pelennor Fields? It lists the names of several men who died in the battle, people who are mentioned maybe once or twice in the books and never even alluded to in the movies, and ends with this: "Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,/ Red then it rolled, roaring water,/ Foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset/ As beacons mountains burned at evening:/ Red fell the dew in Rammas Echor."
Pardon me while I go cry again now...
However, it's not just Tolkien's poetry that I like. I am a huge fan of G. K. Chesterton as well. I absolutely love The Ballad of the White Horse (even if Tolkien said it wasn't strictly accurate) and Lepanto. GKC was a brilliant writer, whose nickname is the "Apostle of Common Sense". I think he definitely needs more love, particularly when we live in an age where we can all honestly say common sense is not in abundance.
So, yes, I like poetry. I just like poetry to make sense. If that's an oxymoron, so be it.
When Dr. Brewton mentioned that we don't read as much poetry as we should, Austin pointed out that music has replaced poetry in our modern lives. I think that is a very valid point. Music is a step up from poetry, just as poetry is a step up from conversation or prose. It's more dignified and elevated - more beautiful, I suppose I should say, or it should be. Suffice it to say that I believe music is sacred, and so I view... certain forms... of it to be unworthy of the name. I have ranted about this before on my normal blog and have no wish to start a flame war in our class, I shall say no more on that subject.
Dr. Brewton mentioned that church hymns likely originated with Gregorian chant during the Middle Ages. I wanted to point out that St. Gregory the Great, after whom Gregorian chant is (obviously) named, lived during the 6th century AD, a time period that is generally not considered part of the Middle Ages. Just me being a history nerd here; don't mind me...
So I thought I would dig out my humongous book, The 33 Doctors of the Church, and do a little research on St. Gregory to share with you all. Since it has been several years since I last read that book cover to cover (in fact, I only did that once) and I obviously do not remember the totality of it, I think this counts as NEW RESEARCH. Like one of my uncles said about a movie once: "If I wait to see it again for six months, it's like a whole new movie!" So, without further ado, let us investigate St. Gregory the Great.
First, a picture. Because we all like pictures. They don't make us think. Usually.
Now, I am fairly sure the papal tiara was not yet invented during St. Gregory's time. However, he is depicted with it to indicate that he was a Pope. I wish I could make out what the words of the song in his book say. I can tell you what the individual words are, but I can't recognize the lyrics of any Latin song that I know.
Anyway, back to St. Gregory. He was born around 540 (difficult to find precise dates for people's lives back then!) and died in 604 AD. He was Pope for fourteen years, ranging from 590 to 604. He came from a wealthy political family, which also, very surprisingly, happened to be a saintly family. Both his mother, Sylvia, and two of his aunts, Tarsilla and Aemilia, are also venerated as saints. He received a good education and had become one of, if not the most powerful political men in Rome by the time he was in his thirties.
Even so, he rid himself of all his properties to found monasteries and hospitals for the poor of Rome, becoming a simple monk himself. Later, he would claim that his days in the monaster were the happiest times of his life: "My poor mind, distracted by the worry of business, reverts to old monastic days when passing events glided along far beneath if, while, soaring above the whirl of activity, it dwelt on things of God alone..." (from the Preface to The Dialogues)
As is usually the case, his talents ensured that he would soon be dragged back into positions of authority so he could help the Church. He served as a representative of the Pope to the Roman Emperor in Constantinople, and eventually became the abbot of his monastery. He had a special desire to travel to England and be a missionary there, but was prevented. What happened was that he saw slaves being sold in the Roman forum, blond-haired and blue-eyed. Struck by their appearance, he asked to what race they belonged. "Angles, from Briton," he was told. "Not Angles, but Angels," he replied. Eventually, he arranged it so that St. Augustine (not St. Augustine of Hippo, but St. Augustine of Canturbury) was sent to England to convert the pagans there.
After Pope Pelagius II died, Gregory was chosen as his successor. He did not want to be the Pope. He actually tried to hide and escape after the election! However, once he was consecrated as Pope he took his duties very seriously and worked through many illnesses.
St. Gregory wrote a number of learned books, including Pastoral Care/The Book of Pastoral Rule, and Moralia/Morals on the Book of Job.
As far as the Mass and religious music goes, St. Gregory made a number of reforms to the Mass, little of which would probably make any sense to anyone if I were to describe them. His role in furthering liturgical music is harder to pin down. A biographer of his from the 9th century, John the Deacon, says that St. Gregory founded two schools of chant and himself listened to the altar boys practice, helping keeping them in time with taps of a rod.
My book, 33 Doctors of the Church - yes, St. Gregory is numbered among them - goes on to say that John the Deacon was not very complementary about Germanic and Gallic voices chanting. He compared them to the "confused sound of wagons coming downstairs"! I find this priceless. Apparently, he considered the voices of Germanic people to be deeper ("thunder", he describes it) and rather grating, especially in comparison to the "sweetness of sustained modulation" that Roman people were apparently capable of. LOL. In my humble opinion, I think that the natural strength of a Germanic voice such as this is more suited to Gregorian chant! Latin has a lot of rich sounds, which a strong voice would suit.
Then again, I may be just biased because I am Germanic myself and have a fairly strong, deep voice like my dad's family. (We are probably some of the louder members of the congregation. However, that may be a good thing because a lot of people just don't sing.) I am fully aware of how loud I can be in church, which you may not believe if all you've seen of me is the girl trying not to fall asleep in the front row.
(I have actually had someone mistake me for a boy on the phone. In her defense, she was a little old lady.)
Back to St. Gregory! His feast day is September the 3rd. For those of who you are not Catholic, feast days are days of the liturgical year on which we commemorate various holy people. You know, like March 17th is St. Patrick's Day?
I think I should now share an example of Gregorian chant with you all. Some people may no doubt dislike it or find it creepy, but I personally find it very soothing and beautiful. Because I'm just weird that way.
It's not that long. Listen to it all the way through. May your day improve with it!
In addition to mentioning Gregorian chant at the beginning of class (notice how I am passing in a Ciceronian silence over the middle portion of class), Dr. Brewton asked us at the end of class for a literary work we identified with and why. I wanted to respond, but we ran out of time. I don't think my answer would be hard to guess...
Dun-dun-dun... THE LORD OF THE RINGS!
Why?
The Lebensschauung and Weltansschauung (way of looking at life and at the world, respectively) match my own. It's not your typical, stupid teen paranormal romance book with the obligatory vampires, werewolves, and zombies (I was in Books-A-Million Tuesday, and there is a vampire-ified version of The Sound of Music. No kidding. It was called: "My Favorite Fangs." Now pardon me while I go perform an Obliviate on myself). It has depth to it. Substance. It is real. Its themes of loyalty, sacrifice, of death and immortality (Tolkien himself identified this as one of the more prevalent themes), and of good versus evil resonate strongly with me.
I believe that there are sacred things and evil things in this world. I believe there is a Melkor we call the devil, and I believe there is an Eru, the One, the Illuvatar, the Father of All. Why do I identify with the world of Middle-earth so strongly? Perhaps because it is our world, all the richer and more real to us for having been dipped in myth and legend. We see our own potential in it, and long for it - we long for the meaning and life that Middle-earth has, and which we have lost.
We see in Middle-earth our Paradise Lost, and we want to return to it.
Can I put it any more plainly?
In Pace Christi,
Elyse
P.S. This post was not very much about Yeats, was it? Probably for the best.
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