no other end of the world

A Song on the End of the World


On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world will there be,
No other end of the world will there be.


Czeslaw Milosz
translated by Anthony Milosz



This particular Milosz piece brings to mind the rather humorous story of my fourth great-grandfather, Rev. Robert Goodloe Harper Hanna. "Harper" was one of the earliest clergy in Carroll County, Indiana. He belonged to a denomination known as the Primitive Methodists and preached the Millerite doctrine. If he believed this radical doctrine, personally, he certainly failed to impress the outside world with his sincerity.

Here's the account, according to the History of Carroll County, Indiana by Thomas Helms, Chicago: Kingman Brothers, 1882...

One morning in April, 1848, John Payton rode by Hanna's farm and saw him setting out an orchard. The inconsistency of his preceding at once struck Payton, who elected that a number of years must elapse, in any event, before he could expect any return of his labor, and if the final destruction of the world were so nearly at hand, was not his an unnecessary outlay of labor? 

With this in mind, Payton addressed him: 

"How is this, Brother Hanna? This is April, and if your account is correct, the end of the world will come in June next. It scarcely looks consistent to be doing such work so nearly the borders of eternity." 

"Oh well", replied Hanna, "we can't tell exactly; there may have been an error in the calculation."

my trusty '96 Land Rover at an abandoned farm
Dublin, Ohio
click to embiggen

magpiety

Okay, I admit it. I'm in love. I've had recent flings with Donald Hall
and Charles Simic, but this week, I am head over heals in love with
Czeslaw Milosz. I just brought home all 776 pages of his New and
Collected Poems from the library, and I am in paradise. His poems
are a marvelous combination of intelligence and soul.

Milosz, (June 30, 1911 – August 14, 2004) was a Lithuanian born
Polish poet and author. From 1961 to 1998 he was a professor of
Slavic Languages and Literature at the University of California,
Berkeley. (Bill Moore, by the way, was fortunate enough to be one
of his students in a class of Polish Romanticism. Lucky guy.) In
1980 he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. He is widely
considered one of the greatest poets of the 20th century.

I like to think of myself in a magpie-ish kind of way, since I love

collecting all sorts of odd shinies for my nest, both tangible and

intangible. This delightful piece immediately caught my little

magpie eye. I never realized, until now, that what I have is a simple

case of magpiety.

.

.

Magpiety

.

.

The same and not quite the same, I walked through oak forests

Amazed that my Muse, Mnemosyne,

Has in no way diminished my amazement.

A magpie was screeching and I said: Magpiety?

What is magpiety? I shall never achieve

A magpie heart, a hairy nostril over the beak, a flight

That always renews just when coming down,

and so I shall never comprehend magpiety.

If however magpiety does not exist

My nature does not exist either.

Who would have guessed that, centuries later,

I would invent the question of universals?

.

.

.

Czeslaw Milosz, 1958

.

.

photo: me, 14 Jan 2010

an error in the calculation

A Song on the End of the World


On the day the world ends
A bee circles a clover,
A fisherman mends a glimmering net.
Happy porpoises jump in the sea,
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

On the day the world ends
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas,
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn,
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island,
The voice of a violin lasts in the air
And leads into a starry night.

And those who expected lightning and thunder
Are disappointed.
And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps
Do not believe it is happening now.
As long as the sun and the moon are above,
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose,
As long as rosy infants are born
No one believes it is happening now.

Only a white-haired old man, who would be a prophet
Yet is not a prophet, for he's much too busy,
Repeats while he binds his tomatoes:
No other end of the world will there be,
No other end of the world will there be.


Czeslaw Milosz
translated by Anthony Milosz


I read this lovely, thought provoking poem, posted by Relyn and
thought it so apropos for the new year. Not only thoughts about
seizing the day and living life to its fullest, but being good stewards
of the earth, as well.

It also brought to mind the rather humorous story of my fourth
great-grandfather, Rev. Robert Goodloe Harper Hanna. "Harper"
was one of the earliest ministers in Carroll County, Indiana. He
belonged to a denomination known as the Primitive Methodists and
preached the Millerite doctrine. If he believed this radical doctrine,
personally, he certainly failed to impress the outside world with his
sincerity.

Here's the account, according to the History of Carroll County,
Indiana by Thomas Helms, Chicago: Kingman Brothers, 1882.

One morning in April, 1848, John Payton rode by Hanna's farm
and saw him setting out an orchard. The inconsistency of his
preceding at once struck Payton, who elected that a number of
years must elapse, in any event, before he could expect any
return of his labor, and if the final destruction of the world were
so nearly at hand, was not his an unnecessary outlay of labor?

With this in mind, Payton addressed him:

"How is this, Brother Hanna? This is April, and if your
account is correct, the end of the world will come in
June next. It scarcely looks consistent to be doing
such work so nearly the borders of eternity."

"Oh well", replied Hanna, "we can't tell exactly; there
may have been an error in the calculation."




photo from The Library of Congress