"In the spring, a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove. . . ."
WHAT!? Nobody knows? Here we see another failure of the American school system. Both the public and private schools have disappointed us again. But for now, I'll set aside the wailing and finger-pointing, and proceed with my comments on Groundhog Day. (I'm already more than a month late with this posting!)
But first: here's the complete couplet:
But first: here's the complete couplet:
"In the spring, a livelier iris changes on the burnished dove;
In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. . . .
In the spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. . . .
There, SEE: You knew the answer all along. Or maybe you didn't. . .but no matter! The lines are from Alfred Lord Tennyson's Lockley Hall, a long and woefully wailing set of couplets dedicated to the various delights of Love, found, lost, and imagined. Very Victorian. But then, so was Tennyson. A British Poet Laureate, no less. He lived and wrote his verse in mid-and late-19th Century England.
As a high-school boy in Senior English, I was forced to read a bunch of critical commentary about Lord Tennyson. I also waded through seemingly endless pages of his cloyingly sweet poetry. I confess: my suffering was so acute I thought the poetry must be good.
As a high-school boy in Senior English, I was forced to read a bunch of critical commentary about Lord Tennyson. I also waded through seemingly endless pages of his cloyingly sweet poetry. I confess: my suffering was so acute I thought the poetry must be good.
But when I read American critiques of his work, I discovered that American poets of his time made fun of him, claimed his stuff was silly and sentimental, ridiculously ornate, and bombastically patriotic. Which is honestly what I had thought. But then, as a high-school boy, I thought that was what poetry was supposed to be.
Never mind: the English monarchy, the English public, and the English military of that day liked being simultaneously bored and praised.
And Tennyson was good at that. He was at his best-worst -- from an American high-school boy's point of view -- in his "Charge of the Light Brigade," wherein he chronicled the supposed feat of a bunch of 600 nutty British cavalrymen, who followed idiotic orders and rode into three sets of cannons during the Crimean War. THREE SETS OF CANNONS, left, right, and center. He had all the horsemen bravely blown to bits. Very Romantically Victorian. But upon further research, I discovered that only a small percentage actually suffered wounds and/or died -- a finding even more spectacular than their crazy charge. Apparently the Russian cannoneers were even more inept than were the British cavalrymen.
A little something Tennyson never mentioned in the poem? The spirited gallop was hell on the horses. But I digress.
I really wanted to talk about Groundhog Day and Punxutawney Phil, Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, and how early springtime drives young men a little crazy where women are concerned. (And maybe I will manage to tie this wandering piece together at the end.)
First, about Groundhog Day. The whole thing's a delightful hoax. The idea is built upon the fantasy that IF Punxutawney Phil -- the celebrated Groundhog -- emerges from his burrow and sees his shadow, then we are all doomed to six more weeks of grim-winter. Never mind that if you count off the weeks on any calendar you will discover that six weeks and a couple days expire between Groundhog Day and the first day of spring, anyway. Never mind! Punxutawney Phil is like the rest of us. He must have work to do.
BUT! Go ahead, I dare you. Betcha big-bucks. Count the weeks between February 2nd and March 21st. Then send me your money. Or don't. Because the truth is those of us who winter across the band of states including New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and points west are pretty sick of winter by the time the second day of February rolls around. By that time, an unseemly and maddening mixture of warm days and hard freezes have pretty much converted the snow to a crumbly-black slush. Skating-pond-ice has become untrustworthy. Road conditions have become treacherous. And we all have begun to feel a little bit crazy and closed-into our homes. A person can ski, toboggan, snow-shoe, snow-machine, and snowball-fight only so long. Exceed the limit and madness inevitably follows.
By the end of January, snow angeling seems much less angelic. Sidewalks have become dangerous. Snow-shovels and blowers have lost their tenuous appeal. We've grown seriously tired of hauling-on boots and heavy outdoor clothing. The season gets us beaten-down so badly that ridiculous pass-times like ice-fishing become ever-so-slightly appealing. And anyone who acts all robust and winter-loving strains our patience.
And YES! By February, most of us are counting the days 'til the vernal equinox. We doubt we can make it through six more weeks of lousy weather. But we have little choice when gainful work holds us close to home.
Beer-sale-figures escalate precipitously. But even utter drunkenness falls short as a solution. What we need is some sort of spiritual celebration. The sillier the better. Punxutawney Phil may be ugly and ungainly. But that's his major appeal. You just can't look at him without laughing. Whoever came up with Groundhog Day was a genius. In fact, he might be the same guy who came up with beer!
Which completes my discussion of Groundhog Day, the celebration.
Here begins my discussion of Groundhog Day, the film: starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell. I would say it's an unlikely love-story. Andie's so gorgeous. Bill's. . .not. Still, he brings an irresistible charm and understated humor to most of the roles he plays. He's bright and appealing. Sometimes he's outrageously funny. In G-Day, poor Bill is doomed to live the same day over and over until he figures out how to win the love of Andie MacDowell. Or maybe more important: he has to relive each SAME-DAY until he learns to make his every-day worthwhile. Herein -- despite the zaniness of the story -- lies the really serious message of the film.
While all his Groundhog Days appear largely the same, we watch Murray master the problems of this same day. He gets better at his life: makes friends, saves a life, masters jazz piano, makes new friends and becomes central in their lives, encounters and solves small problems, and finally wins the lovely Andie MacDowell.
Despite it's fun, the film always makes me wish I could GET-BETTER -- more skillful and artistic -- at living my own life, one day at a time. Of course, that's the moral of this subtly simple story. Life is short! Make something really generous and good out of your days. Live each day as well as you can.
A good message for me. I'm at that advanced age where I remember the good and easy days of my life. The days when, though I paid attention and worked hard, I had things all my own way -- and knew it. I was seriously good at my life. . .the Master of My Days. These were the glory days: when my wife and I loved each other more every day. When we renovated our river home and made it beautiful. When we cultivated a gorgeous expanse of perennial garden. When we made our days caring-about and teaching students. When we made every day beautiful together. When we each were something very special to each other. The days when we were lovely and loving. When we made love every night.
Nancy's gone. But I remember Nancy-Time with such sweet satisfaction these days. . .because we lived it so artistically and well.
And that, I suppose, is the reason these endless POST-Nancy-Time, dark and wintry days seem so empty and loveless by comparison. They're much like those early and loveless days of the film Groundhog Day: fun sometimes. But mostly gritty, arduous, and unpromising.
And that makes me think of Bill Murray's character in Groundhog Day. How he eventually took advantage of each new-OLD-Groundhog Day and made it worthwhile: learning stuff, improving himself, making friends of the people he encountered, building caring relationships, making something better of his life. And he did it one-same-Old-Groundhog Day-at-a-time.
And that's the message and promise of Groundhog Day. The film and the celebration carry the same challenging and uplifting message. A new spring's coming. That demands more creative energy. That demands trying harder. Never mind mastering our days. In fact, that means we must master ourselves. Only then do our days get better.
For each of us, the struggle to grow, to become a more loving and generous person never ends. Tennyson almost got it right -- for each of us. It's not just a young man's fancy that in springtime
Never mind: the English monarchy, the English public, and the English military of that day liked being simultaneously bored and praised.
And Tennyson was good at that. He was at his best-worst -- from an American high-school boy's point of view -- in his "Charge of the Light Brigade," wherein he chronicled the supposed feat of a bunch of 600 nutty British cavalrymen, who followed idiotic orders and rode into three sets of cannons during the Crimean War. THREE SETS OF CANNONS, left, right, and center. He had all the horsemen bravely blown to bits. Very Romantically Victorian. But upon further research, I discovered that only a small percentage actually suffered wounds and/or died -- a finding even more spectacular than their crazy charge. Apparently the Russian cannoneers were even more inept than were the British cavalrymen.
A little something Tennyson never mentioned in the poem? The spirited gallop was hell on the horses. But I digress.
I really wanted to talk about Groundhog Day and Punxutawney Phil, Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell, and how early springtime drives young men a little crazy where women are concerned. (And maybe I will manage to tie this wandering piece together at the end.)
First, about Groundhog Day. The whole thing's a delightful hoax. The idea is built upon the fantasy that IF Punxutawney Phil -- the celebrated Groundhog -- emerges from his burrow and sees his shadow, then we are all doomed to six more weeks of grim-winter. Never mind that if you count off the weeks on any calendar you will discover that six weeks and a couple days expire between Groundhog Day and the first day of spring, anyway. Never mind! Punxutawney Phil is like the rest of us. He must have work to do.
BUT! Go ahead, I dare you. Betcha big-bucks. Count the weeks between February 2nd and March 21st. Then send me your money. Or don't. Because the truth is those of us who winter across the band of states including New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, and points west are pretty sick of winter by the time the second day of February rolls around. By that time, an unseemly and maddening mixture of warm days and hard freezes have pretty much converted the snow to a crumbly-black slush. Skating-pond-ice has become untrustworthy. Road conditions have become treacherous. And we all have begun to feel a little bit crazy and closed-into our homes. A person can ski, toboggan, snow-shoe, snow-machine, and snowball-fight only so long. Exceed the limit and madness inevitably follows.
By the end of January, snow angeling seems much less angelic. Sidewalks have become dangerous. Snow-shovels and blowers have lost their tenuous appeal. We've grown seriously tired of hauling-on boots and heavy outdoor clothing. The season gets us beaten-down so badly that ridiculous pass-times like ice-fishing become ever-so-slightly appealing. And anyone who acts all robust and winter-loving strains our patience.
And YES! By February, most of us are counting the days 'til the vernal equinox. We doubt we can make it through six more weeks of lousy weather. But we have little choice when gainful work holds us close to home.
Beer-sale-figures escalate precipitously. But even utter drunkenness falls short as a solution. What we need is some sort of spiritual celebration. The sillier the better. Punxutawney Phil may be ugly and ungainly. But that's his major appeal. You just can't look at him without laughing. Whoever came up with Groundhog Day was a genius. In fact, he might be the same guy who came up with beer!
Which completes my discussion of Groundhog Day, the celebration.
Here begins my discussion of Groundhog Day, the film: starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell. I would say it's an unlikely love-story. Andie's so gorgeous. Bill's. . .not. Still, he brings an irresistible charm and understated humor to most of the roles he plays. He's bright and appealing. Sometimes he's outrageously funny. In G-Day, poor Bill is doomed to live the same day over and over until he figures out how to win the love of Andie MacDowell. Or maybe more important: he has to relive each SAME-DAY until he learns to make his every-day worthwhile. Herein -- despite the zaniness of the story -- lies the really serious message of the film.
While all his Groundhog Days appear largely the same, we watch Murray master the problems of this same day. He gets better at his life: makes friends, saves a life, masters jazz piano, makes new friends and becomes central in their lives, encounters and solves small problems, and finally wins the lovely Andie MacDowell.
Despite it's fun, the film always makes me wish I could GET-BETTER -- more skillful and artistic -- at living my own life, one day at a time. Of course, that's the moral of this subtly simple story. Life is short! Make something really generous and good out of your days. Live each day as well as you can.
A good message for me. I'm at that advanced age where I remember the good and easy days of my life. The days when, though I paid attention and worked hard, I had things all my own way -- and knew it. I was seriously good at my life. . .the Master of My Days. These were the glory days: when my wife and I loved each other more every day. When we renovated our river home and made it beautiful. When we cultivated a gorgeous expanse of perennial garden. When we made our days caring-about and teaching students. When we made every day beautiful together. When we each were something very special to each other. The days when we were lovely and loving. When we made love every night.
Nancy's gone. But I remember Nancy-Time with such sweet satisfaction these days. . .because we lived it so artistically and well.
And that, I suppose, is the reason these endless POST-Nancy-Time, dark and wintry days seem so empty and loveless by comparison. They're much like those early and loveless days of the film Groundhog Day: fun sometimes. But mostly gritty, arduous, and unpromising.
And that makes me think of Bill Murray's character in Groundhog Day. How he eventually took advantage of each new-OLD-Groundhog Day and made it worthwhile: learning stuff, improving himself, making friends of the people he encountered, building caring relationships, making something better of his life. And he did it one-same-Old-Groundhog Day-at-a-time.
And that's the message and promise of Groundhog Day. The film and the celebration carry the same challenging and uplifting message. A new spring's coming. That demands more creative energy. That demands trying harder. Never mind mastering our days. In fact, that means we must master ourselves. Only then do our days get better.
For each of us, the struggle to grow, to become a more loving and generous person never ends. Tennyson almost got it right -- for each of us. It's not just a young man's fancy that in springtime
"lightly turns to thoughts of love."
An OLD man's fancy does too.
An OLD man's fancy does too.
How was the trip? Waiting for a post!
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