Fern Hill

West Wales

‘Fern Hill’ is, I think, the best bit of writing the last century has to offer (with the possible exception of ‘The Waste Land’ and a few Beatles lyrics). In it the author, Dylan Thomas, reminisces about childhood, but not in any sort of conventional way. Here is the first part:

“Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green,
The night above the dingle starry,
Time let me hail and climb
Golden in the heydays of his eyes,
And honoured among wagons I was prince of the apple towns
And once below a time I lordly had the trees and leaves
Trail with daisies and barley
Down the rivers of the windfall light.”

And here’s the last:

“Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.”

It is amazing how much talent and effort goes into producing poetry like that. I don’t know what “down the rivers of the windfall light” means, but I do know that I don’t care. It is the image…the mind reels trying to produce a picture it can coalesce into. And that is what great art is supposed to do: stimulate the imagination. It is not just about telling a story, it is about getting to the heart of the matter that plotpoints can miss.

Obviously days are not lamb white and how can a moon always rise? What is important here is what our own memories are saying to us. Looking back, there are places I explored as a kid that seem special to me, touched by the hand of God. Were they? To my eyes, they were.

Mr. Thomas can be famously difficult and obscure, but I think that obscurity can help, and it definitely helps in this case. To know what is happening to him, what he is feeling as he looks back to when he was younger, we are forced through his elusive language to remember what happened to us, and to acknowledge that sometimes like him all we are doing as adults is singing in our chains as best we can.

The entire poem: Fern Hill

Star Wars I-VI

That’s right, one through six. All the films. The entire series.

Let me explain.

Yes, I see the flaws in continuity and logic (hiding a kid in his uncle’s farm and not changing his name?) just as readily as the next person. Also I understand the complaints about the acting. For the record, I think the older actors and actresses did a splendid job, but the younger folk, who are strong at their craft but needed more direction, had a difficult time. To defend Mr. Lucas (not that he needs it), as I have done before, every director has strengths and weaknesses, which are commented on and argued over relentlessly. Mr. Lucas is the same. He has areas he’s better at than others. Consider, however, what you see on the screen, the sheer imagination it takes to put all that stuff in (literally a kitchen sink in one “Revenge of the Sith” scene) is breathtaking. Is there any movie like a Star Wars movie?

I am a child of the 70s (alas) and I remember sitting in the theatre (and drive-in) and seeing the films and loving them. The Darth Vader of the original episodes, IV through VI, was a terrifying superman: the ultimate villain, because he was not intrinsically weak or flawed beyond the obvious ass-kicking he had gotten as a younger man that put him in his metal suit in the first place. This, we imagined (since there was no backstory to look up), made him stronger and more terrifying, because he attained enough skill and resolve to drive his former teachers into hiding…and we could only guess at what he did to the ‘lesser’ Jedi. He was power incarnate, a dangerous nightmare who consciously chose a path of destruction, mayhem, death.

Now, we know (thanks to the earlier- later?- films) that he was maneuvered. Before Darth Vader was DARTH VADER he was a young slave taken from his mother and told not to look back, ripped straight from a hot, smelly spaceport to be raised by a bunch of esoteric mystics. Anakin Skywalker was immensely gifted but also prone to errors in judgment, lapses in reason. He had the tendency to get lost and be confused. That, to me, is more terrifying than anything, and what makes the series especially poignant. His gifts were not always enough to see him through. He was not superman, he was a man puzzling his way through difficult options, not sure where to go or who to turn to. He was, in short, like the rest of us. We needed six films to see how far he could fall, and what it took to get him to rise back up.

We are all angels and monsters. You think there are lines you would not cross, it could be you just have not been pushed far enough. The journey to being an extraordinary human being is not an easy one. It is long, painful, uncertain path and we make a lot of mistakes on it. But redemption is possible, even if it’s with our dying breath. That’s something we like to- have to- believe, isn’t it?

Beethoven's Ninth Symphony

This is the one. If there is a greater, grander achievement by the human race I do not know about it and I’ll bet you don’t, either. Everything about us, from philosophy and literature to science and medicine, has its good and bad components, yin and yang, unintended consequences. This work and this work alone is one of ours- a flawed, brilliant, troubled, aspiring person- reaching the ultimate potential. All that is wonderful about being alive is in the bars and scales of this piece, and its strength is such that it does not let you block it out. Try. Wean yourself off popular music’s 5-minute (maybe) length and give yourself an hour to realize what we are capable of.

I won’t say it starts off slow, but it does begin slower than it ends. There’s a pulse and excitement to the rhythm, but it is steady and insistent. The ebb and flow is with a beat that is almost constant (keep in mind these are purely my nonmusician ways of describing the sounds I hear…a musician will probably have a different and more valid interpretation; I can only describe, not explain).

The first three movements are like this, purely instrumental, and then they end with the pivotal theme, the most incredible moment of artistic expression we will ever know. The singers begin immediately afterwards, and for twenty minutes they bring art to its highest level, taking that final theme and expanding it, enlarging it with the voices of women and men until I and I presume everyone else who has listened can only be amazed that anyone was gifted so much (or so far gone) that they could kidnap the heart of God.

This music seeps in your pores, courses in you like it’s the blood in your veins and then erupts inside you. It is overpowering. Yes, the vocal chorus is in German and if you don’t speak German you may not understand a single word, but it will not matter. In fact, it may help your imagination and take it places it has not been before. Trust me, this once if never again. Beethoven’s Ninth is the first- maybe only- exploit I would hold up to the universe as proof positive that the species crawling over the magnificent planet earth like a bunch of ants was not a mistake.

KJV

What could be more classic than the King James Version of the Bible? You can argue about whether this book is truth or myth or both, but you cannot argue with the incomparable beauty of the prose it is written in.



At job #1 we have on video a recording of a scholar saying he wished the King James Version would go away (I’m being polite, he really said something more violent) because people do not understand it. He sites one (of many) examples, such as “And Adam knew Eve his wife…” which means they had sexual relations, not that they were vaguely acquainted. I think, though, there is something to be said for inference and nuance, for stretching at meaning. Is it so wrong that our minds have to search a little bit before coming to a conclusion? Helps knock the old grey matter out of the tired tracks it gets bogged down in

And reading the Bible will do just that for you. It will send you for a loop. It is definitely not a straightforward compendium of plain-spoken, well-mannered prophets endlessly lecturing everyone else on how to live their lives (that’s just Paul). People are people and in the Bible they behave very badly. There are naughty, vicious tales galore. My favorite of these is probably that of Jacob, Leah and Rachel, just because it is so timeless and heartbreaking. Leah, in short, was the dutiful wife who did everything right, but no matter what she did Jacob always loved her sister Rachel more. Impetuous, hot-tempered, selfish Rachel (in those days a man could have more than one wife- and a sister at that- without being arrested or castigated on Dr. Phil). It probably would have been better for Jacob if he could have loved Leah, but that was something he apparently could not do. For better or worse, his heart inclined elsewhere, and once it did that he could never be happy except to follow that inclination.

It has never been more perfectly put than in the book of Matthew, with some good advice besides:

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. (Matthew 6:19-21)

Was there ever anything more achingly poignant, and pointed, and perfectly phrased? Your life could be falling apart around you, but as long as you have something you truly cherish, what else matters?

I thought about offering up some comparative versions, but decided against it. It would showcase my argument but at the detriment of a lot of good people’s hard work. Their hearts were in the right place, and it is not for me to disparage what they accomplished.

The King James Bible is, of course, not always concise and inspired and brilliant, through little fault of the scholars. There are lists upon lists upon lists, as well as too many books by Paul. Ah, Paul. Usually, reading him, I feel like Eutychus (…pause for you to be impressed…), who fell asleep on a ledge while listening to our hero droning on for hours, eventually falling to his death.

But, thankfully, there is much of the King James Bible that is like this: a sample from one of the oldest books, Job:

Surely there is a vein for the silver, and a place for gold where they fine it. Iron is taken out of the earth, and brass is molten out of the stone. He setteth an end to darkness, and searcheth out all perfection: the stones of darkness, and the shadow of death. The flood breaketh out from the inhabitant: even the waters forgotten of the foot: they are dried up, they are gone away from men. (Job 28:1-4)

I cannot get over the use of such perfect, vivid language, and the King James Version of the Bible is brimming with countless examples. Put simply, this is the classic by which all others are judged.

Kingfisher

The fate of this man or that man was less than a drop, although it was a sparkling one, in the great blue motion of the sunlit sea. T. H. White

I never would have thought I would be writing anything like what I envision this blog becoming: a defense of all things classic.

There is a lot from the past we need to free ourselves from and I know this. By ‘Classic,’ however, I am referring to artistic achievement, not philosophical or political progress. To put it bluntly, I have had all the reality shows and hip 3-minute ditties I can stand. I realize that art has always wedded to commerce (or, in the spirit of things, You may never have known about Michelangelo without Medici…if you don’t know you better ask somebody), but these days commerce is so brazen as to be almost admirable in its single-minded pursuit of our wallets, utilizing or discarding genuine achievement depending on what will give it the most return for its investment.

Television is an easy target for this charge. Now, there is nothing wrong with television. I like television. With so many stations there is almost always something good (or sexy) on. But with the suits targeting the greatest viewing demographic at all times, anything and everything else is squeezed out. What’s discouraging is, as lowdown as these suitheads are, it is not their fault. The good stuff would get produced if we watched it, but we tend not to (this means you, Firefly…I still can’t believe you’re gone).

Anyway, I recently read a movie critic who observed that people don’t read any more. Of course this is not true and everyone knows it, even me. The remark was a joke and maybe I, two years from 40, am in my dotage now and losing my sense of humor. What he slyly meant is that people don’t read books anymore. An exaggeration, yes, but was it so far off the mark? Look at the recent devolving of the language because of texting and other nonsense: OMG ILMAO RU OK? From ‘Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day, thou art more lovely…’ to ‘I©U.’ There is much to be said for brevity, but at least as much should be said for sincerity. (Is it ironic that I want to defend the printed word through an entirely electronic medium? Let’s just continue.)

I will probably concentrate mostly on writing here because that is what I am most familiar with, but that’s not to say a brand of alcohol, a piece of music, a comedy routine, even television does not qualify: anything you can name. A classic, in my own worthless peon definition, can be anything where something sublimely human was produced. What standard will I use? My own arbitrary standardless one. It could be 10 years old or 1010 years old, legendary or obscure. Excellence is acquired and fame is accidental, and that means if I want to spend 5,000 words on Nowhere Man by the Beatles or the Scrubs in-house singing quartet, I will, whether anyone reads it or not.

I realize a degree in English literature does not automatically qualify me to judge anything, and I definitely won’t claim to be the expert in culture someone like Kenneth Clark was (reverse compliment to myself, name-dropping while professing humility…keep up!), but I have a strong attitude about truly great achievements not getting their due or being forgotten. An obscure blog won’t help much, but at the least it will help me clear my conscience. Also, please don’t let the word culture throw you off. I know when most people hear that expression they tend to think of dusty books, boring music, and unrelatable paintings, but classics become classics for a reason, and it is not just to torture students. Stirring speeches, breathless tales of escape, sounds of sadness and drops of loneliness. It is all there. Life, as it is and as we want it to be.

Let my career as an old fogy begin.