[lit-ideas] Re: sunday poem

  • From: Ursula Stange <Ursula@xxxxxxxxxx>
  • To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
  • Date: Sun, 25 Feb 2007 20:17:47 -0500

Charming as always, David. I am grateful for all the 'campfires of gentle people' in my real and virtual worlds.


Ursula

Garrison K., asked by Life Magazine about the meaning of life answered:

To know and to serve God, of course, is why we’re here, a clear truth that, like the nose on your face, is near at hand and easily discernible but can make you dizzy if you try to focus on it harBut a little faith will see you through. What else will except faith in such a cynical, corrupt time. When the country goes temporarily to the dogs, cats must learn to be circumspect, walk on fences, sleep in trees and have faith that all this woofing is not the last word. Time to shut up and be beautiful, and wait for morning. Yahooism, when in power, is deaf, and neither satire nor the Gospel will stay its brutal hand, but hang on, another chapter follows. Our brave hopes for changing the world all sank within view of their home port, and we have become the very people we used to make fun of, the old and hesitant, but never mind, that’s not the whole story either. So hang on.

What keeps our faith cheerful is the extreme persistence of gentleness and humour. Gentleness is everywhere in daily life, a sign that faith rules through ordinary things: through cooking and small talk, through storytelling, making love, fishing, tending animals and sweet corn and flowers, through sports, music and books, raising kids – all the places where the gravy soaks in and grace shines through. Even in a time of elephantine vanity and greed, one never has to look far to see the campfires of gentle people. Lacking any other purpose in life, it would be good enough to live for their sake.

Garrison Keillor



David Ritchie wrote:
i reckon it was garrison keillor singing on the radio who today
reminded me of that campfire on a cold september night in the brecon beacons
where the voice of a brilliant indian boy singing in the autumn of 1972
cut through my reverie about the blonde norwegian girl
with whom i had hiked maybe ten fantastic miles

oh-oh
deep in my heart
I do believe
ve shall overcome, some day

none of us actually did

she married a canadian
he died of meningitis
or possibly suicide
the case was complicated
some short years later

and here i am
under overcoming mostly but
appreciating all the strange devices which line the way
and very much like you, wondering exactly what new flavor
the next chip bag may bring


David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon

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