“The world needs story.” Click through to the Christianity Today article for the full interview.
When Scourby last with his great voice boom’d
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night — O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d — O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless — O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle — and from this bush in the dooryard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig with its flower I break.
That’s from the poem “When Lilacs Last In the Dooryard Bloom’d,” by Walt Whitman. I thought of it tonight during my evening walk, a little late, which is typical for me. The lilacs are disappearing now. Too bad. Lilacs have always meant a lot to me. We had some big lilac bushes in the front yard on the farm where I grew up (I understand my Uncle Orvis, who reads this blog, planted them originally). They looked pretty, and they smelled good, and they weren’t any trouble to take care of. And if you pulled the little flower out of its stem (my brothers and I learned) and sucked on its narrow base, there was a tiny little drop of sweetness you could taste.
It also brings memories of a reading of Whitman by the actor Alexander Scourby (famous for his Bible recordings) which I heard in college. I was working as a library assistant, and the librarian was in charge of booking cultural events for the school. When I heard that Scourby was coming I went ape (well, actually I allowed some emotion to cross my face. Pretty excessive for me) because I’d grown up listening to a record my folks had bought for educational purposes, featuring Scourby’s voice reading poetry. It was from Scourby I learned “Gunga Din.”
Shortly before the date of the event, the librarian asked me if I’d like to be one of the students having dinner with Scourby before the reading. Naturally I said, yes, please.
But as the day approached, the librarian said no more about it.
A reasonable person would have asked a question. I’m not a reasonable person, of course. In the environment where I grew up, asking about something a second time was a guaranteed way to make sure you’d be turned down. Just to teach you not to bother people.
So I said nothing, and waited for information to be given. None came. I never got the chance to meet Scourby, and never mentioned it to the librarian again. The reading was wonderful, and I remember that Scourby wore the most beautiful gray suit I’d ever seen.
The librarian did give me a publicity photo of the man, which I think I still have somewhere. And I remember each spring, when I smell the lilacs.
Rest in Peace, Jerry Falwell
Rev. Jerry Falwell has passed away. He wrote Building Dynamic Faith about 12 years ago. He was a critical influence in American religion and politics, though I doubt I am following his lead exactly.
Update: Larry Flint had kind words to say about Falwell yesterday. “My mother always told me that no matter how much you dislike a person, when you meet them face to face you will find characteristics about them that you like. Jerry Falwell was a perfect example of that. I hated everything he stood for, but after meeting him in person, years after the trial, Jerry Falwell and I became good friends. He would visit me in California and we would debate together on college campuses. I always appreciated his sincerity even though I knew what he was selling and he knew what I was selling.”
I’m only going over home
I am a poor wayfaring stranger,
While traveling through this world of woe.
Yet there’s no sickness, toil nor danger
In that bright world to which I go.
I’m going there to see my Father;
I’m going there no more to roam.
I’m only going over Jordan,
I’m only going over home.
I know dark clouds will gather round me;
I know my way is rough and steep.
But golden fields lie out before me
Where God’s redeemed shall ever sleep.
I’m going there to see my mother,
She said she’d meet me when I come.
I’m only going over Jordan,
I’m only going over home.
I’ll soon be free from every trial,
My body sleep in the churchyard;
I’ll drop the cross of self denial
And enter on my great reward.
I’m going there to see my Savior,
To sing His praise forevermore.
I’m only going over Jordan,
I’m only going over home.
Folk spiritual by Richard W. Adams
Hooper slam-dunks it
I have a new disaster to report.
I had my semiannual visit from the AC/Heating guy today. He discovered that my 1984-model air conditioner is down for the count. Dead. Defunct. Gone to join the Choir Invisible. “It had a heart attack,” the service guy said. In technicalese, the condenser blew and it’s not worth replacing in such an old unit.
So now I have to go through the hassle and expense of replacing the thing, through my homeowner’s warranty company. Much mirth to follow, I’m confident.
If you were worried about my Mock Bløtkake last Friday, I’m almost sorry to have to report that it went pretty well. The Cool Whip didn’t slide off the sides of the cake, downward into oblivion like my writing career. It was pretty much a success. So where’s the humor in that?
I noticed something interesting in my reading of Vol. 3 of The Collected Letters of C. S. Lewis, edited by Walter Hooper. Hooper includes biographical sketches of a number of Lewis’ most important or prolific correspondents. Among them is the late Kathryn Lindskoog, who spent much of the later part of her life accusing Hooper of creating fraudulent Lewis stories, which he then passed off as Lewis’ own work.
In the sketch about Kathryn Lindskoog, Hooper says nothing at all of that aspect of her career.
However, in the sketch on scholar Alistair Fowler, he details how Fowler has given personal testimony that Lewis showed him the Dark Tower fragment “as far back as 1962.” The Dark Tower is the document that Lindskoog particularly singled out for attack.
But again here, Hooper is silent about that side of the matter.
I consider this very classy on Hooper’s part. If I’d taken the heat he’s taken, I fear I would have found some way to make the connection explicit, to do a little victory dance.
But I’m a small vindictive man, who relishes petty vengeances.
Hooper has earned even more of my respect.
In Translation
The Literary Saloon points out the Oxford-Weidenfeld Translation Prize for works translated into English. The Saloon advocates such work, encouraging readers to broaden themselves with literature written outside the U.S., and has some of this prize’s shortlist under review. I think I’ll have to make room for Suite Francaise.
As an interesting parallel, The Saloon also quotes from Alberto Fuguet of Chile who says translated works can be pretty ugly, and for works translated from the original to another language then to Spanish? Forget it!
Christy Award Finalists
Mr. Bertrand has a post on the Contemporary finalists which he judged for this year’s Christy Awards.
He also passes on a story about and a link to an interesting book site for new book, No One Belongs Here More Than You. Take a look at it. Do you think anyone could follow suit with a promotion of their own book? And do you think color coordinating one’s reading with her outfit will ever catch on?
Annie Dillard on Rewriting
Publishers Weekly asks author Annie Dillard, “Isn’t it hard to kill off your own characters and writing?”
I’ve made the decision many times. Of course, I always save them in a file. And then I got to the part that was really interesting: shaving the book by the syllable. If there was a three-syllable word, I’d say, is there a two syllable word for this, etc. That was really fun.
Dillard has a new novel coming in June called, The Maytrees.
The Truth Endures Forever
One reason Christians should pray more and argue or fret less is the truth, maybe not exactly as we understand it but the truth nonetheless, will endure. Fools and wicked men may gain the White House and the Kremlin or be promoted to management, but the Lord says to cast our worries on him because he cares for us.
So Many Books, So Little Time
Here’s a sermon out of Luke 10 on the things that matter most. “But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary.” (Link is to MP3.)