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Edited on Thu Jan-19-06 01:18 PM by bertha katzenengel
Reviewing "us vs them" daily, I think of this poem to try to distance myself from the bitter ugliness that characterizes this country right now. I feel the tension of left vs right (and even infighting on the left) as if it were wind-driven sleet in my face. It is too nasty for my thin skin and tender heart. It hurts too much. I have to shield myself.
This Robert Frost poem was set to music by composer Randall Thompson, and has been running through my head all day. It's not an unwanted earworm; far from it, it keeps me centered. I think of another opportunity to watch Sirius rise tonight, and I am staid. Hopeful. Clean. At rest.
O Star (the fairest one in sight) we give your loftiness the right to some obscurity of cloud -- it will not do to say of night, since dark is what brings out your light. Some mystery becomes the proud. But to be wholly taciturn in your reserve is not allowed. Say something to us we can learn by heart and when alone, repeat. Say something! And it says, "I burn." But say with what degree of heat. Talk Fahrenheit, talk Centigrade. Use language we can comprehend. Tell us what elements you blend. It gives us strangely little aid, but does tell something in the end. And steadfast as Keats' Eremite, not even stooping from its sphere, it asks of us a little here. It asks of us a certain height. So when at times the mob is swayed to carry praise or blame too far, we may choose something like a star to stay our minds on and be staid.
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