Special Post: Superstorm Sandy

Friends,

        As you know, New York and its surrounding suburbs in other states have been absolutely devastated by the flooding and winds the recent storm has brought. Only now is the full extent of the damage being assessed, with my alma mater closed for already four days, along with so many NYC schools. Good friends and aquaintances, especially in the Rockaways, have had trees destroy their homes, basements and ground floors submerged, and loss of power likely to last for a week or more.

        I ask you to please consider us in your thoughts, to implore the Mercy of God where the wrath of nature has caused the City that never sleeps to fall into an eerie stupor. I especially urge you to pray for the repose of those 71 (and counting) who lost their lives in the storm, here in the United States as well as in the Caribbean.

        A deep sadness has caused me to write a small momento of the destruction that has transpired. Please, if you so wish, read it with contemplation.

Stay safe,

Archipoeta

 

The Earth Ender

 

From nowhere did the cyclone come, beginning

as a sickly storm, slowly dying over cooling ocean,

but then a fierce power seized it, made it grow, and

Sandy became frankenstorm, unlike any seen before.

 

People thought it would be like Irene, menacing yet

unable to spill the sea over wall. Half the city fled

to return to unshaken home, and now they held same

hope that this storm should pass without sad thought.

 

How wrong! How wrong they were, as they saw it

transform into hurricane as wide as Texas, larger

than all England, churning unstoppable, so mighty,

the frightful wrath of God to pierce the heart of city.

 

O why, o why Lord, did you smite us so? Perhaps

it is this bit of Earth that stubbornly forgets Him Who

made the world. But if it was so, quickly did we know

this will be a punishment to flee at tall yet paltry cost.

 

Even the rich, whose greed is never satisfied, closed

the market of the world, despite losing country's worth

of gold. More than this they stood to lose once the wave

crept up and over barrier into pit, tunnel, and treasury.

 

When it came, it was the fury of the wind that wrecked

the ground, uprooted trees whole, scattered signs about,

until at last the hidden tunnels and canals filled to brim

with brine, mixing and making stew of shit and car alike.

 

Behold this Earth ender, that reclaims the land for ocean,

with rain and gale repeats the feat of Noah's time, and we -

we are helpless, unprepared, watching all liquify, be wiped

away and obliterated, amidst the unpierced darkness of the night.

 

Requiem for My City

 

My city! O my city! That I should sleep a safe night as you

fall beneath the ocean wave, and become fine fish-house

devoid of men! A deep loss and sadness banishes sleep

as I speculate what calamity lies behind the silence of phone.

 

I struggle to know what has become of the shore I love,

that now hides, since the ocean spilled over sea wall,

emboldened by a fiersome wind, that teemed with mothers

and their children, strolling in the gentle glow of afternoon sun.

 

The capital of the world, unwalled against any foe, born

of commerce and people brought by the ocean of Atlantis

to build a daughter far grander than her ancient mother -

now is buried by the same water that gave it splendid life.

 

Where families flee, the water fills the gaps, visits homes

and hidden trains, makes cars and buses drift away -

the roads and streets that brought life-blood into the city

are now clogged with trash and creeping stench of crap.

 

My alma mater that never closes, not for sleet or snow

or any other type of storm, for week now will be shuttered

blocked by surreal sight of river where there ought be

track of subway, trees where there ought be free passage.

 

That I should see you so, bereft of a people so great,

not one light left, not single spark of brilliance to rival

the sky above, since a mighty fire with tongues of rainbow

color burned last link of island to the rushing river of energy!

 

I see even in my life how my city shall die, though its citizens

return to lift vital underworld and golden tower from the water.

The sea shall be repelled, the claims shall be paid, and the poor

shall return to beg beside the sidewalk, this all just a memory.

 

Yet when at last my city shall be abandoned, its schools

and hospitals empty, the opera mute and the senate too,

her only monument will not be the exile's longing song,

but the endless pitter patter that speaks of the columns

                  built four centuries, standing here no more.

James MacMillan: Tu es Petrus

Good evening, Readers,

          For tonight I bring to your attention a wonderful contemporary composer of sacred music in the heroic tradition of the classical and romantic composers. Definitely worth following up on his corpus of work.

Stay safe,

Archipoeta

Apothesion of the Ocean XII

A selection most appropriate to today's events.

The Tryst

 

Darkness surrounds me so profound

it has swallowed sky and all its stars

with menacing shadow that begins to

chew and churn the crashing spray.

All the world is in ferocious fury,

a devil’s frenzy unleashed to toss sail

and cloud against the bared depth of ocean.

If this is not the valley of death, the

frightful water mountains we ride with

little say as to destiny of brig or life,

that I can scarce imagine deeper pit

of doom to consume us in an instant.

 

O wind! Wind of such anger! Why do

you howl round us, like some possessed

hound, beast by spear in heart wounded?

Did our jib cut a vital vein, or our main

scratch, disturb you on your way? Or does

some depression of the air[1] bewitch your mind,

make you stumble with push and shove

as you gallop in splitting pain? I have no

balm to offer, save compassion negated

by a crushing ire, transforming into tryst.

 

So I find my appeal in the Star of the Sea,

the one star constant and unchanging,

uncovered even in the clouds of squall.

Mary! Be now close, advocate of sinners,

surest recourse of mariners! Spread

thine azure cloak bejeweled with night’s

stars, to guide us safe through trying storm.

To you we cry, to child Jesus, to pet this

mass of mighty air, mellow it and

the pounding waves cracking our hull.

And such a morsel of living faith I have,

that with pull of sheet and secure brace

I pray so that I feel as safe as one sure rock

with promise of salvation. Even in

the whip of rain I hear already gentle whisper

of rising don. Just a little more, and God

Himself will unfold happy right of His

waxing Glory in the rosy sky of East.

---

[1] A low pressure system, also known as a cyclone or depression.

Letters and Other Prayers XII

A poetic interpretation of what the Internets are:

Books of Light

 

Stop, and hear. Can your ear perceive

The sound of light shining about you and

Through your soul and body, silently, as the

Ocean crests the swaths of seas swaying?

 

No? Can you see at least the people

And the antics they draw upon the screens

Of tube and machine? Or do they too drift

Among us and alien, like the spirits of the sky?

 

Yet these marvels float about, and I raise

A mirror, a machine, or a shard, a shining phone,

As the looking-glass that will let me peer into their

Deaf and hidden world, so but only for a while.

 

Because I see indeed in these books of phantom

Light the whole chronicle of man: his genius

In the stylus that these texts writes, and

His stupidity in the things he chooses to write.

 

But from their garble come the poets, the men

Of vision who let these books fly across the world,

And unite their number, unhindered by the

Wastes of desert, or the coin they cannot get.

 

These, my God, I bless – for these write

A new annal, and a new chapter in

The adventures of man, and at last ordain

An order of freedom to present to You the gem of peace.

 

These, Lord, in Thy Mercy protect, for they venture

Upon the soundless seas of light that wash the

Planet, to make it worthier of Thy gaze –

They wander to catch the fish in new nets.

 

Their kernel increase, and let find the rare

Land that flies in the clouds, to weigh it down,

And bring to Earth a piece of Thy kingdom

To let the Earth its Easter wedding remember.  

P.I. Tchaikovsky: Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom

Dearest Readers,

          Please forgive my absence. As the massive Hurrican Sandy bears down upon us, hopefully this music will transport you far away from the concerns of the world (however important), and into the contemplation of eternal realities.

Archipoeta

Life and Other Miracles XI

Prayer for the Atheists

 

O Lord! God of all Creation! Creation that so far and bright

doth spread before the eye! Listen to this humble supplication

of servant most unworthy, a servant split by distraction in two,

giving so little thought to You, though You surround me.

 

If it is Your Will, and their acceptance, admit them to the house

you built for them before foundation of the world. Let not

domain so beautiful be vacant of the mind that would shine,

would alight it with a holy glow of wonder, if it knew You.

 

O God! You well know the ways of their minds, the religion

they took instead of Your Church. But did they not worship

You, even as they ridiculed your rule, describing it in words

scarce seen and known, and which reveal Thine Glory too?

 

For that instant where their heart did flutter, touched by

beauty’s inspiration, for that moment when all became lucid,

as it did so long ago, when they beheld a son or daughter,

and blessed You by gratitude: lead them into reign of heaven!

 

Yea, the heavens they so long did prod by gazing at the stars,

by peering into depths of life, writ in Thine Own Word, the

Word that all the works of man contains in pound of flesh –

they who faithfully delivered proof of Your endless love for us.

 

And dare I say that they found a crumb of favor in Your eyes,

for even as they were so wayward, in so small and frail a skiff,

they did sail to the breeding grounds of stars, and as prophets

revealed further the Universal Law, for the sake of the lukewarm.

 

If their soul was not baptized by touch of grace-laden water,

by the Spirit’s fire not whole consumed, when they do give up

their ghost, let not a blank vision of despair disturb the, but

the golden vision of flight, as I utter with the priest: “Pray for us,

                                                                              St. Socrates.”

Letters and Other Prayers XI

God’s Love

 

Even when I Thy beauty and grace so foolishly despise,

And rape myself in boredom every night, and waste

The hours of the night, to spend the hours of the day

Sleeping, sitting, facing walls shifting with puppet-figures…

 

You, O Lord, never abandon your poor servant!

You still let me hear the music in my ears, sounding

From within an unclean heart, and still let the words

To my pen come, the sublime sweet of oranges to shine!

 

My whine you hear, the prayer of mercy my insolent

Words conceal, unwrapping the troubles that vex me so,

The love I long for, the passion to stand, and climb into

The open of your holy light, to the fresh of air above.

 

Jesus, you have saved me, and still entertain a hope

For me, for this heart than can still learn to glimpse

At God in humility and thanks. Another day you give,

Another chance to praise you with an amen of true love.

 

Your grace, my God, now grant to me, to be Your hero

Upon the earth: by Your sword let me master the body,

And learn the wisdom of Your Will. Let me unearth the

Talent you gave me, and at least double it by Your Word.

 

The Lord has broken the chains of my anxiety, and led me

To new life. From destruction He has saved me, and revealed

His glory to the lowliest of servants. These hands which seed

Has stained now worthy are to feed His Body to His children.

 

There is no love greater than this, a love that justice satisfies

With the ocean of His mercy’s cool. I pray, my Lady, that

When Our Lord calls me to bring Him His harvest,

to the love I left I will motion, and say: “Here I am.”

Apothesion of the Ocean XI

Letter to the Commandant

 

A tribute and token of gratitude for the unsung heroic work done daily by the Coast Guard in the United States and by the coast guards of all nations. Dedicated to the men and women of the Coast Guard.

 

Guardians of the deep, watchmen of the sea,

when will thy appointed task come to end?

Thy ships sail in endless voyage, ever vigilant

for men and animals in distress upon the ocean.

 

Who will speak or mark thy toil and exertion,

make good thy selfless effort? Let me join my

voice and epic song to the chorus of men returned

from water-grave, and raise your humble service.

 

Men do not notice Atlas, or note the hidden heroes,

for brother and world expects the best of fellows

to spin the Earth. But you are the blessed – the brother

keepers, who rank with saint as first servants of Christ.

 

Truly you are angels of the waters, swearing life

to life-giving ministry – you are the echo of mariners

replying from beyond the gale, flying swiftly

to meet with refuge those lost amidst the waves.

 

No winter chill, nor frightful frost doth sway

your iron will to set high the price of human life,

and fulfill divine compassion with superhuman

effort, standing foot away from helmsman’s call.

 

You as constant as the northern star are, one

sure promise, as the sway of surf: you are the hands

of God that calm the tempest with embrace

of rescuer, and console the widows of the sea.

 

Even when heaven itself hides its face, you light

stars upon the waters, sound the mountains men

fly over, and the valleys where the scallops teem,

protected by just law and salty, daring enforcers.

 

And in the crashing moment when hell sets loose

upon the waters, dashes against crags life’s work,

by your presence life is extended or ended, alone

from men you find strength to move Atropos’ blade.

 

Editors of destiny, messengers of mercy, who

bring the light and guide the ships of nations!

Indulge in but bit of my poor praise, before you

board your craft and again defend the fatherland.

Mozart: Ave Verum Corpus

A most uplifting song of praise for the True Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. I never seize to be uplifted by this powerful piece of music...

Archipoeta

Letters and Other Prayers X

A poetic interpretation of the phenomenon of the internets...

Books of Light

 

Stop, and hear. Can your ear perceive

The sound of light shining about you and

Through your soul and body, silently, as the

Ocean crests the swaths of seas swaying?

 

No? Can you see at least the people

And the antics they draw upon the screens

Of tube and machine? Or do they too drift

Among us and alien, like the spirits of the sky?

 

Yet these marvels float about, and I raise

A mirror, a machine, or a shard, a shining phone,

As the looking-glass that will let me peer into their

Deaf and hidden world, so but only for a while.

 

Because I see indeed in these books of phantom

Light the whole chronicle of man: his genius

In the stylus that these texts writes, and

His stupidity in the things he chooses to write.

 

But from their garble come the poets, the men

Of vision who let these books fly across the world,

And unite their number, unhindered by the

Wastes of desert, or the coin they cannot get.

 

These, my God, I bless – for these write

A new annal, and a new chapter in

The adventures of man, and at last ordain

An order of freedom to present to You the gem of peace.

 

These, Lord, in Thy Mercy protect, for they venture

Upon the soundless seas of light that wash the

Planet, to make it worthier of Thy gaze –

They wander to catch the fish in new nets.

 

Their kernel increase, and let find the rare

Land that flies in the clouds, to weigh it down,

And bring to Earth a piece of Thy kingdom

To let the Earth its Easter wedding remember.  

Apothesion of the Ocean X

The Ancient Fiction

 

An apology against a selective reading of history that aggrandizes particular nations over others.

 

You fools that pick an choose from song

of Clio, once spoken and spoken once again

for likes of you! Why doth thy lie and ancient

fiction perpetuate of thine worth? One would

think that the cluster crowned by Britain did

hold sway over world, and thine fitful skirmish

did write and determine destiny across the seas!

 

But even Britain, so proud and spread over

quarter of the earth and sea, did not last more

than four generations, to be given without

fight to its first rebellious child. The kingdom

of Genghis Khan laid rule firmer over swaths

of solid earth than the outposts that meant

to India subdue and with it ocean-sea.

 

Oxford and Harvard stand as first temple

and refuge of learning in thine mythology,

and men before did not think or wonder.

But Maecenas was early thirteen centuries

to raise and patron Virgil to Roman glory,

and August governed an Empire more united

than that which scare, unwilling founded

these tiny croppings in the array of world.

Be taught instead and know that royal saint

discerned and donated pious gift of Jagiellonian

learning that shares the ancient heritage with

papal academies and the libraries of Baghdad

whose wisdom preserved of Greeks did dye

Euphrates for half moon beneath Mongol pillage.

 

Truth faithful to the muse doth dispel the

darkness of the plebs, that lays as heavy chain

of humiliation on heroic peoples forgotten,

links of pride on those inflated by hubris.

My pen purchases the freedom won already,

recalls geniuses from oblivion, and raises

to equal rank and brilliance all the peoples

the Lord has summoned and knit by sea.

Berlioz: Grande Messe des Morts

A stunning, even opera-like, intepretation of the ancient Requiem tradition of the Mother Church, by Berlioz. I hope you enjoy it, my friends.

Archipoeta

Letters and Other Prayers IX

The Central Kingdoms

 

I see the golden dragon rising from

The mists of time, from those ancient shadows

When giants roamed the planet and the

people scattered from Babel settled there.

 

They made their home in a magic land

A land fed and made lush by golden rivers,

A land made safe by deserts and mountains,

A land made just by Xuanyuan’s governance.

 

Then do the strange and beautiful characters

Appear to bear witness to the generations that

Were born since, to the teachings of Master Kong,

To the states that were to unite all under heaven.

 

Qin Shi Huang’s ruthless hand was to bond

Them in a lasting marriage, lasting romance,

And ageless dance, where art and learning

Flourished, and like the sun, illuminated its orbit.

 

Some poor visitors from the West came to see

The civilization that could any barbarian sword

Eat, and seeing the wonders they beheld

Brought report of flying gold and shining silks.

 

They were stupefied to sing of the teachings

Of the Socrates of the East, of the porcelain

They touched, of the millions souls to win for

Christ – and the empire the mandarins cared for not.

 

This the princelings of Europe did not understand,

Who flung wide fleets and treasure to land

First flags, then men with arms to enslave

And claim empire over seas – but the Chinese had it.

 

So mysterious it yet remains, this nation

So great and powerful, that alone thought

Us beautiful, and so acknowledged the marriage

And destiny that old and new would bind.

 

It still stands as the empire of Polo’s lore,

Though laid low and desecrated by the proud

And ruthless nations, envious of the prestige no coin

Can buy, the immortality by hand divine given.

 

Like Our Lady’s nation, broken up it once again

Joined in a crazy, modern movement to a

Strange and alien music – but both the eagle and

Dragon will rise, to rule the peoples in wisdom’s glory.