I was listening to Willie Nelson in the car today. I'm not a big fan of country music, but I like some of it, and this song by Willie Nelson is a favorite of mine:
Funny How Time Slips Away
Well hello there. My, it’s been a long, long time.
How am I doing? Oh I guess that I’m doing fine.
It’s been so long now, but it seems like only yesterday.
Gee, ain’t it funny how time slips away?
How’s your new love? I hope that he’s doing fine.
I heard you told him that you’d love him until the end of time.
Now that’s the same thing that you told me, seems like just the other day.
Gee, ain’t it funny how time slips away.
I gotta go now. I guess I’ll see you around.
Don’t know when though; never know when I’ll be back in town.
But remember what I tell you; in time you’re gonna pay.
And it’s surprising how time slips away.
Hearing that song got me thinking about other bits of poetry I like. Please take the time to read them.
On An Old Sun Dial
Time flies,
Suns rise,
And shadows fall.
Let time go by.
Love is forever over all.
From the Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám
Awake! for morning in the bowl of night
Has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight:
And lo! the hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan’s turret in a noose of light.
Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring
Your winter-garment of repentance fling;
The bird of time has but a little way
To flutter—and the bird is on the wing.
Cervantes
The Time
There is a time for some things,
And a time for all things;
A time for great things
And a time for small things.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant,
and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Flat Earth Society
Forty years ago this month, Americans landed on the moon. There are still people who don't believe it really happened. They say it was staged on a Hollywood set to make it look like Americans had the capability to go to the moon. That's ridiculous of course. NASA has the pictures taken on the moon, right?
Only they don't. I read in the paper this morning that NASA erased the tapes from the first moon landing and used them again, to save money. What were they thinking? How could they erase history to save a couple of thousand dollars? Historians everywhere are shuddering.
So here is the joke. NASA took tapes of television news from those dates and sent them to a Hollywood studio to be "cleaned up" so they could be used as the official record of the moon landing.
The conspiracy people will be going crazy.
At the time we all thought that the moon landing would be the start of regular travel to and from the moon. When my daughter was young she looked up at the moon and asked "When can I go to the moon?" and I told her that by the time she was grown up she would be able to buy a ticket and go. Didn't happen.
Moon
by Billy Collins
The moon is full tonight
an illustration for sheet music,
an image in Matthew Arnold
glimmering on the English Channel,
or a ghost over a smoldering battlefield
in one of the history plays.
It’s as full as it was
in that poem by Coleridge
where he carries his year-old son
into the orchard behind the cottage
and turns the baby’s face to the sky
to see for the first time
the earth’s bright companion,
something amazing to make his crying seem small.
And if you wanted to follow this example,
tonight would be the night
to carry some tiny creature outside
and introduce him to the moon.
And if your house has no child,
you can always gather into your arms
the sleeping infant of yourself,
as I have done tonight,
and carry him outdoors,
all limp in his tattered blanket,
making sure to steady his lolling head
with the palm of your hand.
And while the wind ruffles the pear trees
in the corner of the orchard
and dark roses wave against a stone wall,
you can turn him on your shoulder
and walk in circles on the lawn
drunk with the light.
You can lift him up into the sky,
your eyes nearly as wide as his,
as the moon climbs high into the night.
by Dylan Thomas
In my craft of sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages.
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
Only they don't. I read in the paper this morning that NASA erased the tapes from the first moon landing and used them again, to save money. What were they thinking? How could they erase history to save a couple of thousand dollars? Historians everywhere are shuddering.
So here is the joke. NASA took tapes of television news from those dates and sent them to a Hollywood studio to be "cleaned up" so they could be used as the official record of the moon landing.
The conspiracy people will be going crazy.
At the time we all thought that the moon landing would be the start of regular travel to and from the moon. When my daughter was young she looked up at the moon and asked "When can I go to the moon?" and I told her that by the time she was grown up she would be able to buy a ticket and go. Didn't happen.
Moon
by Billy Collins
The moon is full tonight
an illustration for sheet music,
an image in Matthew Arnold
glimmering on the English Channel,
or a ghost over a smoldering battlefield
in one of the history plays.
It’s as full as it was
in that poem by Coleridge
where he carries his year-old son
into the orchard behind the cottage
and turns the baby’s face to the sky
to see for the first time
the earth’s bright companion,
something amazing to make his crying seem small.
And if you wanted to follow this example,
tonight would be the night
to carry some tiny creature outside
and introduce him to the moon.
And if your house has no child,
you can always gather into your arms
the sleeping infant of yourself,
as I have done tonight,
and carry him outdoors,
all limp in his tattered blanket,
making sure to steady his lolling head
with the palm of your hand.
And while the wind ruffles the pear trees
in the corner of the orchard
and dark roses wave against a stone wall,
you can turn him on your shoulder
and walk in circles on the lawn
drunk with the light.
You can lift him up into the sky,
your eyes nearly as wide as his,
as the moon climbs high into the night.
by Dylan Thomas
In my craft of sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages.
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
Friday, July 03, 2009
For Olivia
Twenty five years ago, shortly after I moved into this area, I ended up in the hospital emergency room with a gall bladder attack. I needed a doctor, and Dr. Bhushan was on call, so in one of those lucky coincidences that shape our lives, I became his patient. He’s a wonderful doctor, competent and caring.
Dr. Bhushan has never had a partner, but several years ago he hired a Nurse Practitioner named Olivia who is every bit as wonderful as he. The woman knows what she’s doing. She is careful. She listens to what you say and she laughs with you about the absurdities of life. I never had a problem trusting my health to someone without an MD after her name.
Two days ago I went to see her about the cellulitis on my leg that is healing nicely under her care and she told me she was not going to be able to see me again because she was being laid off. The practice isn’t making enough money to keep her on the payroll.
I know Dr. Bhushan must feel bad about letting her go. She sees 20 patients a day, and her presence allows him to occasionally take a vacation while she keeps the office open. I will be waiting longer for appointments, I fear, and while I am perfectly happy to see Dr. Bhushan, Olivia will be greatly missed.
I have three poems she might like:
Life is no straight and easy corridor along
Which we travel free and unhampered,
But a maze of passages,
Through which we must seek our way,
Lost and confused, now and again
Checked in a blind alley.
But always, if we have faith,
A door will open for us,
Not perhaps one that we ourselves
Would ever have thought of,
But one that will ultimately
Prove good for us.
A.J. Cronin
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.
Emily Dickinson
The Courage of Women
I think of the courage of women,
how they endure,
how they walk miles to carry back water,
silence their pain, apportion
what’s lift of the rice.
Keepers of eggs without shells,
they know how fragile the days are,
how hope can spill into the ground.
Jane Glazer
Dr. Bhushan has never had a partner, but several years ago he hired a Nurse Practitioner named Olivia who is every bit as wonderful as he. The woman knows what she’s doing. She is careful. She listens to what you say and she laughs with you about the absurdities of life. I never had a problem trusting my health to someone without an MD after her name.
Two days ago I went to see her about the cellulitis on my leg that is healing nicely under her care and she told me she was not going to be able to see me again because she was being laid off. The practice isn’t making enough money to keep her on the payroll.
I know Dr. Bhushan must feel bad about letting her go. She sees 20 patients a day, and her presence allows him to occasionally take a vacation while she keeps the office open. I will be waiting longer for appointments, I fear, and while I am perfectly happy to see Dr. Bhushan, Olivia will be greatly missed.
I have three poems she might like:
Life is no straight and easy corridor along
Which we travel free and unhampered,
But a maze of passages,
Through which we must seek our way,
Lost and confused, now and again
Checked in a blind alley.
But always, if we have faith,
A door will open for us,
Not perhaps one that we ourselves
Would ever have thought of,
But one that will ultimately
Prove good for us.
A.J. Cronin
If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain
Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.
Emily Dickinson
The Courage of Women
I think of the courage of women,
how they endure,
how they walk miles to carry back water,
silence their pain, apportion
what’s lift of the rice.
Keepers of eggs without shells,
they know how fragile the days are,
how hope can spill into the ground.
Jane Glazer
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