Let My Tolkien Go!

        

‘Tis September, and what comes with September but Tolkien books? And what this year but a very special book, one that has been a Holy Grail, if not a Lost Ark, for me for some time? The Old English Exodus, published only once in 1982 with only 3000 copies, and going since then for over $1000 a copy (I’m sure I’ve seen $2000 at least once). Now for the first time it has been reprinted and offered with four other books, the whole going for $115 in a boxed set. It’s a snip, even if I have the four other books already! 

You can see all four other titles in the picture here. And while I’m sure all owners of the first edition of Exodus will continue to have something to preen and gloat over, mere lovers of Tolkien will simply finally be able to appreciate what was heretofore a specialist, almost stealth publication.  

The publisher is William Morrow, the publication date was August 25 of this year. Tolkien’s editor was Joan Terville-Petre. I await my brother’s arrival here at Walnut Springs so I can see what it is and how many pages it has; I have seen some indications that it has a reversible cover that matches the old History of Middle Earth volumes! 

 

 

Continuing Here

Since it's a new month and things have been happening, I thought I'd give a quick update on stuff.

Last week I discovered that James P Blaylock had a collection of essays on life and writing that had been available since February. I had to have it immediately and when it came I read it in two days. It included previous published items and a goodly amount of new material, stuff about writing and (most interestingly) how his life and writings interwoven. I don't have the precise details (cost, publisher, etc.) but learning about his childhood and his writing path and the vanished world he began in brings me ever-closer to him. I've always known from his work that he had "the right instincts", and now I'm even more sure. Also found out he loves Tolkien, which I always suspected but never found on record before!

Also on a less universal note, I went in on Friday for a further operation and had about half of my right foot (including all the toes) removed. Not as traumatic as I would have once thought; perhaps my feet being numb for years had something to do with it. The worst part about it is it puts my physical therapy back a bit. I advise everyone to stay healthy and as far from the need for a hospital stay as possible; the crashing boredom is terrible. If I did not have the kindly and loving visits from my family, I don't know what I'd do.

Also loving that it's September at last. I'm beginning to feel it around the edges!

It's a Hot One

 As one might expect, it's been very hot here in Texas in August. The heat drives all kinds of critters inside in search of water, relief and prey. They killed a little scorpion in Physical Therapy yesterday. this hunting spider (a bit more than a quarter in size) haunted our halls for two nights running before disappearing under my hospital bed. It had the honor of being the first picture taken with my new phone. Fairly harmless, of course; you don't mess with it and it doesn't mess with you.

My recovery proceeds apace. I'm learning methods of transfer (bed to chair, bed to 'pottty chair, etc.) and the exposed bone in my foot is almost completely covered. Everyone is cautious about putting a projected date on my complete recovery of course. But that's what's up with me.

Purgatory?

 

I was laying in my hospital bed today (and despite what anyone says, sitting on your ass all day is not a pleasant experience) when it struck me as how similar the experience must be to Purgatory. Not the old medieval concept of compensatory torture, but as remedial and corrective therapy to bring one to a healthy status.

The nurses are like firm but helpful ministers, the regimins and routines designed to bring you back to 'factory specs,' as it were. The food is adequately good but not so great as to tempt you to gluttony or concupiscence (I've often wondered if I could request salt and pepper shelters and a bottle of ketchup - which has more sugar than you'd expect). 

It is in fact a kind of torture but obviously beneficial in the long run, like training a dog to the leash. The ultimate goal is to remove the leash,free the dog from choking, and leave it obedient to good habits.

It seems almost ungrateful to compare it with torture. But the suffering is there; it is contingent on the consequences of my own actions with perhaps a dash of bad luck. It is the duty (cheerfully fulfilled) of the nurses (angel/agents of the Purgatory simile) to help me get through it.

Well, I'm Back

I did not accomplish my goal of 3000 posts by my 63rd birthday; instead I found myself in the hospital fighting an infected right foot. For a while it seemed I might lose the leg, right up to the knee. But thanks to the efforts of my doctor it was confined to a wound and the loss of a little toe. Right now I am undergoing recovery and rehabilitation at a place called AVIR at Warm Springs, a place at which, coincidentally, my grandmother on my father's side spent the last years of her life.

I have a brand-new laptop computer, of a basic but totally adequate nature, which my brother John went through some pains to help me obtain. My niece Morgandy ("who has the Knowin's of the Doin's") helped set it up. This old dog is struggling to learn new tricks and get back on track, especially with my scripts for The Wizard, the Prince, the Warrior, and His Son. This is my first effort at a post in over half a month; let's hope they get better as I get better,

Grackles: Another Early College Poem

GRACKLES

 

Emptied by summer, the parking lot

Shimmered like silver, scoured by rain,

Flared to gray fire under the early sun.

I saw grackles wading in disdain

 

Of the wet ground, pecking the grass

That grew in a fringe. The fronds

Waved above water in the morning wind,

Speckling with dew the rain-fed ponds.

 

Drawn by the nightly rain, snails crawled,

Salting the dark pavement with ghostly white.

The grackles watched sideways with fly-green eyes,

Then snapped at their shells with delight.

 

I left the grackles sporting there,

Playing, the free lords of the day.

I sighed, bent down, took up my books,

And, slavelike, heavy, went my way.

Notes

Why grackles? I think mainly because I liked saying 'grackle.' It seems I had only recently discovered the technical name of these 'black birds,' and their ubiquity and commonness put them on a par with sparrows as symbols of the everyday struggle to survive. I was waiting for a shuttlebus at the college parking lot, a rather dreary and interminable process.

AI Embellishments of Old Illustrations

A Weak and Foolish Thing

 

Forest Garden

FOREST GARDEN

 

There's a forest in the garden

Where, shaded by tomato trees,

Plastic tigers, grave and solemn,

Lie and take their noon-day ease.

 

Where Pop has built the earthen dams

All around the eggplant plot,

Brown and baggy plastic hippos

Belch, and blow their bubbling snot.

 

High in twisted clover stems

Monkeys swing, tree to tree.

Amid the clods and shells of snails

Roam great gorillas, fierce and free.

 

I lie watching on my stomach,

Cautiously, through jungle grass,

A gray line of new elephants

As they ponderously plod past.

 

2021 Diary: The Last Few Days of July

7/29/2021: Up about 5 AM, prayers and Bible. Fell asleep during cartoons. A little after 9 AM went to FD, got (besides some food) a new belt and the Kung Fu Panda trilogy. Watched “Heartbreak House” until about noon. Went in at 3:30 PM to cook supper (chili). Kept expecting Kam to come home, but Susan took him to the shop. Burst of wind and rain about 5 PM. When I went in to wash dishes at 8 PM, I could hardly get anything out of Kam about the TV interview, just that he thought it went well. Worked up the final integration of the Birthday Books into the shelves and read about half of “Padre Porko”. Would that July would end.

 

7/30/2021: Up at 5 AM.  Prayers, Bible. Cartoons. Checked my RBFCU account, saw it had the next deposits, so ordered from HEB. Started frying taters about 1 PM, or at least gathering the stuff and prepping. At 2 PM went out and waited and the delivery came, this time by a nice lady aided by her son. I always wonder if people are judging me by Susan’s house, not realizing that I am personally poorer than they are (probably) (though rich in family love). Humped everything in in FIVE loads, though it was helped by carrying the sodas and teas in a Walmart cloth bag. Called John and we had a long yak. Done frying by 3:30 PM. Went in and as I cooked the fish Kameron and I waited for and watched his appearance on KENS news. It was a very creditable performance. They had him wear a hat to be more interesting. Went in and washed at 7:30 PM, then made myself a big burger. Bed about 9:30 PM.

 

7/31/2021: Up about 5 AM again. Prayers and caught up diary. Bible. Cartoons at 6 AM, and I slept in and out through them until 8 AM. Had eggs and cheese at breakfast. At 11 AM took trash out and talked with Susan; she was going through the storehouse to find a mama-san cushion for Kam. Reading “A Celtic Temperament” on and off all day. Played DQ8 a while. For lunch/dinner (about 3:30 PM) had hamburger, onion, cauliflower, and cheese mix. It’s now 7 PM and I’m about halfway through ACT. Saturdays are so dreadfully lonely. I seldom see anyone as they are all busy and I have no cooking to do.

Notes

'Oh my God, I was so happy then!' 'Happy? You were miserable! You told me so yourself!' 'I was happy, I just didn't know it.' I needn't have fretted so. All Julys end ... inevitably.

 

Daily Bible Readings for Today's Mass

 Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Lectionary: 106

Reading 1

Wisdom 12:13, 16-19

There is no god besides you who have the care of all,
that you need show you have not unjustly condemned.
For your might is the source of justice;
your mastery over all things makes you lenient to all.
For you show your might when the perfection of your power is disbelieved;
and in those who know you, you rebuke temerity.
But though you are master of might, you judge with clemency,
and with much lenience you govern us;
for power, whenever you will, attends you.
And you taught your people, by these deeds,
that those who are just must be kind;
and you gave your children good ground for hope
that you would permit repentance for their sins.
 

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 86:5-6, 9-10, 15-16

R. (5a) Lord, you are good and forgiving.
You, O LORD, are good and forgiving,
abounding in kindness to all who call upon you.
Hearken, O LORD, to my prayer
and attend to the sound of my pleading.
R. Lord, you are good and forgiving.
All the nations you have made shall come
and worship you, O LORD,
and glorify your name.
For you are great, and you do wondrous deeds;
you alone are God.
R. Lord, you are good and forgiving.
You, O LORD, are a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger, abounding in kindness and fidelity.
Turn toward me, and have pity on me;
give your strength to your servant.
R. Lord, you are good and forgiving.
 

Reading 2

Romans 8:26-27

Brothers and sisters:
The Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness;
for we do not know how to pray as we ought,
but the Spirit himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings. 
And the one who searches hearts
knows what is the intention of the Spirit,
because he intercedes for the holy ones
according to God's will.
 

Alleluia

Cf. Matthew 11:25

R. Alleluia, alleluia.
Blessed are you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth;
you have revealed to little ones the mysteries of the kingdom.
R. Alleluia, alleluia.
 

Gospel

Matthew 13:24-43

Jesus proposed another parable to the crowds, saying:
"The kingdom of heaven may be likened
to a man who sowed good seed in his field. 
While everyone was asleep his enemy came
and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off. 
When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well. 
The slaves of the householder came to him and said,
'Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? 
Where have the weeds come from?'
He answered, 'An enemy has done this.'
His slaves said to him,
'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'
He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds
you might uproot the wheat along with them. 
Let them grow together until harvest;
then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters,
"First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning;
but gather the wheat into my barn."'"

He proposed another parable to them. 
"The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed
that a person took and sowed in a field. 
It is the smallest of all the seeds,
yet when full-grown it is the largest of plants. 
It becomes a large bush,
and the 'birds of the sky come and dwell in its branches.'"

He spoke to them another parable. 
"The kingdom of heaven is like yeast
that a woman took and mixed with three measures of wheat flour
until the whole batch was leavened."

All these things Jesus spoke to the crowds in parables. 
He spoke to them only in parables,
to fulfill what had been said through the prophet:
I will open my mouth in parables,
I will announce what has lain hidden from the foundation
of the world.

Then, dismissing the crowds, he went into the house. 
His disciples approached him and said,
"Explain to us the parable of the weeds in the field." 
He said in reply, "He who sows good seed is the Son of Man,
the field is the world, the good seed the children of the kingdom. 
The weeds are the children of the evil one,
and the enemy who sows them is the devil.
The harvest is the end of the age, and the harvesters are angels. 
Just as weeds are collected and burned up with fire,
so will it be at the end of the age. 
The Son of Man will send his angels,
and they will collect out of his kingdom
all who cause others to sin and all evildoers. 
They will throw them into the fiery furnace,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth. 
Then the righteous will shine like the sun 
in the kingdom of their Father. 
Whoever has ears ought to hear."

Cosmic Reliquary

COSMIC RELIQARY

 

Dancers, dancing, in crystalline amber,

Fighting the flow of molecular stasis;

Eight thousand, ten thousand, years in making

Their ritual, primitive, delicate paces.

 

Swimmers, swimming, through old slow stone,

Beating their fins in the bubbling rock;

Ten million, twelve million, years in cresting,

Sedimentary waves in limestone blocks.

 

Old light, streaming, down from creation,

Great galaxies beaming through chasms of years;

Two billion, three billion, light years in coming

From stars that, perhaps, are no longer here.

Another one of my elderly poems, pressed into the front lines in what feels to be the waning years of the war. The conceit is, of course, the the universe around us is a museum of relics of work unguessed. Never could quite come up with a satisfactory final line.

Blood on the Axe: A Bit of Teen Angst

BLOOD ON THE AXE

 

Blood on the axe

And dark is the day

Bare trees are blowing

And crows fly away

How shall we know

How shall we hear

In the dim of the night

In the cold of the year?

 

Frost on the ground

A cold wind crying

Dark doors gaping

As the sunset's dying

How can we hope

How can we bear

In the gloom of the soul

In the dark of despair?

 

Stain on the sword

A curse on the land

Man at the crossroads

With scales in his hand

The powers of darkness

Are at his command

Who can resist

How can we stand

The look of his eyes

The touch of his hand?

I wrote this as a teen in high school (1980 or so) and the apocalyptic outlook seemed so much more serious than the general hedonistic surge everyone else seemed to be indulginging in. I was more attuned to it from the death-cult we were only recently emerged from. Very dramatic; very pessimistic. Anyway, it's preserved here as in amber in these portentous, pretentious verses.