Poem for Monday and Rhode Island Elephants

An Elephant in the Dark 

By Jalalludin Rumi 

Translated by Coleman Barks 

Some Hindus have an elephant to show.

No one here has ever seen an elephant.

They bring it at night to a dark room.

One by one, we go in the dark and come out

saying how we experience the animal.

One of us happens to touch the trunk.

A water-pipe kind of creature.

Another, the ear. A very strong, always moving

back and forth, fan-animal. Another, the leg.

I find it still, like a column on a temple.

Another touches the curved back.

A leathery throne. Another the cleverest,

feels the tusk. A rounded sword made of porcelain.

He is proud of his description.

Each of us touches one place

and understands the whole that way.

The palm and the fingers feeling in the dark

are how the senses explore the reality of the elephant.

If each of us held a candle there,

and if we went in together, we could see it.

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Most of my Monday involved chores, as usual -- laundry, bathroom, kitchen because the stupid sugar ants keep coming no matter how much dusting and how many bait traps -- plus the start of the semiannual photo migration because I organize my photos in folders dated by half-years. That reminded me that I had scanned the Tarot deck Paul made for me for our anniversary in the early 1990s but never cleaned up the card images, so I started doing that, too, while we were watching the Germany-Paraguay World Cup game in Boston that the latter unexpectedly won. 

I missed the start of the Orioles game because the soccer went into sudden death penalty kicks after being tied for a long time, and then I didn't watch the end because the top of the final inning turned into such a disaster. In between we ate dinner and took a walk once it was finally cool outside and the bunnies started emerging, though the strawberry moon still isn't fully up. I'm watching the start of the fourth season of Discovery hoping it's better than the third season, and my laptop's 8/* key isn't working right, which is driving me insane. Here are the elephants at the Roger Williams Park Zoo:

Poem for Tuesday and Bellevue Rhododendrons

Nature 

By George Herbert 

Full of rebellion, I would die,

Or fight, or travell, or denie

That thou hast ought to do with me.

                          O tame my heart; 

                   It is thy highest art

To captivate strong holds to thee.

If thou shalt let this venome lurk,

And in suggestions fume and work,

My soul will turn to bubbles straight,

                          And thence by kinde

                   Vanish into a winde,

Making thy workmanship deceit.

O smooth my rugged heart, and there

Engrave thy rev’rend law and fear;

Or make a new one, since the old

                          Is saplesse grown,

                   And a much fitter stone

To hide my dust, then thee to hold.

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Tuesday was a nice day, a little chilly but sunny by the time we went outside, and we were happy to keep power all day! I did some reading and computer stuff in the morning, we took a walk to the lake after lunch, then my Star Trek group watched the single truly terrible episode of Deep Space Nine, "Move Along Home" -- Allamaraine! Afterward, we had spaghetti for dinner. 

Cheryl and we watched some Star Wars: Rebels, which is extremely enjoyable especially as we figure out connections to other Star Wars shows. Afterward, Paul and I watched G20, which is better acted than written and somehow both unrealistic and predictable, but President Viola Davis makes up for everything. Rhododendron season at Bellevue Botanical Garden:

Poem for Tuesday and Easter Garden

Love's Alchemy 

By John Donne 

Some that have deeper digg'd love's mine than I,

Say, where his centric happiness doth lie;

         I have lov'd, and got, and told,

But should I love, get, tell, till I were old,

I should not find that hidden mystery.

         Oh, 'tis imposture all!

And as no chemic yet th'elixir got,

         But glorifies his pregnant pot

         If by the way to him befall

Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal,

         So, lovers dream a rich and long delight,

         But get a winter-seeming summer's night.

Our ease, our thrift, our honour, and our day,

Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay?

         Ends love in this, that my man

Can be as happy'as I can, if he can

Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play?

         That loving wretch that swears

'Tis not the bodies marry, but the minds,

         Which he in her angelic finds,

         Would swear as justly that he hears,

In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the spheres.

         Hope not for mind in women; at their best

         Sweetness and wit, they'are but mummy, possess'd.

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We had drizzle on and off Tuesday, so it wasn't a long leisurely walk kind of a day. I did a bunch of computer work in the morning and had lunch with Paul who then had a long dentist appointment to repair a tooth. I watched the atrocious beginning of the Orioles game (three home runs on five pitches by a returning Gibson), then went to watch DS9's "Captive Pursuit" with my regulars; even the standard early-season episodes are pretty great. 

I got my new Kindle Paperwhite delivered and spent some time moving books and docs from the old one to the new one. We watched the three new episodes of Andor, which were excellent (I wish I'd rewatched the first season), then the newest episode of Hacks (pretty good, not even pretending to be a comedy any more). The Miller Nature Preserve and Conservatory in Avon, Ohio was decorated for Easter when we visited it a few weeks ago:

Poem for Friday and Afternoon Rainbow

The Sunrise Ruby 

By Jalaluddin Rumi 

Translated by Coleman Barks 

In the early morning hour,

just before dawn, lover and beloved wake

and take a drink of water.

She asks, "Do you love me or yourself more?

Really, tell the absolute truth."

He says, "There is nothing left of me.

I'm like a ruby held up to the sunrise.

Is it still a stone, or a world

made of redness? It has no resistance

to sunlight."

This is how Hallaj said, I am God,

and told the truth!

The ruby and the sunrise are one.

Be courageous and discipline yourself.

Completely become hearing and ear,

and wear this sun-ruby as an earring.

Work. Keep digging your well.

Don't think about getting off from work.

Water is there somewhere.

Submit to a daily practice.

Your loyalty to that

is a ring on the door.

Keep knocking, and the joy inside

will eventually open a window

and look out to see who's there.

-------- 

I had a lot of chores to do on Friday on account of having had company all week, but of course it was worth it. We watched the ice dance rhythm dance performances at the skating world championships, which was very enjoyable, while doing work and eating lunch, and we watched most of the Maryland women's game (which unfortunately they lost to South Carolina, but if they were going to lose, that's not a bad team to lose to) before we took a walk as the rain slowed to a drizzle. 

We watched more skating in the evening, the fantastic women's free skate in which I kept thinking it can't get better and they kept doing so until Alysa Liu did what everyone including her had thought was impossible a few weeks ago and it was absolutely thrilling to watch. Catching up on The Wheel of Time, Doctor Odyssey, and Suits L.A. was very anticlimactic after that. Here's what the sky looked like between our walk and the evening skating, with eagles posing as the rainbow intensified:

Poem for Wednesday and Edmonds Shopping

Sail Away 

By Rabindranath Tagore 

Early in the day it was whispered that we should sail in a boat,

only thou and I, and never a soul in the world would know of this our

pilgrimage to no country and to no end.

In that shoreless ocean,

at thy silently listening smile my songs would swell in melodies,

free as waves, free from all bondage of words.

Is the time not come yet?

Are there works still to do?

Lo, the evening has come down upon the shore

and in the fading light the seabirds come flying to their nests.

Who knows when the chains will be off,

and the boat, like the last glimmer of sunset,

vanish into the night?

-------- 

My Wednesday started with chat with my high school friends, which is always a pleasure though one of them is having an extremely shitty week and the other two were busy with family stuff. Then I had lunch, did some computer stuff, and went for a walk to the lake; it was overcast and cool, but there were lots of ducks, three eagles, and many cormorants. 

I was sure that the Griffin on The Masked Singer was James Van Der Beek, and I was very pleased to be proven right, though now I'm worried about why Rita Ora has been absent twice in her brief time on the show. We had baked potatoes for dinner, and now we're at the start of season 7 of House and I see why it's so controversial. Nautical shopping in Edmonds:

Poem for Monday and Nature at Green Lake

The Sun Rising 

By John Donne

               Busy old fool, unruly sun,

               Why dost thou thus,

Through windows, and through curtains call on us?

Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

               Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide

               Late school boys and sour prentices,

         Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,

         Call country ants to harvest offices,

Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,

Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

               Thy beams, so reverend and strong

               Why shouldst thou think?

I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,

But that I would not lose her sight so long;

               If her eyes have not blinded thine,

               Look, and tomorrow late, tell me,

         Whether both th' Indias of spice and mine

         Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.

Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday,

And thou shalt hear, All here in one bed lay.

               She's all states, and all princes, I,

               Nothing else is.

Princes do but play us; compared to this,

All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy.

               Thou, sun, art half as happy as we,

               In that the world's contracted thus.

         Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be

         To warm the world, that's done in warming us.

Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere;

This bed thy center is, these walls, thy sphere.

 

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Monday was cool and overcast, but that's actually supposed to be the best weather we get for the next few days, so we went out to enjoy it after an uneventful morning of computer stuff and laundry. I made the mistake of actually discussing politics online with people, which took more screaming time than it was worth, so I needed a walk to the beach. 

We caught up on the Watson episode we missed on Sunday because it shares a time slot with Suits and the latter is still grabbing me more; I like Watson and I like Derian, but I need better character development and a much stronger background arc. Now we're watching the excellent "Broken" on House. Flowers and wildlife at Green Lake:

Poem for Thursday and Local Crows

The Jackdaw 

By William Cowper 

There is a bird, who by his coat,

And by the hoarseness of his note,

Might be supposed a crow;

A great frequenter of the church,

Where bishop-like he finds a perch,

And dormitory too.

Above the steeple shines a plate,

That turns and turns, to indicate

From what point blows the weather;

Look up—your brains begin to swim,

'Tis in the clouds—that pleases him,

He chooses it the rather.

Fond of the speculative height,

Thither he wings his airy flight,

And thence securely sees

The bustle and the raree-show,

That occupy mankind below,

Secure and at his ease.

You think, no doubt, he sits and muses

On future broken bones and bruises,

If he should chance to fall.

No: not a single thought like that

Employs his philosophic pate,

Or troubles it at all.

He sees that this great roundabout,

The world, with all its medley rout,

Church, army, physic, law,

Its customs, and its businesses

Is no concern at all of his,

And says—what says he?—"Caw."

Thrice happy bird! I too have seen

Much of the vanities of men;

And, sick of having seen 'em,

Would cheerfully these limbs resign

For such a pair of wings as thine,

And such a head between 'em.

-------- 

Thursday was quite cold with snow starting in the afternoon, though the accumulation is supposed to be less than half an inch. I had work to get done in the morning, and by the time we went for a walk to the park after lunch, there were flurries in the air. Three of the swans were surfing on the waves and the geese and ducks were piled in the grass along with dozens of crows all over the place, but all the cormorants were on one dock huddled together.

 

I folded laundry while watching the end of a Secrets of the Zoo episode (poor flamingo George Michael) and the start of the Maryland-Nebraska basketball game. My Thursday night chat group hung out on Zoom for a while, then we ate bagels for dinner because we weren't ravenous after acai bowls for lunch. We watched this week's Ghosts (my favorite line was the one comparing The Bear and Ratatouille) and now we're watching some more season three House.

Poem for Tuesday and Ballard Birds

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time 

By Robert Herrick 

Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying;

And this same flower that smiles today

Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,

The higher he’s a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse, and worst

Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,

And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime,

You may forever tarry.

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Tuesday was chilly and beautiful. I spent the morning scanning the photos, papers, and correspondence that have accumulated over the winter -- some medical stuff, but mostly holiday cards. Then we took an early walk to see all four eagles around the lake before I had my Voyager group, though two people couldn't come, so we ended up just chatting. We had fabulous homemade tomato pepper jack soup for dinner with crusty bread and cheese. 

Then we started watching House, which I've always avoided because I get hypochondriasis from TV shows (I have had all the symptoms of yellow fever, sickle cell anemia, even prostate cancer just from medical dramas), but Watson made me realize again I really would probably like. The first couple of episodes are a little dated but pretty great (poem above is in honor of Robert Sean Leonard, and yay Jennifer Morrison!). Birds at Ballard Locks on Sunday: