R.L. Swihart's Blog, page 52

Hermit Thrush: Drip Drop: Belated Happy 2023

Where the hermit-thrush sings in the pines trees

Drip drop drip drop drop drop drop

But there is no water (T S Eliot)

Well, I haven't heard the drip-dropping yet (not sure Eliot even saw the hermit thrush) but I've seen him atop a magnolia tree and foraging under a tree for berries. Good enough for me, he's as cute as can be. And besides: Snowy's getting all the publicity thus far in 2023. Make a little room for this little guy. Drip drop.:)

#rlswihart13 #happy2023 #huntingtonbeachca #urbanforest #thrushesofinstagram #hermitthrush #nature #poetry #beauty #smallbirds #readmorepoetry2023 #ukraine 🇺🇦🥳

Tolstoy: Resurrection: Worthless Tramp

 "Why don't you pray, old chap?" asked Nekhludoff's driver as he replaced and straightened his cap. "Are you unbaptized?" "Who's one to pray to?" asked the old man quickly, in a determinately aggressive tone. "To whom? To God, of course," said the driver sarcastically. "And you just show me where he is, that god." There was something so serious and firm in the expression of the old man, that the driver felt that he had to do with a strong-minded man, and was a bit abashed. And trying not to show this, not to be silenced, and not to be put to shame before the crowd that was observing them, he answered quickly. "Where? In heaven, of course." "And have you been up there?" "Whether I've been or not, every one knows that you must pray to God." "No one has ever seen God at any time. The only begotten Son who is in the bosom of the Father he hath declared him," said the old man in the same rapid manner, and with a severe frown on his brow. "It's clear you are not a Christian, but a hole worshipper. You pray to a hole," said the driver, shoving the handle of his whip into his girdle, pulling straight the harness on one of the horses. Some one laughed. "What is your faith, Dad?" asked a middle-aged man, who stood by his cart on the same side of the raft. "I have no kind of faith, because I believe no one--no one but myself," said the old man as quickly and decidedly as before. "How can you believe yourself?" Nekhludoff asked, entering into a conversation with him. "You might make a mistake." "Never in your life," the old man said decidedly, with a toss of his head. "Then why are there different faiths?" Nekhludoff asked. "It's just because men believe others and do not believe themselves that there are different faiths. I also believed others, and lost myself as in a swamp,--lost myself so that I had no hope of finding my way out. Old believers and new believers and Judaisers and Khlysty and Popovitzy, and Bespopovitzy and Avstriaks and Molokans and Skoptzy--every faith praises itself only, and so they all creep about like blind puppies. There are many faiths, but the spirit is one--in me and in you and in him. So that if every one believes himself all will be united. Every one he himself, and all will be as one." The old man spoke loudly and often looked round, evidently wishing that as many as possible should hear him. "And have you long held this faith?" "I? A long time. This is the twenty-third year that they persecute me." "Persecute you? How?" "As they persecuted Christ, so they persecute me. They seize me, and take me before the courts and before the priests, the Scribes and the Pharisees. Once they put me into a madhouse; but they can do nothing because I am free. They say, 'What is your name?' thinking I shall name myself. But I do not give myself a name. I have given up everything: I have no name, no place, no country, nor anything. I am just myself. 'What is your name?' 'Man.' 'How old are you?' I say, 'I do not count my years and cannot count them, because I always was, I always shall be.' 'Who are your parents?' 'I have no parents except God and Mother Earth. God is my father.' 'And the Tsar? Do you recognise the Tsar?' they say. I say, 'Why not? He is his own Tsar, and I am my own Tsar.' 'Where's the good of talking to him,' they say, and I say, 'I do not ask you to talk to me.' And so they begin tormenting me." "And where are you going now?" asked Nekhludoff. "Where God will lead me. I work when I can find work, and when I can't I beg." The old man noticed that the raft was approaching the bank and stopped, looking round at the bystanders with a look of triumph. Nekhludoff got out his purse and offered some money to the old man, but he refused, saying: "I do not accept this sort of thing--bread I do accept." "Well, then, excuse me." "There is nothing to excuse, you have not offended me. And it is not possible to offend me." And the old man put the wallet he had taken off again on his back. Meanwhile, the post-cart had been landed and the horses harnessed. "I wonder you should care to talk to him, sir," said the driver, when Nekhludoff, having tipped the bowing ferryman, got into the cart again. "He is just a worthless tramp."

R L Swihart's New Poem: Writer's Block

My little poem "Writer's Block" is in Tipton Poetry Journal. Accessible online (Issue #54, p. 23). Thanks to the editor and all the good folks at Tipton. Check it out.

Tipton Poetry Journal (Issue #54)

Christmas 2022

 

Tolstoy's Resurrection

Kiesewetter, a thick-set, grisly man, spoke English, and a thin young girl, with a pince-nez, translated it into Russian promptly and well. He was saying that our sins were so great, the punishment for them so great and so unavoidable, that it was impossible to live anticipating such punishment. "Beloved brothers and sisters, let us for a moment consider what we are doing, how we are living, how we have offended against the all-loving Lord, and how we make Christ suffer, and we cannot but understand that there is no forgiveness possible for us, no escape possible, that we are all doomed to perish. A terrible fate awaits us---everlasting torment," he said, with tears in his trembling voice. "Oh, how can we be saved, brothers? How can we be saved from this terrible, unquenchable fire? The house is in flames; there is no escape."

Tolstoy's Resurrection

One of the most widespread superstitions is that every man has his own special, definite qualities; that a man is kind, cruel, wise, stupid, energetic, apathetic, etc. Men are not like that. We may say of a man that he is more often kind than cruel, oftener wise than stupid, oftener energetic than apathetic, or the reverse; but it would be false to say of one man that he is kind and wise, of another that he is wicked and foolish. And yet we always classify mankind in this way. And this is untrue. Men are like rivers: the water is the same in each, and alike in all; but every river is narrow here, is more rapid there, here slower, there broader, now clear, now cold, now dull, now warm. It is the same with men. Every man carries in himself the germs of every human quality, and sometimes one manifests itself, sometimes another, and the man often becomes unlike himself, while still remaining the same man, In some people these changes are very rapid, and Nekhludoff was such a man.

Tolstoy's Resurrection

"I said I had come to ask you to forgive me," he began. "What's the use of that? Forgive, forgive, where's the good of--" "To atone for my sin, not by mere words, but in deed. I have made up my mind to marry you." An expression of fear suddenly came over her face. Her squinting eyes remained fixed on him, and yet seemed not to be looking at him. "What's that for?" she said, with an angry frown. "I feel that it is my duty before God to do it." "What God have you found now? You are not saying what you ought to. God, indeed! What God? You ought to have remembered God then," she said, and stopped with her mouth open. It was only now that Nekhludoff noticed that her breath smelled of spirits, and that he understood the cause of her excitement.

Tolstoy's Resurrection

And none of those present, from the inspector down to Maslova, seemed conscious of the fact that this Jesus, whose name the priest repeated such a great number of times, and whom he praised with all these curious expressions, had forbidden the very things that were being done there; that He had prohibited not only this meaningless much-speaking and the blasphemous incantation over the bread and wine, but had also, in the clearest words, forbidden men to call other men their master, and to pray in temples; and had ordered that every one should pray in solitude, had forbidden to erect temples, saying that He had come to destroy them, and that one should worship, not in a temple, but in spirit and in truth; and, above all, that He had forbidden not only to judge, to imprison, to torment, to execute men, as was being done here, but had prohibited any kind of violence, saying that He had come to give freedom to the captives. No one present seemed conscious that all that was going on here was the greatest blasphemy and a supreme mockery of that same Christ in whose name it was being done. No one seemed to realise that the gilt cross with the enamel medallions at the ends, which the priest held out to the people to be kissed, was nothing but the emblem of that gallows on which Christ had been executed for denouncing just what was going on here. That these priests, who imagined they were eating and drinking the body and blood of Christ in the form of bread and wine, did in reality eat and drink His flesh and His blood, but not as wine and bits of bread, but by ensnaring "these little ones" with whom He identified Himself, by depriving them of the greatest blessings and submitting them to most cruel torments, and by hiding from men the tidings of great joy which He had brought. That thought did not enter into the mind of any one present.

Tolstoy's Resurrection

I shall tell her, Katusha, that I am a scoundrel and have sinned towards her, and will do all I can to ease her lot. Yes, I will see her, and will ask her to forgive me. "Yes, I will beg her pardon, as children do." . . . He stopped---"will marry her if necessary." He stopped again, folded his hands in front of his breast as he used to do when a little child, lifted his eyes, and said, addressing some one: "Lord, help me, teach me, come enter within me and purify me of all this abomination." He prayed, asking God to help him, to enter into him and cleanse him; and what he was praying for had happened already: the God within him had awakened his consciousness. He felt himself one with Him, and therefore felt not only the freedom, fulness and joy of life, but all the power of righteousness. All, all the best that a man could do he felt capable of doing.

Snow Geese @ Ken Malloy

Snow Geese @ Ken Malloy Regional Park. #1 to #3: the one blue/dark morph (juvenile) in the park; #4 to #6: the whites (a half dozen or so). From the little I've read on the topic: the blue guy will eventually get a white head.:) TGIF.

#rlswihart13 #lacounty #kenmalloyharborregionalpark #kenmalloy #geeseofinstagram #snowgeese #bluegoose #darkmorph #nature #beauty #poetry #tgif #readmorepoetry2022 #ukraine 🇺🇦 ☃️🌲❄️