Following the Youtube video, you may click on the PDF file below for a copy of the entire poem, if you so desire. We hope you enjoy this work and such as it is (sound quality and an out of tune piano), may it fill your heart with believing, hope and love!
I grew up in the Midwest. We lived in town and had grandparents that lived in the country. City living gave us culture and the advantages which benefit, from higher education. We had the rural roots and common sense, fresh air and produce from the farm. We had the best of both worlds. I especially loved the fall, autumn, falling leaves and colors, crisp apple cider and crisp air, ripening, harvest, plenty and well, just that whole cornucopia idea of, abundance. A familiar phrase to me as a child growing up, just set the whole season into mind and motion. Just a few words gave me the visual promotion or concept of autumn – “when the frost is on the punkin.” Yes, I do know how to spell pumpkin, but “punkin,” is how the word was first pronounced to me. I am not sure where I first heard this. Perhaps it was our mother, from her mother or father, our grandparents? Both of our Mom’s parents were from large farming families so, you might expect the word “punkin” to be proper pronunciation for the farm, country, and the south. Pumpkin would be correct, for the formally educated, the city dwellers, the landlubbers or as a friend refers to me since I am a new transplant to the “country,” a “flatlander.” Well, I think it is pretty obvious as to what “frost on the punkin” means. Pumpkins turn their bright orange color in the fall and while still not winter, the nights and days can be quite cool. Elementary science taught us that something freezes at 32°F. Frost can occur on the ground, on leaves, and yes, even pumpkins at higher temperatures from 32-say-36 or 37°F. So, “frost on the punkin,” means, it’t chilly outside. It’s time for my favorite olympic sport of, raking leaves and jumping into the piles. Not to mention pumpkin eats and drinks, OMG it’s AUTUMN!!! 🙂 I’ve used this phrase for most of my life. Recently, I used it and some people had never heard of it. So, I thought, maybe it is a Midwest or a southern expression; not known to us northerners? Yes, I included myself as a northerner, since I live here in New York, even though I was born and raised in the Midwest. Well, again with the well, well, how deep is this well? Where did this expression come from? I consulted with the oldest trivia, where-did-that-come-from expression expert, our local home-spun-poetry committed to memory aficionado and my fellow poetry-lover kindred spirit, Aunt Anne Magar (Bab’s) [pronounced: Bob’s]. She’s 91 and sharp as a tack. So I put it to her, “Aunt Bab’s,” I said, “have you ever heard the expression, “frost on the punkin?” “Oh, sure,” she said grinning confidently, “It is from a poem. You should look it up!” So I did. It was written by James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
“There is an interesting incident about how Riley’s job was once saved because he had written “When the Frost Is On the Punkin, and the Fodder’s In the Shock.” It is in a book written by Riley’s friend John A. Howland entitled, “James Whitcomb Riley: Prose and Pictures.””
“Riley, as a young Greenfield man, had had a hard time finding a niche in the world since he did not care to follow his father in the practice of law. He sold Bibles, painted signs, entertained in a medicine show, always coming to a dead end. His mother died in 1870 and he felt he could not bear to stay in Greenfield so he went here and there seeking newspaper employment. He ran into E.B. Martindale of “The Indianapolis Journal” whom he later called, “my first literary patron,” who added him to the staff of the paper to write poetry. Some of these poems appeared on the first page of the Journal under the nom de plume “Benjamin F. Johnson of Boone,” supposedly an old farmer. As they were well received, Riley emerged from under his disguise, writing poems such as “When the Frost is on the Punkin.””
“In a short while after Riley joined the paper, a gentleman named Halford was appointed manager of the Journal. One of his first ideas was to cut down on expenses of the paper, and he was considering Riley as his first victim to get the ax. It so happened that a political convention was held in Indianapolis at this very time. One of the candidates nominated for office was a big burly fellow who had never made a speech in his life.”
“When he got up to accept his nomination, his mind went blank and he could not utter a word. The pounding and cheering went on until in desperation he blurted out, “The ticket you have nominated here is going to win “when the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.” This Riley poem had just been published a few days before. in the newspaper.”
“The applause that greeted these words showed that most of these prominent men had read Riley’s work and approved of it. Halford kept him on, and he became an established poet.”
I share the lines with you below and a wonderful oral reading by a man from a You Tube video. I believe you will understand every word below, when you hear him recite it; understand why his father wanted him to share it with strangers each year and you, will understand, “frost on the punkin,” as I now do! Thank You Aunt Bab’s! 🙂 Donnie
“When the Frost is on the Punkin”
James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here—
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.
The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries—kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover over-head!—
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ’s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it—but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me—
I’d want to ’commodate ’em—all the whole-indurin’ flock—
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!
You have sung in your cage, sung in Your release and now You sing, flying free! I cannot offer up Your praise and give words of your many accomplishments. There are many others that knew You, knew You well and that can do the far better telling. I can only shed my own tears of the sad and of the joy. I can only say here, what You mean to me. I call You Maya because, it’s deeply personal and You are this to me, as if I have always known You, though I have never met You, though as if I have! We are not related. Our skins and sins are not the same. We came here to life at different times. All that I may leave here pales, to what, You have left. But I love You and I know You loved me because, You lived!
Your first book, ‘I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,’ set You not upon your path, but it brought many to you and my seeking heart to your path and with your smile, You bid any and all, welcome!
Maya’s 1st book
I always thought of You as my dear and trusted aunt, though I never had the privilege of meeting You. You were born in my home state of Missouri. You lived in Arkansas and I first met of You, when I lived there. I will never forget Your performance in the 1995 movie, ‘How to Make an American Quilt!’ You had only a small part. You did neither write it nor directed it. You were not its narrator. Your character was Anna. You told the story of, “the story quilt.” You are the “story quilt.” You were the master quilter and brought every person into this story. And it is brilliant and so deep and has so many meanings on so many levels. It was more than about a quilt for one woman. It was more than just about women or a movie for women. It was about people, all people. Ignorance makes us all slaves to something or to someone. But together are we freed, WE the many different and beautiful “shreds,” make up ‘An American Quilt!’ ‘An American Quilt,’ is by far, my favorite movie of all time. To me, You were the whole movie! I cannot imagine it being written, directed, acted or presented without You. All the great acting, music and sets were the background. You are its subject. You are the quilting needle; WE are the quilt!
“It’s a story quilt. It’s meant to be read.”
“That summer the Grasse quilting bee did something they’ve never done before. Anna called everyone back and wouldn’t let them go home until they finished the quilt. They all worked [straight through the night] sustained by Anna’s will and gallons of ice tea.”
Young lovers seek perfection.
Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together
and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches
“As Anna says about making a quilt, you have to choose your combination carefully. The right choices will enhance your quilt. The wrong choices will dull the colors, hide their original beauty. There are no rules you can follow. You have to go by your instinct. And you have to be brave.”
excerpts from the transcript: ‘An American Quilt’
I hear You and see You and feel You in every frame of the whole movie and in the following video clip.
Your last Tweet on Twitter:
Your last personal Facebook post was typical of, your concern for others
Maya’s FB Profile
Maya Angelou
May 26, 2014
“And now we come to the day [Memorial Day] where we can honor the brave men and women who have risked their lives to honor our country and our principles. Our history is rife with citizens who care and who are courageous enough to say we care for those who went before us.”
You earned three Grammys, spoke six languages, and were the second poet in history to recite a poem at a presidential inauguration. You received two Presidential Medals of Honor from two separate presidents, one for Art and the most important, for Freedom.
On Thursday, May 28, 2014, you took your last breath and I was breathless when I knew.
On your Facebook page:
Your FB profile
Statement from Dr. Maya Angelou’s Family:
Dr. Maya Angelou passed quietly in her home before 8:00 a.m. EST. Her family is extremely grateful that her ascension was not belabored by a loss of acuity or comprehension. She lived a life as a teacher, activist, artist and human being. She was a warrior for equality, tolerance and peace. The family is extremely appreciative of the time we had with her and we know that she is looking down upon us with love.
Guy B. Johnson
You were a beautiful young girl, a beautiful young woman, a beautiful woman, and a beautiful lady in Your glorious sunset! There is no place for a beautiful mind to be shone, than shining out and upon, from within!
My favorite poem of Yours, I will share here to follow. You meant a lot to me personally, and I will greatly miss Your presence on this earth and in the life that I have left!
Still I Rise
by Maya Angelou, 1928 – 2014
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
‘Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
‘Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
Cradle
by Dahni
How does one summarize the impact of a single life? Indeed, there have been countless books penned, poems and paintings that have tried to capture this deep enigma. Perhaps the smallest sentence to have ever seized all the emotion of loss comes from the Bible,
“Jesus Wept!”
William Shakespeare from ‘King Lear,’ concluded a single life simply and plainly with the words,
“He died!”
But the things penned, the poems, the paeans, and paintings all try to show the eons of time, events and unique forming that brought forth the birth of a single life. And then they try to show the waves and connections and spheres of influence from all the moments and all the years of a single life. And thus a summing up of all that are touched by this single life may simply and plainly conclude –
They Lived!
No one can escape tears sometimes. Sometimes these droplets of one’s measured life are of great joy. Sometimes these droplets of one’s measured life are of great sorrow. The push of sorrow and the pull of joy is this not like a crib and are we not cradled of love? A life enters and exits, but leaves a cradle rocking. The push and pull continues. Turn the page, keep reading. Pen, poem and paint. Rock the cradle, for the point is
We live!
Note: a “paean” – any song of joy, praise or triumph
Even more than my ‘Cradle’ poem, You taught me to always trust love –
“Have enough courage to trust love one more time
and always one more time.”
Maya Angelou
Even more than my ‘Cradle’ poem, You taught me that all of us are shackled or we bear the scars of something that enslaves. But my favorite words from You are, only two.
“Love Liberates”
Maya Angelou
You sang in Your cage. You sang when Your caged was opened. You sing now in freedom’s flight. Many will fly because, of You.
Today marks the official, 43rd year of observing Memorial Day, as a federal holiday beginning in 1971. It could be the 149th, 148th, 147th or 146th, depending on who you are, what you believe and where you are from. There are no less than a dozen cities, organizations and persons that it has been attributed to or claim it and that they, he or she was the first to come up with the name and or to celebrate the event for the first time. Indeed, a study or personal research undertaken, as to the histories and origins of Memorial Day, will reveal very much, interesting information. That last sentence was highly understated!
The stories range from it began in the south to no, it was the north from after the American Civil War. Some say no, it began earlier than that. Some say it started in Columbus, Georgia, but Columbus, Mississippi, highly disagrees with that, because they say they were first.
Francis Miles Finch (June 9, 1827 – July 31, 1907) was an American judge, poet, and academic associated with the early years of Cornell University. Finch wrote poetry throughout his life. Perhaps his best known poem, “The Blue and the Gray”, written in remembrance of the dead of the American Civil War, was inspired by a women’s memorial association in Columbus, Mississippi, who on April 25, 1866 tended the graves of Confederate and Union soldiers, treating the dead as equals despite the lingering rancor of the war.
The Blue and the Gray
By Francis Miles Finch
By the flow of the inland river,
Whence the fleets of iron have fled,
Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,
Asleep are the ranks of the dead:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the one, the Blue,
Under the other, the Gray.
These in the robings of glory,
Those in the gloom of defeat,
All with the battle-blood gory,
In the dusk of eternity meet:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the laurel, the Blue,
Under the willow, the Gray.
From the silence of sorrowful hours
The desolate mourners go,
Lovingly laden with flowers
Alike for the friend and the foe:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the roses, the Blue,
Under the lilies, the Gray.
So with an equal splendor,
The morning sun-rays fall,
With a touch impartially tender,
On the blossoms blooming for all:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Broidered with gold, the Blue,
Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
So, when the summer calleth,
On forest and field of grain,
With an equal murmur falleth
The cooling drip of the rain:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.
Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done,
In the storm of the years that are fading
No braver battle was won:
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red;
They banish our anger forever
When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment-day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.
Though this is a beautiful poem and memory, some believe Memorial Day was inspired by a southern woman and others say it was a northern military officer. Then there is a town in my state, Waterloo, NY that have honored the day since May 5th, 1866. To this, president Lyndon Johnson directed the federal government to recognize Waterloo, NY in 1971, as the birthplace of Memorial Day? You cannot say that the president, a southerner, was biased, being Waterloo, NY, is, in the north. But hold on, wait just a minute.
Some believe and would like the rest of us to believe that the ceremonies in April of 1865, might have begun what has come to be known as Memorial Day? Remember Fort Sumter? It was a fort off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina, long used in defense of the city. For all practical reasons, Fort Sumter is where the American Civil War began. It seemed kind of fitting to include it in the memory, after Lee’s surrender at Appomattox, which unofficially ended the war between the states. Indeed, the same year, the flag of the United States would fly over Fort Sumter. All kinds of ceremonies were planned and implemented on the island, to honor the dead, the end of hostilities and the long reconciliatory process which was beginning, between the north and the south. This all happened on April 15, 1865. Later the same day and this same year, in Washington, D.C., president Abraham Lincoln was assassinated at Ford’s Theater.
But hold on again, wait just another minute. What about the story of prisoners of war that had died in captivity in Charleston, South Carolina and were honored on May 1, 1865? Was this the beginning of Memorial Day?
“During the war, Union soldiers who were prisoners of war had been held at the Charleston Race Course and were hastily buried in unmarked graves. Together with teachers and missionaries, black residents of Charleston organized a May Day ceremony, covered by the New York Tribune and other national papers. The freedmen cleaned up and landscaped the burial ground, building, an enclosure and an arch labeled, “Martyrs of the Race Course.” Nearly ten thousand people, mostly freedmen, gathered on May 1 to commemorate the war dead. Involved were about 3,000 school children newly enrolled in freedmen’s schools, mutual aid societies, Union troops, black ministers, and white northern missionaries. Most brought flowers to lay on the burial field.”
Professor David W. Blight of the Yale University Department of History, described the day during part of his lecture, ‘The Beginning of Memorial Day,’
“This was the first Memorial Day. African Americans invented Memorial Day in Charleston, South Carolina. What you have there is black Americans recently freed from slavery announcing to the world with their flowers, their feet, and their songs what the war had been about. What they basically were creating was the Independence Day of a Second American Revolution.”
Of course, there remain many that want to dispute professor Blight’s claim, but if it were not for his discovery of this information, nearly lost and possibly suppressed, we would not even have it to consider. Did you know this former racetrack-turned open air field cemetery, still exists or efforts are being made to include this hallowed place as, an historic landmark? I did not until very recently.
On and on the stories and claims go, perhaps without ending and without number. But it seems the importance or meaning of the day, is lost on who said what first, made it first, and inspired it first.
At this point, what exactly do we know? We know that somewhere, sometime, someone merged Decoration Day with Memorial Day. It was merged because, after the change, people would still ‘decorate’ the graves of the fallen, but the word ‘memorial’ was more appropriate, for the reason they they did this. So it seems the connection was to honor the dead that fell during the American Civil War by decorating their graves. But we know that today, Memorial Day has expanded.
Many believe the name change from “Decoration Day” to “Memorial Day,” was first used in 1882. But it still was not a Federal Law until 1967. On June 28, 1968, the Congress passed the Uniform Monday Holiday Act, which moved four holidays, including Memorial Day, from their traditional dates to a specified Monday, in order to create a convenient, three-day weekend. The change moved Memorial Day from its traditional May 30th date to the last Monday in May.
Law smaw, many states rejected this change until years later, when all 50 states were finally in compliance. Then there are those that still don’t like the date of the last Monday of the month of May. They would prefer the date being set on a more traditional date of May 30th, no matter what day of the week it may fall on. Congress has been repeatedly petitioned to make this change, even among its own members, but to no avail. Besides, if this were to happen, it would disrupt Memorial Day business, observed by most businesses because, this is the unofficial beginning of summer. Hmmm, what was really important, the day itself or another day off and part of another long weekend off and the opportunity for businesses to sell us their stuff from out of their stock and off their shelves?
Memorial Day expanded to include fallen soldiers, for all wars and conflicts since the American Civil War. Some did not like that because, living soldiers were not included. So Veterans Day was added for all veterans, living and deceased, for all wars. Veteran’s Day is on Tuesday, November 11 (this year 2014). But I bet more than many turn this into a four-day weekend, to do more stuff, get more stuff and to sell more stuff.
Memorial Day weekend has expanded to associate with the Labor Day weekend beginning, Monday September 1st (this year 2014). What is the association? Most people, businesses and organizations, with private or public swimming pools, open their pools around Memorial Day and close them down, after Labor Day.
Memorial Day weekend has expanded to associate with, the Indianapolis 500 and the Coca Cola 6oo races. These car racing events have for some time, been run on Memorial Day.
Somehow, Memorial Day was expanded to include all deceased members of families and friends and associates. People everywhere started decorating other graves besides those of soldiers. Then Memorial Day expanded to include picnics, gatherings of friends and families, businesses, other groups and of course, including barbecues!
Around the 16th century in England, the word potluck is said to have first been used. In the writings of Thomas Nashe, he defined this as, “food provided for an unexpected or uninvited guest, the luck of the pot.” In the 19th or 20th century, this potluck or sometimes called potlatch, was considered a communal or community meal, where people brought their own food. To the native Irish, this “luck of the pot,” had no particular menu, but was shared with many people and with many types of food, from whatever you had on hand because, quite often, this was the only pot people had to cook with. So many got together to use it and share the food together. This could have been neighbors, friends, families or all of them. This could have taken on the character of an extended family or a family reunion. Some people would often travel hundreds of miles to reconnect or with friends and families. They would gather on a certain day (like Memorial Day), decorate the graves of loved ones and renew their relationships or meet other new friends and family members. Sometimes, there could have been a religious service at the site and often this would follow with a “dinner on the ground.” Yes, at the cemetery, they would spread sheets or tablecloths on the grass or set up tables and “pass the pot,” sharing together what each brought to share. Now many believe this practice started way before the American Civil War so therefore, it predates any other origin of Memorial Day. But there are plenty of people around to dispute that claim or idea!
So what do we know for sure? We know that Memorial Day has expanded to include a lot of people and stuff. But what actually is Memorial Day? What is its purpose? I dunno, so I looked up the word “memorial,” in the dictionary.
The word memorial is a noun. It’s first definition, found in most dictionaries is, something similar to that which follows:
“something designed to preserve the memory of a person, event, etc., as a monument or a holiday.’
Origin:
1350-1400; Middle English < Late Latin memoriāle, noun of neuter of Latin memoriālis for or containing memoranda. belonging to remembrance
Old French memorie, from Latin memoria, from memormindful”
In the least common denominator, memorial comes from the word memory and is connected to ‘being mindful.’ What should we be memorializing? For what purpose should we remember. keep in our memory and be mindful of?
In a previous post on this blog ‘ON: ANZAC DAY, I wrote about my recent experiences in Australia. You can can read it for the first time or again if you so choose, but it began for me, an evolution if you will, for what Memorial Day means to me now.
Here at The Gathering Place, me and the Mrs., which is pretty poor, improper or just bad English (but the 2 m’s may make it easier to recall) or properly, the Mrs. and I, are spending the day much like many others. We started by attending our first Memorial Day Parade, in our new home-based area of, Macedon, NY. As relatively new members of this community, we wanted to become more involved. We waited at the cemetery, as the parade approached.
We connected with new friends and reconnected with old friends. We walked into the cemetery and were part of the short service that was followed by free hotdogs, chips and drinks up at the Macedon Center.
But the service began with a moment of silence, honoring those soldiers that were buried in this field. Next, there was an oral reading of a poem I had not heard before. The poem was written by Archibald MacLeish, a poet who served in the U.S. Army in World War I:
The Young Dead Soldiers
by Archibald MacLeish
The young dead soldiers do not speak.
Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses:
who has not heard them?
They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock
counts.
They say: We were young. We have died.
Remember us.
They say: We have done what we could
but until it is finished it is not done.
They say: We have given our lives but until it is finished no one can
know what our lives gave.
They say: Our deaths are not ours: they are yours, they will mean what
you make them.
They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope
or for nothing we cannot say, it is you who must say this.
We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.
We were young, they say. We have died; remember us
This was followed by a short prayer in thanks for the freedom that we there and we everywhere, are charged with as overseers and preservers of this freedom. The service concluded with a 21 gun salute to those fallen.
Both my wife Susan and I have had members of our individual families and mutual friends that served in the military. We have friends and family that are presently, serving in the military. We are quite used to and understand, “extended families.” These friends and families and soldiers became, ours and my friends and families and soldiers!
My manner for quite sometime has been, to remove my hat and extend my right hand to any soldier I meet, to say thank you, for their service to our country. All of theses men and women either paid the ultimate sacrifice or were or are willing, to give their lives, for what they believed and believe is in defense of this nation. But what does that mean? What is this nation? How are we any different than any other person upon the face of the earth, living or dead? Isn’t it that we have placed into writing that “all…are equal,” and all have, “certain unalienable rights that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness?” Is this not the cry of every heart; of every man, woman and child – past, present and future for, the freedom to exercise these rights?
For Susan and I like many people, we will put something on the grill later and do some yard work, visit with and talk to friends and family. I will personally reflect upon what Memorial Day has now come to mean to me.
I will change my greeting to any known solidier I may meet. I will thank them for their part is keeping us all free to enjoy Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. And I will extend this greeting to you, wherever you may be or whenever we may meet. For you too are, a defender, protector and an overseer of this freedom we all here, are here by rights to enjoy.
To truly honor our dead, we may continue to decorate their graves, get together, barbecue, open or go to a pool, and all the things we do, do on Memorial Day, but How SHALL WE HONOR THEM the BEST!
Let us go forth this Memorial Day, for all time, in the memory of and mindful of that each of us contribute or take part in the attempts to destroy freedom. If we cannot all, always agree, let us agree to disagree and part as friends and family, but let us each continue to preserve the path in peace, and decorate, and remember that we each are preservers of the freedom to enjoy, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness!
So to you, anyone that reads this or that I meet today or that I may meet one day, I say THANK YOU! Thank you for taking care of all our freedom to all our rights for, Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness!!! Thank You!
Actually this post is not about Golden Pond, but a Golden Palace on a pond or be it, a small lake. But one has to name something, something and it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I must digress here to state what may or may not be obvious. These posts from our travels are neither a journal or in day by day, hour by hour chronological order. Part of this is due to my love of words and my tendency to write many of them. I do try to think of others in that I ask myself, what would I want to see or want to learn about while in Japan? I try to keep these posts interesting and informative to the best of my ability.
Another issue is that even in the short time that we have been here, we have done so much; seen so many things. I have taken lots of pictures and when we return, I will just have to decide on what to do with them. Lastly, there is the lack of WIFI in Japan. With iPhones, an iPad and a laptop with us, we certainly have the means to post content and pictures in several ways, but outside of where we are staying, there is no internet access.
Oh, there are, WIFI access points everywhere and most are secured networks which require a password. In order to use one of these you have to pay for them by the day or even the month. In order to do that, you need to be living here basically, as the Japanese are not too particularly fond of sharing their WIFI or broadband internet with foreigners. Many Japanese have WIFI at home for their devices. Their smartphones are tied to a prepaid (monthly) satellite service so that they can use their phones, pads, and devices pretty much wherever they are. I have seen several people on trains here, communicating over the internet through social media like Facebook. But, alas for us, we have to wait until we get back to where we are staying to access the internet and use services that require WIFI. I do not know what it will be like in Australia, but we are soon to find out.
But as you walk in Kyoto, soon you find yourself within the woods and then suddenly in the distance, you see this beautiful and phenomenal sight with a background of nature like a picture frame as if made to feature it. Here is the Golden Palace, actually overlaid with 24k gold.
The Golden Palace
I’m not sure why the bottom first section is not gold, perhaps so that no one could scrape it from the structure?
It is beautiful, but I am more awestruck at how it blends in with nature and the angles and the way in which such structures are built.
The harmony of nature and the work wrought of humansRoof constructionNatural reed roof
The material again is from nature and the construction by human binds hollow reed so tightly, it insulates and protects against insects, wind, snow and rain while keeping the structure warm in the colder months and cool in the warmer months.
Yes, it is the harmony of nature’s art and the art of humans which make so many things so beautiful in Japan! Though to build such a structure which still stands after so many centuries was long and difficult, naming things in Japan is often short and simple! These are contrasts or more like understatements, figures of speech that call our attention.
A golden palace on a pond is, what this is, but the words cannot describe its effects and affects upon the senses when they are first experienced and long remembered! The words are almost like a haiku poem of just three lines and 17 syllables, but hold great depth of meaning and purpose. But stated so simply and so matter-of-fact, they seem not able to convey the difficulty to master the art form and construct them like, the golden palace. It is just there as if it is supposed to be and always was, waiting only on you and I to discover its truths.
Oh sure, this place is a tourist attraction and many people come here to see it, both foreigners and the Japanese. And why not, wouldn’t you want to see a palace of gold on a pond, we did! So, perhaps this was an intention of its builders that even after the deaths of those it was built for, people would continue to be drawn here; support it and etc. But it’s importance is so much more to the Japanese and to me! It is an example of the art and harmony of, nature and humans simply drawing others to it as if calling out and stating simply; beautifully; poetically, here is…
…The Golden Palace on the Pond
I will close this post with another example of this understating and harmonious blending of the art of nature and humans.
Leaping Fish Fountain
This fountain is also part of the compound of the Golden Palace. The up righted or vertical stone looks like a fish that is leaping up the fountain. Notice the rainbow! 🙂
The Lotus is seen throughout Japan and is very significant to their way of life and their beliefs. They are beautiful. I hope you enjoy my art made from a photograph I took in Japan and my haiku poem to follow.
Her name is Miyoko Shida [Rigolo]. She is Japanese and presently lives in Paris, France. She is approximately 52 years old. She has taken the last name of her mentor, Rigolo. Her art is called, The Sanddorn Balance.
The Sanddorn balance began over 15 years ago when Swiss theatre producer Mädir Eugster Rigolo developed a balancing act for the stage production SANDDORN. The play is set in knee-deep sand; the only props are the withered ribs of date and coconut palm leaves, which Maedir Eugster collected from the most beautiful beaches in the world. After many years it now enjoys worldwide success on vaudeville, museums, galas, exhibitions, circuses, and Cirque du Soleil among many other venues.
The Sanddorn balance astonishes nearly everyone it touches and has received the highest awards.
In February 2013, Mädir Eugster Rigolo was presented with the Kamiwaza award in Japan. In Japan, Kamiwaza is the title given to a master with superhuman abilities. The award of Kamiwaza meant that the art of Sanddornbalance had truly arrived in the land of Zen: concentration, mindfulness and conscious perception in search of absolute reality convene in the 15-minute-long performance.
This honour solidified the decision Mädir Eugster had made shortly beforehand: For more then 15 years, he was the only person to perform his fragile piece of art. He now teaches his two daughters and consults and trains and inspires many others.
“Now I will pass on this knowledge. I am very happy that I have found people who now share my experiences and will develop them further,” Maedir Eugster explains. “I trust my successors: They will guard this treasure, develop it further and give it a life of its own. The Sanddornbalance bears many secrets, and every single performer can draw one of them out and present it in their own way.”
Mädir Eugster Rigolo
Some sit in disbelief as the art unfolds. Some refuse to suspend that disbelief and mock such with stupid remarks as, I can think of better things to do with my time or with a feather.” Some think it is a mere trick or ‘magic.’ Though it can be explained by the laws of physics, it negates the concentration, the focus, balance, grace, physical strength and the actor’s ability to pull in the audience, absolutely required to MAKE THIS ALL HAPPEN! And if I have left anything else necessary to do this, I sincerely apologise!
What is this thing, this Sanddorn balance, you are about to see for yourselves? For one thing, it is beautiful! It is as much of a dance as any dance. It is being in the NOW. You can see this in the eyes, expressions, and movements of the dance. There are no doubts, no hesitations, no questions. Every moment is purposed and purposeful, and NEW and NOW, though the same dance has been performed countless times. There is a reason and a purpose for every movement, every expression, and every stick. Not only is the dancer drawn into their own dance, the audience is drawn in as well. Her breathing becomes our breathing; her heartbeat, our heartbeat. It is music. It is a story unfolding and we are not only on the same page, we each are its words.Time is suspended! We are not thinking about what’s for dinner or what we will put on tomorrow or do tomorrow. We are in the now!
Watching this will center you; anchor you into the moment of sublime beauty. Briefly, our ego is lost to the wonder of this poetry in motion.
What else can this teach us? Everything and everyone is connected in some way or another. As this drama unfolds, we can see how fragile and yet how vitally important each of these connections really are or we will collapse. This point is illustrated clearly, at its conclusion. But also, not one of us will be quite the same at the end as we were at the beginning. Ahh, yes, every moment of life is unique, to be enjoyed, savored; lived! Thus a great truth is reveled to us or re-revealed within us.
No matter what you may think or believe, life, all of life is, spiritual. Who among us does NOT desire peace and harmony? Zen masters, Buddhist priests, yoga practitioners and many others, spend often, years developing the ‘tuning.’ And yet who among us are also not deeply affected by some measure of peace and harmony, by being drawn into the very ballet of it, by those who have reached some measure of it?
It all starts with a feather and all we have that we bring into the dance, our sticks and the gravity-glue of all our stuff we use to prop ourselves up with. Then we let it all go. It is only the feather that remains! I am certain you will understand this more fully, when you get into the dance!
“All the master dancer Miyoko Shida required from me was the technique for the Sanddorn Balance; the expression and interpretation she brings to it is pure Miyoko Shida. I am proud that Miyoko Shida has also now taken the name Rigolo.”
Now the words in the title of this might sound like the Japanese word-sounds for sneezing, they are not, but they are words used in Japan.
Haiku is a three line, 17 syllable poem (in English anyway). It usually is about nature and the form has 5 syllables on the first line, 7 on the second and 5 on the third.
Kanji is a pictorial text originating in China where the characters/symbols have sounds. One definition of the word kanji is “listen.”
There are three basic components in the Japanese language: hiragana, katakana and kanji. Whereas the picture of kanji is used to pronounce the sounds, katakana is most often used to pronounce native words, where there is no kanji. Hiragana is often used in transcribing foreign words, for example:
ホットコーヒー
Hottokōhī
“hot coffee” in Japanese
It sounds very similar to “hot coffee” and trust me, it is something that I have used in the past and will use again shortly. 🙂
Speaking of coffee, did you know my favorite coffee is Jamaican Blue Mountain and that Japan has imported nearly 90% of all the Blue Mountain coffee and have for many years? True enough!
Many people use their own personal kanji for purposes of identification. Artists often use a more stylized kanji to sign their work by hand lettering or with a Chinese red stamp, along with their signed katakana or kanji in black, usually vertical and to the left or right of the kanji, but sometimes on top.
My kanji
I very much wanted my own kanji and because I met the criteria, I was able to get mine.
Kanji is unique as the pronunciation of my kanji in Japanese is actually dah + knee. The characters (dah + knee) are the Japanese symbols da(h) + ni and are the sounds for either a coiled snake ready to strike or a samurai with blade, ready to strike or as a man (warrior) of action. Both examples are interpreted as being purposefully restrained by choice, which connotes, ‘wisdom.’
One of the signs of the Japanese zodiac is a snake. This corresponds to our zodiac as November/December or the sign of Sagittarius the archer. I was born in 1953, which was also, the year of the snake according to the Japanese zodiac. Since I was born in a year of the snake, in the month of December (under the sign of the snake) and my name combines the Japanese kanji(s) da + ni (pronounced dah + knee), I have a legitimate right to this kanji. Some people just call me, ‘snake man.’ 🙂
The kanji is as unique as a fingerprint (no two are alike) and can be used as legal identification in Japan. I’ve seen many people at banks in Japan, pull out their kanji kits (ink pad and kanji) and stamp important papers, cash checks and etc., just like we use our signatures in the United States. My interest in having my own kanji was purely artistic. But wanting a kanji and even having the right to one is not enough! It must be thoroughly researched and determined that it has never been used before. Specialists in this field pore over many books to assure this, before granting their authority and recording the kanji in a book. The last stage is, to make the actual kanji into something that can be used and duplicated by its owner. This is performed by an authorizedhanko maker.
Hanko (seal) is typically a stone with the kanji cut into it so that when it is stamped in ink, it leaves the impression of the kanji. The hanko maker hand cuts the design into stone or other material. In Japan, seals in general are referred to as inkan 印鑑 or hanko 判子[4]. Inkan is the most comprehensive term; hanko tends to refer to seals used in less important documents.
A hanko, like a fingerprint, is one of a kind. The styles are either round or square as shown. The Kanji can either be actual or more stylized as shown in my design. The latter is preferred by most Asian artists. To the side of the design, the characters are usually hand signed with black ink and are the actual characters of the Japanese type script known as Katakana or kanji. The Katakana is the same as the Kanji in meaning and pronunciation as in mine, dah + knee.
da(h) ni – Hiragana, katakana and Kanji
Yes, I am proud of my kanji, but I am not boasting. I thought perhaps you might find this whole thing interesting as do I?
I sometimes use my kanji on my original artwork and photographs. And I do one more thing. I place my actual signature within my kanji and it all becomes part of the design.
For our: Dear friend Janet and our Dear niece Jenny
The Little Jenny Wrens Family
I am not exactly sure if I got the four little Jenny Wrens, pictured above, for my wife Susan on Valentine’s Day or for me? 🙂
But I thought they were so cute. There are four different little Jenny Wrens pictured in four different poses. I did not have the heart to break up the little family, so I brought them all home to live with us! Think Spring everyone! 🙂
Jenny Wren – is an expression that our friend Janet had not heard of before. So this post in part is, for you Janet. 🙂
Jenny – is the first name of my brother’s oldest daughter, our niece. So this post is also, for you Jenny. 🙂
Jenny Wren – was the name our Mom called this little common wren with the uncommon song.
Jenny Wren – Is a light brown colored, but somewhat washed–out looking little bird that is attracted to the bushy tangles of the garden. Except for off–white undersides, which cannot be described as bright even on the sunniest of days, the House Wren is decidedly a very nondescript looking bird. But what the “Jenny” wren, as my Mom used to call her, lacks in visual attraction, she most assuredly makes up for in song. She is one of the earliest arriving spring songsters. You will know Spring has arrived when little Jenny Wren is back home by singing her sweet song loud and clear. She bubbles and warbles soft and low and works up just like a tea pot on the stove. Little Jenny Wren boils over in song.
Jenny Wren – A beloved character, in a Charles Dickens’s novel. She’s the little disabled doll’s dressmaker who brightens the pages of ‘Our Mutual Friend,’ Dickens’s last completed novel, in 1864.
Jenny Wren – A little bird (a wren) in the 1919 children’s book by Thornton Waldo Burgess (January 14, 1874 – June 5, 1965). Burgess was a conservationist and author of children’s stories. He loved the beauty of nature and its living creatures so much that he wrote about them for 50 years in books and his newspaper column, “Bedtime Stories”. He was sometimes known as the Bedtime Story-Man. By the time he retired, he had written over 170 books and 15,000 stories for the daily newspaper column.
Little Jenny Wren
“Jenny Wren, the little saucy wren that builds near your home.”
from the book: ‘The Burgess Bird Book for Children’ by Thornton Waldo Burgess
illustrations by Louis Agassiz Fuertes
Listen to her sing!
Jenny Wren – A song by Sir Paul McCartney, ‘Jenny Wren,’ in 2005
Jenny Wren
“Like so many girls, Jenny Wren could sing
But a broken heart, took her song away
Like the other girls, Jenny Wren took wing
She could see the world, and its foolish ways
How, we, spend our days, casting, love aside
Losing, sight of life, day, by, day
She saw poverty, breaking up her home
Wounded warriors, took her song away
But the day will come, Jenny Wren will sing
When this broken world, mends its foolish ways
Then we, spend our days, catching up on life
All because of you, Jenny Wren
You saw who we are, Jenny Wren”
Note: The solo is played on an Armenian woodwind instrument, called duduk (pronounced due -duke) and is a first in pop music history. It is played by Venezuelan born, world winds specialist & multi-instrumentalist Pedro Eustache. Susan and I had the privilege of hearing and seeing Pedro perform live at a Yanni concert. He is an incredible and a versatile musician. The duduk is an ancient instrument with hauntingly beautiful sounds.
gatheringplace.blog 