network of eternal life
Lots of Heaney in the Guardian this weekend which I've gradually been catching up with at the kitchen table: we still have so much unpacking and sorting to do. Heaney's just published his translation of medieval Scottish "makar" Robert Henryson. Peter MacDonald, reviewing, praises him for creating 'a completely natural and elegant modern account of the rhyme-royal stanza'. He quotes the opening to 'The Lion and the Mouse' and I'm going to quote it too:
Red roses blossoming on twig and bush,
The primrose and the violet, purplish-blue:
The jubilating blackbird and the thrush
Were paradise on earth to listen to.
The banks and braes in bloom made a fine show,
And scented herbs and the small bird crying -
All these things in contention, sweetly vying.
Lovely, especially that 'sweetly vying'. And as though in serendipitous balance, I find Sue Arnold's audio review including more Heaney (his collected poems read aloud published on CD by Faber). Arnold, like me, is particularly fond of 'St Kevin and the Blackbird' based on the traditional Celtic legend of this patient, eco friendly hermit, in whose cruciform pose - the outstretched hand of it, a blackbird nestles and nests:
Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
Nest head and claws and, finding himself linked
Into the network of eternal life
Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand
Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks
Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.
Kevin has here the archetypal 'patience of a saint' but also of a mother or anyone adopting a self sacrificial or nurturing role. Giving up his time and strength like a pelican feeding its young; another early Christian symbol. But also it plugs the lonely hermit back into the cycle, the circuit of eternal life, even if outside the normal parameters of a family, or even a human, network. So important when we think (as we are trying to these days) about our responsibilities to the planet, the eco system in general, and not just about the progression of our own lives or those of our immediate 'tribe'. We should not be so concerned perhaps about the perpetuating of the family name, the way names are threaded through family lines or a sense of heritage threaded through a blood-related family. St Kevin's behaviour is a corrective to but also a wider interpretation of this thinking. Any act of compassion to a living thing is an act of participation in and affirmation of the network of eternal life. And not for gratitude or to be remembered either. Those blackbirds jubilating in the trees may have been celebrating, but celebrating life, being alive, rather than remembering where they were nurtured. A job well done then.
Perhaps I've done my bit today - the little black cat round twice, apparently equally hungry on both occasions, so I fed it with some tuna bought just in case. She purred and thanked me a bit but didn't stick around once it was clear no more tuna would be immediately forthcoming.
Off to hunt those jubilating blackbirds no doubt, though hopefully without too much overt success.
Red roses blossoming on twig and bush,
The primrose and the violet, purplish-blue:
The jubilating blackbird and the thrush
Were paradise on earth to listen to.
The banks and braes in bloom made a fine show,
And scented herbs and the small bird crying -
All these things in contention, sweetly vying.
Lovely, especially that 'sweetly vying'. And as though in serendipitous balance, I find Sue Arnold's audio review including more Heaney (his collected poems read aloud published on CD by Faber). Arnold, like me, is particularly fond of 'St Kevin and the Blackbird' based on the traditional Celtic legend of this patient, eco friendly hermit, in whose cruciform pose - the outstretched hand of it, a blackbird nestles and nests:
Kevin feels the warm eggs, the small breast, the tucked
Nest head and claws and, finding himself linked
Into the network of eternal life
Is moved to pity: now he must hold his hand
Like a branch out in the sun and rain for weeks
Until the young are hatched and fledged and flown.
Kevin has here the archetypal 'patience of a saint' but also of a mother or anyone adopting a self sacrificial or nurturing role. Giving up his time and strength like a pelican feeding its young; another early Christian symbol. But also it plugs the lonely hermit back into the cycle, the circuit of eternal life, even if outside the normal parameters of a family, or even a human, network. So important when we think (as we are trying to these days) about our responsibilities to the planet, the eco system in general, and not just about the progression of our own lives or those of our immediate 'tribe'. We should not be so concerned perhaps about the perpetuating of the family name, the way names are threaded through family lines or a sense of heritage threaded through a blood-related family. St Kevin's behaviour is a corrective to but also a wider interpretation of this thinking. Any act of compassion to a living thing is an act of participation in and affirmation of the network of eternal life. And not for gratitude or to be remembered either. Those blackbirds jubilating in the trees may have been celebrating, but celebrating life, being alive, rather than remembering where they were nurtured. A job well done then.
Perhaps I've done my bit today - the little black cat round twice, apparently equally hungry on both occasions, so I fed it with some tuna bought just in case. She purred and thanked me a bit but didn't stick around once it was clear no more tuna would be immediately forthcoming.
Off to hunt those jubilating blackbirds no doubt, though hopefully without too much overt success.
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