May 18: Another Run, Classic Saint Marty, New Cartoon

I went for a run this afternoon.  A very short one.  At the moment, I can barely push myself for a mile.  I'm not sure if rhinos sweat, but, if they do, I was sweating like a rhino at the end of my run.  It was around 60 degrees, and it felt like I was on the African savanna.

I have sort of recovered.  It took four glasses of water and a Diet Mountain Dew, but I'm simply moist now instead of drenched.  Usually, by this time of year, I'm able to run my three-mile route without getting out of breath.  The winter has thrown off my whole exercise regime, and it's almost June.

The following episode of Classic Saint Marty first aired exactly two years ago.

May 18, 2012:  A Walk, New Poem, "Between Cross and Snow"

Just got done with a walk along the shores of Lake Superior.  No, I'm not going to start quoting "The Song of Hiawatha."  It was a lovely afternoon, with temperatures near 80 degrees.  My wife and I had time to kill while our daughter was at her dance class, so we went for a stroll.  It really feels like summer has arrived.  Thank God.

S-U-M-M-E-R!!

I promised a new poem tonight, and I am going to make good on that promise.  The sonnet I wrote is in response to the Longfellow poem I discussed yesterday.  In my poem, I'm trying to somehow find entry into Longfellow's poem.  I think I found both Longfellow and myself.  I think.  I'd be interested to hear my disciples' opinions.  It's still too fresh for me to have any objectivity.

Saint Marty needs to get his butt moving.  His daughter is done with dance.

Between Cross and Snow

inspired by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Cross of Snow”

How does Longfellow contain years
Of grief in fourteen lines, words
Black, unsubstantial as the upward
Lift of ash or reflections in mirrors

Of black swans at midnight? No tears
Fall with his rhymes. With alphabetic shards,
He combs the smoke and sear from a beard
White as whale foam. He still hears,

After all this changeless time, her voice
Echo through sun-defying ravines
In the West, through the shadows

Between cross and snow. In this holy space,
I find my daughter, running in evergreens,
Climbing. Away. Up. Up. To where woman grows.


Disclaimer:  The following cartoon is much funnier if you are familiar with SpongeBob Squarepants.

Confessions of Saint Marty

May 18: A Walk, New Poem, "Between Cross and Snow"

Just got done with a walk along the shores of Lake Superior.  No, I'm not going to start quoting "The Song of Hiawatha."  It was a lovely afternoon, with temperatures near 80 degrees.  My wife and I had time to kill while our daughter was at her dance class, so we went for a stroll.  It really feels like summer has arrived.  Thank God.

S-U-M-M-E-R!!

I promised a new poem tonight, and I am going to make good on that promise.  The sonnet I wrote is in response to the Longfellow poem I discussed yesterday.  In my poem, I'm trying to somehow find entry into Longfellow's poem.  I think I found both Longfellow and myself.  I think.  I'd be interested to hear my disciples' opinions.  It's still too fresh for me to have any objectivity.

Saint Marty needs to get his butt moving.  His daughter is done with dance.

Between Cross and Snow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “The Cross of Snow”

How does Longfellow contain years
Of grief in fourteen lines, words
Black, unsubstantial as the upward
Lift of ash or reflections in mirrors

Of black swans at midnight? No tears
Fall with his rhymes. With alphabetic shards,
He combs the smoke and sear from a beard
White as whale foam. He still hears,

After all this changeless time, her voice
Echo through sun-defying ravines
In the West, through the shadows

Between cross and snow. In this holy space,
I find my daughter, running in evergreens,
Climbing. Away. Up. Up. To where woman grows.

May 17: Longfellow, "The Cross of Snow," New Book

So, I've began working on a new book of poems.  I will give you a first sample from it tomorrow afternoon.  Today, I want to talk about a poem I love.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote the sonnet "The Cross of Snow" eighteen years after the death of his second wife.  His second wife died as the result of severe burns.  In some accounts, she was sealing some envelopes with wax.  The envelopes contained clippings of hair from the Longfellow children.  A spark landed on her dress, and, when Longfellow came to her rescue, she was completely engulfed in flames.  Longfellow threw a rug over her to put out the fire, in the process severely injuring his hands and face.  (That's why Longfellow always had a long, white beard and moustache--to hide his scars.)  Longfellow's wife died within a day or so after the fire.

Eighteen years later, Longfellow wrote the poem below.  It's beautiful and heartbreaking.

Saint Marty hopes you love it as much as he loves it.

The Cross of Snow

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face--the face of one long dead--
Looks at me from the wall, where 'round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.

Here in this room she died, and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.

There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.

Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

H. W. Longfellow