Childhood recollections; Part 2

Here continues part 2 of my essay entitled “Blunt is engrained in me.”  Part 1 was posted on Oct. 9, 2014.  I was discussing lilacs and their presence at the Mentor Graham Historic Site in Blunt, SD.

Sophie Anderson 1823 –1903, The Time Of The Lilac

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If you want to completely refresh your lilac shrubs and get them to perform as newly planted shrubs with smaller more flexible branches and a fuller canopy, you may cut all of the stems back to about 12 inches above the earth. It will take the shrubs a few years to recover, but when they do they will completely refreshed.

Thinning inside, competing branch from dwarf lilac.                   images

I didn’t learn that technique from my Master Gardener training, but rather from living in an historic house built in 1795 in Milton, Massachusetts, just outside of Boston. I was privileged to live in that saltbox house for three years in the late 1980s and to be good friends with its owner, Polly Wakefield, whose ancestors came to North America on the Mayflower. Polly was my very own Yankee, a breed apart.  I love the photograph below of Polly in her great outdoors on her estate.

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With no children of her own, Polly left her vast estate in a charitable trust.              Mary Binney Wakefield

Polly was the last in a long line of “gentlemen farmers”, or, as in her case, a “gentlewoman farmer”, and all the property she inherited was maintained as a land preserve just outside Boston. She was a important member of the very prestigious Massachusetts Horticultural Society and I met her through my research and writing of an article on her ancestor’s tomb in Mt. Auburn Cemetery in Cambridge, MA. I was working as a curator at the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, and when Polly and I met and came to know one another, we were instantly fast friends. She was old enough to be my mother or grandmother and I was her honorary daughter and my husband was her honorary son-in-law. Polly taught me a lot about horticulture, especially trees and shrubs.

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But, looking back in time, lilacs figure into one of my favorite memories as a girl in South Dakota. A girlfriend taught me how to make a doll’s pocketbook from a pliable lilac leaf: make a vertical cut along the central vein toward the end of the leaf with your thumbnail, roll the leaf starting at the end opposite the stem, and insert the stem in the slot you made. Other leaves can also be used, but none so well as the humble lilac leaf. These little purses were so sweet and my dolls loved having them. Well, I loved for my dolls to have them, is what I mean!

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Language-of-Flowers

Lilacs symbolized love in the erudite 19th-century language of flowers (which you can Google for more information). But this next fact is going to blow your mind: Walt Whitman, one of the most influential poets in the canon of American literature, wrote a poem entitled “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” which is actually an elegy about the assassination of President Lincoln.

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Whitman Drum taps

During the Civil War, Whitman worked in Washington D.C., where he saw up close and personal many of the wounded veterans returning from battle for care. That experience and the unimaginable horror of the assassination of Lincoln on April 14, 1865 led Whitman to write a collection of poems, Drum-Taps (published 1865), in which “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d” was first published. In the poem, Whitman mourns Lincoln’s death and uses lilacs as a reference to the president. So, we must wonder, did Mentor Graham himself have lilacs planted around his Blunt home in memory of his illustrious student, or is it just a coincidence? I’ve read that Graham and Whitman were both on the podium when Lincoln was inaugurated, so there may indeed be a tie in. These are the kinds of facts that ignite my mind and imagination. It is also possible, of course, that someone planted the lilacs in the Graham yard simply because they provide privacy and are a hardy shrub. Either explanation is logical. One is more evocative, however.

Here is a segment from Whitman’s poem

1

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And thought of him I love.
2
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night—O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d—O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
3
In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,
With delicate-color’d blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig with its flower I break.
4
In the swamp in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.
Solitary the thrush,
The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.
Song of the bleeding throat,
Death’s outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,
If thou wast not granted to sing thou would’st surely die.)
5
Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris,
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.
6
Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags with the cities draped in black,
With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil’d women standing,
With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,
With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour’d around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,
With the tolling tolling bells’ perpetual clang,
Here, coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac.
7
(Nor for you, for one alone,
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,
For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O sane and sacred death.
All over bouquets of roses,
O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

If you would like to read the  poem in its entirety, you may find it on the web here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174748

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Whitman’s recollections of Lincoln were obviously prized during his lifetime.

The authoritative book, Walt Whitman: An Encyclopedia (R.W. French, J.R. LeMaster and Donald D. Kummings, eds., New York: Garland Publishing, 1998) opines about Whitman’s poem and how, in his mind, the lilac symbolized Lincoln :
While the assassination of President Lincoln is the occasion of “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d,” the subject, in the manner of elegy, is both other and broader than its occasion. “Lilacs” turns out to be not just about the death of Abraham Lincoln, but about death itself; in section 7, just after the poet has placed a sprig of lilac on the coffin, the poem makes a pointed transition: “Nor for you, for one alone,” the poet chants, “Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring.” Significantly, Lincoln is never mentioned by name in “Lilacs,” nor does the poem relate the circumstances of his death; indeed, the absence of the historical Lincoln in the poem is one of its more striking features. Historical considerations give way to universal significance. The fact of assassination, for example, is not mentioned, for, while all people die, assassination is the fate of only a few.  http://www.whitmanarchive.org/criticism/current/encyclopedia/entry_67.html

Childhood recollections; Part 1

Over the next few days, I am going to post an essay I wrote for publication this past summer.  It covers some happy memories of my life as a child on a farm in South Dakota in the 1960s.  I will break it into parts because it is too long for one post, and here is part 1.  The essay is entitled “Blunt is ingrained in me.”

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Throughout my lifetime in the great big world outside of the tiny little village of Blunt, SD, people will often say to me that I am very blunt in the way I speak. When that happens, I smile broadly and say “That’s because I grew up in Blunt!” They look confused and I elaborate: “I grew up on a farm and ranch just three miles from a little town on the Great Plains named Blunt, founded as a train stop in the 19th century on a new railroad system that was linking all of the new state of South Dakota with the market city of Chicago, thus enabling South Dakota farmers to ship their agricultural products to points east.” It is all true: my little hometown, where I lived for seven highly formative years, from the end of my 2nd grade year of school through my 9th grade year, was actually founded in 1881 as a stop on the Chicago and North Western Railway, which was headquartered in Chicago and ranged as far west as Wyoming and covered a bunch of mid-western states including Iowa, Michigan, Wisconsin and more. The newly laid track covered more than 5000 miles by the turn of the 20th century.

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In the map below you can see the train line cutting across the state of South Dakota from east to west.  Blunt is not shown on the map, but it is on the line, 21 miles east of Pierre.  Pierre is the state capitol.

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As every school child at the Blunt Elementary School is taught, our newly-founded little town was named after railroad engineer John Ellsworth Blunt (whom you can see in this picture: https://secure.flickr.com/photos/126134142@N06/14895925826/in/set-72157646054551889/), but our small community’s greatest claim to fame is that Abraham Lincoln’s former Illinois schoolteacher William Mentor Graham (1800-1886), retired here in 1883 at age 83 on the homestead of his son, Harry Lincoln Graham. Sadly Graham passed in 1886 (according to sources on the internet he passed in 1886, but the bronze plaque in Blunt states that he died in 1885); he was buried in Blunt although his remains were later translated to a cemetery in Illinois.

grahammentor4                     Mentor G

But the quaint little Blunt cottage with a few gingerbread architectural details in which Mr. Graham resided is still standing and is the town’s most visited tourist site. The Mentor Graham house was opened to the public in 1950 by the South Dakota Historical Society. In 1987 sponsorship of the house was turned over to the city of Blunt and it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Unfortunately, the house is not open now for visitors as it has maintenance issues, but I never visit Blunt without stopping to see the outside of this charming frame structure, which transports me in my mind’s eye back to Blunt’s heydays in the late 19th and early 20th century.

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Old-fashioned lilac shrubs, with lavender-hued blossoms,bloom in the yard around the Graham house in June and, for me, a simple wooden structure covered with white-painted clapboards surrounded by blooming lilacs in warm weather is about as good as life gets. I adore the color and fragrance of lilacs and I love the fact that the lilac shrub, with its almost unbelievably tiny delicate blossoms, is about as tough a perennial plant as any that can be found, taking the punishing South Dakota winters in its stride and stretching its lifespan to 100 years or more.

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Each small flower has a four-lobed corolla and corolla tube; lilac blossoms are bisexual, with fertile stamens and stigma in each flower. Where I live today in Seattle, springtime is a riot of colors with azaleas, rhododendron, and daphnes, just to name a few. Lilacs grow here too, but they don’t get much attention since they are rather subtle compared to the colors and scents of other blooming shrubs. But, in central South Dakota, the lilac is prized for its hardiness, beauty, and fragrance. We even had some at the farmhouse I lived in for the seven years of my young life; I assume the shrubs had been there since the house was built in 1918. They required no care, luckily, because neither of my parents had time to devote to domestic horticulture, and the lilacs never failed to bloom, year after year.
As an adult, I learned much about the art of horticulture by becoming a Master Gardener through the Colorado State University and Denver Botanic Gardens combined program and I actually enjoy pruning a lilac shrub to produce the maximum number of flowers in the following season. The main thing to remember is “prune after bloom”.

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(To be continued.  What possible symbolism did the humble lilac shrub have for Graham?)

This is India 2

I mentioned in my post on Andy Warhol that I am a very skilled stalker.

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Well, in case you don’t believe me, let me show you some proof.

So, I’m in India, admiring an incredibly beautiful, incredibly important architectural monument.  Only this lovely Indian couple captures my eye.  Suddenly, for me, everything drops away except for the couple.  I want to know them.  I can’t do that, but I want to watch them.  To understand them in some small way.  So, I keep them in my vision.  Luckily, this time I have my camera at the ready!  Too often I don’t!

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And then, as if they knew what I wanted them to do, they stopped.  They had some sort of a heart-to-heart talk.  It looks like he is trying to explain something, for look at how his hand is held in that universal gesture of “you see what I mean?” or “what I mean is this”.  Who knows, maybe he was just talking about what he had for breakfast.  But, I doubt it.

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I was thrilled.  This gave me the chance to look them over more carefully to see  what clues I could find about their lives and drama.  He is Sikh, which is obvious by his headwear.  I believe they were recently married for she is wearing henna tattoos on her hands.  I believe he is laying something out for her to examine.  Had they had a misunderstanding?  They were certainly engaged in a deep conversation.

What is her look saying to him?  To me, it says, “you better watch yourself, new husband of mine, for I have all the options in the world and if you don’t behave properly in our new marriage, you’re gonna be sorry.”  I project.

 

 

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I had taken too much of a chance to get any closer or photograph them as they stood talking.  A stalker has to be careful to not overstep. They seemed to know that and turned and walked off toward the monument we were all there to admire.

E is for EVERYTHING

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While I am certain everybody knows that “e” is the 5th letter of the Latin alphabet, and that it is also a vowel,

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I betcha didn’t know that “e” is the most commonly used letter in many languages, including English, French, German, Spanish, and Dutch, to name a few.

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Above is an E such as you might find in an illustrated manuscript.  It’s complex.

Let us relax our minds by gazing at a simple little “e”

Letter E

Ah. So soothing.

Just as with people, there are all kinds of “e”s in the world.  The world of E is as big as humankind’s collective imagination.  For example, there are “e”s for gardeners:

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There are “e”s for animal lovers:

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There are “e”s for complicated minds:

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There are “e”s for people who see things in patterns:

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But, here is the best part of all!   You cannot buy an “e”.

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But only because they are freeeeeeeeeee!

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Here, I’ll give you one of mine:

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with “F” we have lawrence Ferlinghetti

I’ve always loved his last name.  He was born at the beginning of the 20th century to an immigrant couple: his mother was from France and his father from Brescia, Italy.  His father changed the family’s surname to Ferling in an attempt to make them more American.  When the poet known as Lawrence Ferlinghetti was registering for the service prior to WWII, he found out how Italian, how lilting, his family’s original surname was and took it back.  I applaud him for that.  If I had a last name as musical as his, or as Italian, I’d change it in a heartbeat (as it stands, only my first name is Italian).

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Lawrence Ferlinghetti© Soheyl Dahi, 2010

As poet, playwright, publisher, and activist, Ferlinghetti helped to spark the 1950s San Francisco literary scene and the subsequent “Beat” movement. Like the Beats, Ferlinghetti felt strongly that art should be accessible to all people, not just a handful of highly educated intellectuals. His career has been marked by its constant challenge of the status quo; his poetry engages readers, defies popular political movements, and reflects the influence of American idiom and modern jazz.  His City Lights Bookstore was a popular gathering place for San Francisco’s avant-garde writers, poets, and painters.

And for my favorite Ferlinghetti quote:

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Words to live by.

G stands for vincent van Gogh!

Van Gogh is a worldwide favorite painter of all times.

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The reason why is no mystery.  He was a fabulous painter.

Irises at St. Remy Vincent van Gogh

Above are irises in a garden.

Below are irises in a vase.  Personally, I have never had good luck with iris in vases.  They have a very short shelf life.  But I have different aims than Master van Gogh.

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I love this next painting more than all the others.  I like how unusual the viewpoint is.  Di sotto in su in Italian.  Seen from below.

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It is great fun to look at the impasto paint van Gogh used, and to follow his brush or knifework as he laid the paint on the canvas.  It is like putting your feet in his footprints.

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The Letter I just has to be for Italy on my blog! Viva l’ Italia!

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When I was in 5th grade, every student in my class had to write and deliver a speech on a foreign country.  I don’t remember if I chose Italy or if it was just assigned to me.  I don’t remember loving Italy when I lived on a farm in SD.  What I do remember about that speech is that I thought it was fun to organize information to give a talk (uh huh, research beckons in my adult life) and that it was so cool that Italy was shaped like a high boot.  That was the kind of information a kid could hang on to.  It became easy to recognize at least one country in that far away continent known as Europe.  I liked knowing that.

But everything changed for me by the time I was a junior in college.  I had not only discovered the field of art history, but I had discovered in particular the art of the International Gothic artist, the Italian painter, Simone Martini.  When Professor Jack Kunin put a slide of this altarpiece on the screen, I gasped.  I had absolutely never seen anything more beautiful in my life.  Little did I know it, but this painting would give a new focus to my life; that focus has stayed with me for the past 40 odd years.

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The god’s honest truth is that my love for Italy began with Simone Martini’s altarpiece of The Annunciation. Here’s another overall view of this spectacular object.

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Just what is it about this painting that I love so very much?  I suppose the first thing is the use of the gold leaf.  All my life I have loved rich things that glitter.  This altarpiece most definitely glitters.

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Above is a detail of the main section of the painting.  This is the part I love the most.  The altarpiece is known as The Annunciation, for it depicts the very moment when the Angel Gabriel comes to announce to the Virgin Mary that she will give birth to the Son of God.

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In this detail of Mary, we can appreciate the fine level of artistry as Martini has captured not only Mary’s swaying body and her expression of dismay, but you can see the incredible detailed brushwork used to depict the fine golden trim on her sleeves and on the edges of her mantle.

Mary has been reading her psalter, and Martini shows us the book in her left hand, with her thumb marking the spot where she left off before she was so rudely interrupted.

detail of mary's hand

A hallmark of the International Gothic genre is the use of long, attenuated bodies.  Notice how slender and elongated Mary’s hand and fingers are.  Gorgeous.  If you read my blog you know I love watching ballerinas dance and I love looking at their beautiful, elongated bodies.  I suppose that is why International Gothic paintings make me gasp in wonder as well.

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In the detail above we see Gabriel, who holds an olive branch as a sign that he comes in Peace, has just flown in and stopped quickly in front of Mary.  We know that because the back edges of his drapery are still floating.  I’ll come back to that in a minute.

The vase sitting on the floor between the two figures holds stems of white lilies, which are a symbol of purity, thus perfect as an accoutrement in a painting of Mary.

According to beliefs about Mary and Gabriel, Mary of course was a virgin and remained that way through the conception, carrying, and birth of her Son. The same beliefs assert that the moment of conception was when the words Gabriel spoke reached Mary’s ears.  That is, according to Christian beliefs, the very moment she conceived.  Obviously Martini knew that and is stressing it.  Notice how he made the words Gabriel spoke to Mary stand up in three dimensional form.

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Not only is Gabriel carrying an olive branch, but the same leaves have been used to form his crown.

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Above is a detail of the Holy Ghost, surrounded by cherubim and seraphim in the heavens.  Many artists portrayed the Holy Ghost as a bird.

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Another facet I love about this painting is that Martini depicted Gabriel dressed in a garment lined with Scottish plaid!  I mean, talk about International!  Love that detail.

But, it isn’t just the art I love about Italy.  Check out this landscape.  Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?

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Or this cityscape of Venice.  Bellisima of what?

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And a beautiful door way and a Fiat in Rome.  What is not to love about Italia?!!!!!

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