Sunday, June 17, 2007

Memorial versus Preservation at the Concentration Camps

An interesting article from the preservation movement point of view.

http://www.nationaltrust.org/magazine/archives/arch_story/100402.htm

Monday, June 11, 2007


"With their slightly slanting eyes, their little nose in a round face and their unfinished features, trisomic children are more child-like than other children. All children have short hands and short fingers; theirs are shorter. Their entire anatomy is more rounded, without any asperities or stiffness. Their ligaments, their muscles, are so supple that it adds a tender languor to their way of being. And this sweetness extends to their character: they are communicative and affectionate, they have a special charm which is easier to cherish than to describe. This is not to say that Trisomy 21 is a desirable condition. It is an implacable disease which deprives the child of that most precious gift handed down to us through genetic heredity: the full power of rational thought. This combination of a tragic chromosomic error and a naturally endearing nature, immediately shows what medicine is all about: hatred of disease and love of the diseased."

Dr. Jerome Lejeune, the geneticist who discovered Trisomy 21, also known as Downs Syndrome. Click his name for more about his life and work!

Friday, June 01, 2007

More Summer Poetry: Visitation


REGINA VIRGINEM, spinning
through sinless hand the
purple veil of the atoning
temple. Listening in the
angel's voice to the wings
of the Holy Spirit. Who
in your chastity brings
to us the Savior.
Give me back my innocence:
wrapped in purple,
hot with blood and sighs
sweet, as the singing children
in Nebuchadnezzer's furnace.
I have torn
all the veils - temple- womb-
and heart. Lend
me then your mantle
that I may again be
woman. Hailed
as mystery
and love.
Hailed as you are
for your answering.
Salve.

Image: Presentation of the Blessed Virgin, Titian

Just in from Thompson



GRACE OF THE WAY

The windy trammel of her dress,
Her blown locks, took my soul in mesh.
God's breath they spake, with visibleness
That stirred the raiment of her flesh:

And sensible, as her blown locks were,
Beyond the precincts of her form
I felt the woman flow from her-
A calm of intempestuous storm.

I failed against the affluent tide;
Out of this abject earth of me
I was translated and enskied
Into the heavenly-regioned She.

Now of that vision I, I bereaven,
This knowledge keep, that may not dim:-
Short arm needs man to reach to Heaven,
So ready is Heaven to stoop to him;

Which sets, to measure of man's feet,
No alien Tree for trysting-place;
And who can read, may read the sweet
Direction in his Lady's face.

-Francis Thompson

Image: Autumn, by Goodward