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A poem from yesterday for today

Paladina

old woman of the roads
Time of past OR future Camino
CF, primitivo & del norte (2017); VdlP/Sanabres, ingles etc (2018), Mozarabe etc (2019), tbc (2020)
This poem has assumed new meaning for those of us who are now unable to walk:


Paying Calls

I went by footpath and by stile
Beyond where bustle ends,
Strayed here a mile and there a mile,
And called upon some friends.

On certain ones I had not seen
For years past did I call,
And then on others who had been
The oldest friends of all.

It was the time of midsummer
When they had used to roam;
But now, though tempting was the air,
I found them all at home.

I spoke to one and other of them
By mound and stone and tree
Of things we had done ere days were dim,
But they spoke not to me.

Thomas Hardy
 
The one from Galicia (the round) and the one from Castilla & Leon. Individually numbered and made by the same people that make the ones you see on your walk.
I hope you do not mind if I post this one, @Paladina. and I will stretch your generosity a bit more by adding another one, from today rather than yesterday, and it is for tomorrow. If you have any problem, or moderators think it is against rules, you can report or remove.

Kathleen O’Meara’s poem, ‘And People Stayed Home,’ written in 1869, after the famine

And people stayed home
and read books and listened
and rested and exercised
and made art and played
and learned new ways of being
and stopped
and listened deeper
someone meditated
someone prayed
someone danced
someone met their shadow
and people began to think differently
and people healed
and in the absence of people who lived in ignorant ways,
dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
even the earth began to heal
and when the danger ended
and people found each other
grieved for the dead people
and they made new choices
and dreamed of new visions
and created new ways of life
and healed the earth completely
just as they were healed themselves.


The author if the one below is a priest working in England.

Palmless Sunday

We gather virtually these days,

with virtual palms and virtual cries of praise.

Virtual cloaks we scatter underfoot

to greet the Son of David whom we long to meet.



Two metres wide (at least) the Covid social distancing

that separates the would-be members of the crowd

as we avoid quite gathering to greet him

sanitised, clean-handed at the city gate.



But there is nothing virtual about the Prince of Peace,

subverting all our violent dreams of glory

with his choice of gentle cross-marked beast

to humbly carry him to Zion for the Feast.



Nothing virtual either in the bonds that link us all today

in honouring the ones who risk their lives to make us well;

in worrying for the elders home alone;

in understanding pressures hid behind closed doors.



Communion, then, is this: this web of praying, caring,

picking up the phone, dropping round some food,

sharing (at safe distance) smiles and tears,

this swapping words of hope for fears.



This is what we celebrate on Sundays in more normal times.

This is what our breaking bread and sharing cup proclaims:

that the Easter Lord still comes to share our little feast,

comes even through locked doors with words of peace.



© Rob Esdaile, 2020
 
May I add one of my favourites by Fernando Pessoa? Translated from Portugues.

The Herdsman.

I'm herdsman of a flock.
The sheep are my thoughts
And my thoughts are all sensations.
I think with my eyes and my ears
And my hands and feet
And nostrils and mouth.

To think a flower is to see and smell it.
To eat a fruit is to sense its savor.

And that is why, when I feel sad,
In a day of heat, because of so much joy
And lay me down in the grass to rest
And close my sun-warmed eyes,
I feel my whole body relaxed in reality
And know the whole truth and am happy.
 
The 2024 Camino guides will be coming out little by little. Here is a collection of the ones that are out so far.
I hope you do not mind if I post this one, @Paladina. and I will stretch your generosity a bit more by adding another one, from today rather than yesterday, and it is for tomorrow. If you have any problem, or moderators think it is against rules, you can report or remove.

Kathleen O’Meara’s poem, ‘And People Stayed Home,’ written in 1869, after the famine

And people stayed home
and read books and listened
and rested and exercised
and made art and played
and learned new ways of being
and stopped
and listened deeper
someone meditated
someone prayed
someone danced
someone met their shadow
and people began to think differently
and people healed
and in the absence of people who lived in ignorant ways,
dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
even the earth began to heal
and when the danger ended
and people found each other
grieved for the dead people
and they made new choices
and dreamed of new visions
and created new ways of life
and healed the earth completely
just as they were healed themselves.


The author if the one below is a priest working in England.

Palmless Sunday

We gather virtually these days,

with virtual palms and virtual cries of praise.

Virtual cloaks we scatter underfoot

to greet the Son of David whom we long to meet.



Two metres wide (at least) the Covid social distancing

that separates the would-be members of the crowd

as we avoid quite gathering to greet him

sanitised, clean-handed at the city gate.



But there is nothing virtual about the Prince of Peace,

subverting all our violent dreams of glory

with his choice of gentle cross-marked beast

to humbly carry him to Zion for the Feast.



Nothing virtual either in the bonds that link us all today

in honouring the ones who risk their lives to make us well;

in worrying for the elders home alone;

in understanding pressures hid behind closed doors.



Communion, then, is this: this web of praying, caring,

picking up the phone, dropping round some food,

sharing (at safe distance) smiles and tears,

this swapping words of hope for fears.



This is what we celebrate on Sundays in more normal times.

This is what our breaking bread and sharing cup proclaims:

that the Easter Lord still comes to share our little feast,

comes even through locked doors with words of peace.



© Rob Esdaile, 2020

Most appropriate in this difficult time.

The Malingerer.
 
No
I hope you do not mind if I post this one, @Paladina. and I will stretch your generosity a bit more by adding another one, from today rather than yesterday, and it is for tomorrow. If you have any problem, or moderators think it is against rules, you can report or remove.

Kathleen O’Meara’s poem, ‘And People Stayed Home,’ written in 1869, after the famine

And people stayed home
and read books and listened
and rested and exercised
and made art and played
and learned new ways of being
and stopped
and listened deeper
someone meditated
someone prayed
someone danced
someone met their shadow
and people began to think differently
and people healed
and in the absence of people who lived in ignorant ways,
dangerous, meaningless and heartless,
even the earth began to heal
and when the danger ended
and people found each other
grieved for the dead people
and they made new choices
and dreamed of new visions
and created new ways of life
and healed the earth completely
just as they were healed themselves.

No, @kirkie, you're welcome to add more well-chosen verse, but the first poem seems to have been widely misattributed. I don't think it's a nineteenth-century post-famine poem, and I certainly don't believe it was written by that Kathleen O'Meara. No mistake about the second poem!
 
No


No, @kirkie, you're welcome to add more well-chosen verse, but the first poem seems to have been widely misattributed. I don't think it's a nineteenth-century post-famine poem, and I certainly don't believe it was written by that Kathleen O'Meara. No mistake about the second poem!
Thanks for the, @Paladina. Sorry if I have misled people. To be honest, I was sharing it with a couple of people in a zoom just now and it did seem to be a bit contrived in relation to our current situation. The question is, will we have learned, and actually, what is it that we must learn?
 
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