Succumbing to Pride ~

Stephanie Boehler, a former student of mine when I taught at St. Blasien College in Germany, is seen here with her German teammates after winning Olympic Silver in the Women's Cross Country Event.

I'm rejoicing with you, Stephanie, and proud to have had you as a student.

Hardships for Seniors ~

One of the plagues of age is this: you become aware of your own flaws and insufficiences. Those old weaknesses that you had all along but didn't clearly see. Now they all show themselves clearly. One feels shame. It takes a good portion of courage to master this troubling recognition. I learn humility late in life.

Cicero ~ On Old Age

We were High School students back in the late '40s and were reading Cicero's On Old Age. Back then I didn't know what to make of his statement that it was young men who had sent the most powerful governments crashing to ruin, but it was the old men who had either kept them strong or restored their strength.

Winter Thaw ~

Our fierce cold winter has broken, the deep snow has started to melt and already a reddish shimmer has shown itself on the birch trees in the grove.

Dresden, Germany ~ February 13-14, 1945

It is 38 minutes past midnight and I hear the planes flying overhead on their first bombing run to Dresden. How can I close my eyes in sleep recalling what human suffering we caused there?

Poetic conception of a bombing of a city back home.

State of the Union ~ President Bush

State of the Union: $439,000,000,000 allocated for defence in 2007. When will we have a President who spends half of that on making peace in the world?

Morning Visitor ~

The joys of retirement: This morning after breakfast had time to watch a furtive nuthatch land heavily on the feeder and make off triumphantly with a single sunflower seed.

January 27, 1945 ~ Liberation of Auschwitz

To an Unknown Girl in Auschwitz

by Charles L. Cingolani

I

Who are you who make your way
in the endless lines?
You, Two-Six-Nine-Five-Three,
You, the Flower of Jewry
proud, erect, your denuded skull
that once flowed rich black
with hair that tumbled fountain-like
around a slender neck of ivory
cascading onto shoulders
to fall divided gliding down
over breasts and back.

What noble forehead I see
above dark pools
wherein burn radiant eyes,
your soft sunken temples,
the slope of your regal nose.
Those lips, lightly pursed
above a chin held aloft,
borne with that silent certainty
of being loved already
by one yet unknown to you,
but whose presence now felt
propels your dauntless search.

Your every movement graced,
your feathered step,
your groping hands gliding
those fingers loosely stretched
that have yet to caress
a newborn babe
or cushion a lover's head
from loving spent.

II

On what hidden tether are you
being drawn to him
who has come here
searching for you among the fair,
for you, his longed-for love.

You are his Winter Rose,
You are his Rising Sun
You are his Evening Star,
You are his House of Gold.

He has looked for you in every bower
sought out the lions' lairs,
no latch undone, no hinge unswung
until he ventured through these gates,
searching for you
in one last despairing quest.

Was it not his nearness
that awakened you before dawn
set you on this path in darkness
seeking out his lodging place?

Done with watching, longing,
done with endless dialogue alone
done with patience, pining, waiting.
You move, irresistibly drawn
to juncture, fullness, oneness,
where waiting ceases
where union quenches thirst.

All your visions clung to nights through,
all anticipation that has long beaten
at your love-sick heart
crave for fulfillment, a bringing out
that you know now
will soon come about.

Is that his voice you hear,
your head lowered now
your eyes straining
as you rush in his direction?
Are you about to enter
upon a banquet prepared?
Do you see yourself reclining
in fruits from his trees,
cushioned in down, gazing at
swirling columns of incense rising
as you await his first light touch?

He must see you coming now,
you, so intent, in his direction.
Stands he there behind some board,
some cleft in a wall?
Hear you his words already?
Is he proffering a time, a tryst, a place?
Or is it a room, a loft, a nest—
like orioles make, a flaxen purse
hanging deep in foliage hidden
where union takes place?

Are you asking
if he knows of your longing,
if his will meld with yours
in folds of awareness so hermetic
as to envelop you in one endless ritual
of giving and yielding?
All this questioning but distracts
from your final rush to him
into whose presence you are entering.

III

Go, lift your beauty to him.
All convention, all words, all thought
recede now. There is no fetter.
You are beyond license, sanction, law.
All is assent, oneness, accord.

You are running now,
taking to the wing, gently, lightly.

But he, too, is in motion
nearing, so near
about to catch you up, sidelong, longing,
to envelop you
in the heat of his embrace.


Copyright © 2005

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ~ 250th Birthday

Attended a Mozart Birthday Concert. The first piece was a symphony by the eight-year-old prodigy. It contained the embryo of all that was to come. The pristine beauty and clarity as in his later themes, the joy and the magic. Mozart's music opens a drawer for us and there he presents us with music we somehow know but have never heard expressed. Every line of music keeps eliciting a "yes, that's it".

J. S. Bach ~ Musical Patterns

Quite aside from the sound of Bach's music there is the beauty in the patterns that the fingers must make on the keys to produce the sounds. It is a pleasure in itself to shape the fingers into the flowing geometric figures called for. Discovering these patterns, this fresh kaleidoscope of new-born forms, produces a deep inner delight for me at my piano.

Lesson in Prayer ~

He was an eldery priest, humble. He said: "When you talk to God you must always start with your own ego. You must become fully aware of yourself here and now. When you have done that you should say 'Here I am, Lord, ready to hear You'. And then you wait for Him in His presence. Wait, not demanding that He speak, and satisfied, too, if He doesn't.

A Sunday Morning ~

This morning at half past seven the eastern sky was tinted reddish-orange as the sun was just about to come up behind the hills, while in the western sky the bright moon was still hovering over the horizon. It was bitter cold. Five crows flew overhead, gliding lazily toward the sunrise.

Words of Strength ~

Tom's daughter found a poster that she framed and hanged beside Tom's bed. On it were the words: God spoke: I will not let you fall, and I will not abandon you. Josue I,5. Tom held onto those words in those last days.

War ~

And this nagging thought keeps coming back: We are a nation that was duped into war. Even though we know that, we take it all in stride. Where is the rage?

Thinking Back to Christmas ~

Joy, being joyous— that was the Christmas message. Joy dispersed fear [of the shepherds]. Then peace on earth could happen. Do the suicide bombers know what joy is? Tom knew joy, as he was dying. The source of our joy is Christmas, the birth of the Savior.

Letting Days Pass By ~

How I used to hang on to the days, holding them back, regretting their passing. But no. Let them pass— there is no holding. Allow them to carry you where they are leading, giving thanks.

New Years's Concert ~

Was privledged to attend the New Years's Concert: Handel's Messiah in Freiburg, Germany. Choir of Claire College, Cambridge. Freiburg Baroque Orchestra. René Jacobs. A sublime rendering, three hours of worship. Singing to our God.

Christmas Tree ~

In the evening we light the twenty or so candles on the Christmas tree and sit there in long periods of silence.

At Midnight Mass ~

The priest stood there and read In Praise of Christmas Eve by Thomas a Kempis, composed in the year 1395. I was impressed. It was the joy that went out from the words. And perhaps the way the priest delivered them, obviously stirred. It was an overwhelming gladness that sprang from the realization of what happened at the stable in Bethlehem. You could literally feel the enthusiasm of Thomas a Kempis. He was so full of rejoicing that he could hold no more and had to pass it on to his listeners.

Deep Snow ~

The little Christmas tree I have set up on our terrace outside the dining room is covered and weighted down with snow. The tiny lights have to reflect from deep under the snow and the tree is leaning precariously. There are a few suet feeders on the tree like Christmas decorations that attract the goldfinches, titmice and now and then chickadees. How sparingly they feast.

Tom ~ Funeral

It was bitter cold this afternoon as we filed out to the gravesite. Sheets of snow flew at us in the brisk westwind as we stood waiting for the large crowd of mourners to congregate. The minister stood there bravely with snow in his face waiting to say the Our Father. Then, individually we approached the open grave. I stood and looked down at the coffin now lowered to its earthen resting place. I didn't take the little shovelful of earth or the holy water sprinkler, but just stood there and looked down for five seconds, then made way for the next mourner.

As If He Were Still There ~

Made my way back to Tom's house this morning. Delivered a note of sympathy from my wife. Told Alice how much I admired her loving perseverence during the long ordeal. A short embrace. Then I went to the cemetery and stood looking at the pile of earth with flowers on it. Numb.

Tom ~ Passage

It was a cold winter afternoon but full of sunlight and reddish streaks of cloud. Tom passed away at noon. I had been there during the morning hours. Tom was breathing laborously and already seemed distant. His family of six was at his bedside. A candle. Death came on tiptoe and took him without a struggle. . . I walked home and sat quietly at the piano and played Bach's Wenn ich einmal soll scheiden while the evening darkness set in.

From Tamara Deuel ~

Dear Charles,
It is hard for me to express the feelings I have when reading your poem because it is very emotional for me. A deep and incredible poem. Thank you sending it to me. I think that you . . .
I am sending you two of my pictures. They are not the latest but I wanted you to see them.
You are blessed,
Tamara

Advent Music ~

Bach's Cantata for the third Sunday in Advent concerns the intense longing of an individual soul for the coming of Christ, quite in keeping with the Advent theme. That strong mystical German tradition: very personal emotions expressed in words we are not accustomed to hearing, but striking and captivating, especially when accompanied by the ingenious scores Bach has created. I am no longer "distracted" by the artistry but am moved by the strong religious impact. Every moment with J. S. Bach is a wonderous gift.

Tom's Family ~

Tom's wife and family of six are there this weekend. His oldest daughter has a bad cold and must keep her distance. Poor Kathrin, his wife, is exhausted. Tom was doing so well this morning that I could tell him about Harold Pinter's Nobel Prize Acceptance Speech. The red flag went up, as usual in our conversations in the past on that theme, and he had to grab for the oxygen mask. Then the smirk and wink.

Tom - Critical Condition ~

Yesterday Tom almost passed away. Had a critical breathing attack. The doctor came but said he had now reached the end of his medical know-how. He gave Tom an injection, some medication, too. Told him the only thing would be to send him to the hospital for resuscitation. Tom rejected that. Wanted to be at home with his family.

Now today Tom was well. Had had a good night, breakfast, felt strong. Had that old smirk on his face when I told him about our awful choir performance.

Astonishing, how peaceful he is. Never complains. Taking everything in stride. No fear. No drama, little emotion. Well aware that death is near. It would seem as if abundant help coming from elsewhere.

Christmas Tree ~

Bought a Christmas tree today. All the while thinking about living simply in a society that has everything. Almost any object that one can imagine is available and can be had. Living in such a society poses its own problems: the desire to have is one, dissatisfaction not to have is another. To be satisfied with owning little is an ideal to keep striving for because it frees me from so many things that clutter up my life.

Hubris ~ Knowing Oneself

When studying Greek tragedy I remember our professor telling us how the playwrights used hubris [arrogance, pride] in their plays to demonstate how a protagonist who displayed hubris could be led to his own downfall. The Gods would show their disfavor by allowing him to have even more success, then when he felt himself to have achieved everything he wanted they would let him fall and drive him headlong into on into his own undoing.

Tom - The Night

He was awakened at 2 a.m. gasping for breath. After that couldn't get back to sleep for fear it would return. Was drowsy during my visit and slept most of the time. Came away with the feeling we are losing contact.

Tom - Music

In his situation Tom said that he doesn't care to hear music, not even classical. The only music he can listen to is Gregorian chant. Tom is Protestant and his tradition is anything other than Gregorian. He said that the chant makes him peaceful and carries him off.

Tom's Son ~

Today Tom told me a surprising story about his 15 year old son who, up until now, has had problems in school. His performance was always below average, he had no desire to learn, this parents had spent countless hours tutoring him but with hardly any success, dyslexia. Now suddenly in the last weeks there has been a complete turnaround. He has caught fire and is doing exceptionally well in school.

Tom - Every Day Now

Been making the visits every day now. Fit it into my schedule. It is very important.

Tom - Up ~

Using morphine. Oxygen. Plus the blood transfusion. Two good nights in a row. Even food is tasting good now. Gaining some weight.

Why Auschwitz?

My Auschwitz poem that has lain fallow for a long time keeps coming back, especially now with Tom facing death. Was thinking about how to make the reader see the location from a new perspective, as a mountain. Tom always comes back to that topic. Talks of circling paths. A sacred mountain.

Tom - Mountain Climbing ~

Tom's day in the hospital was terrible. He's home now. He couldn't even tell me about it for fear he would get excited and lose his breath. We just sat there. On constant oxygen now. I held his hand. No talking. Towards the end I remembered mountain climbing. . . Tom loved the mountains and for years he had done a lot of perilous climbing in the Swiss Alps. I mentioned the word "rope party" and told him I was a late-comer but was now in it with him. We're climbing, setting one foot in front of the other. Slowly. At 4,000 meters the air is thin. One step, ten breaths. Snow. Alone on the rope with the rope party. Lose the path maybe, or no path, no vision. Just the burning desire to reach the summit.

Iraq Quagmire ~

Agonizing, like very many, over the debacle in Iraq. Too, too many of our boys killed-- and Iraqi civilians: over one hundred thousand, they say. And then this: it has cost over $223,000,000,000 and climbing at a rate of $1,000,000,000 a week.

Defending freedom? Iraq better off now than then?

Tom - Blood

They're taking Tom back to the hospital today for a blood transfusion. Tomorrow morning he will be at home again and asked me to be there when he gets back.

Tom - Shun the Dying

Tom said that when people hear that he is dying they tend to keep their distance. Reiterated how much he appreciated my visits. Proof of real friendship. He told me about another friend who couldn't come to visit because his job has him traveling all the time. He said he told him that my visits also counted as his. Somehow, in Tom's present way of seeing things, this was a true statement and the friend was consoled.

Five More Ohio Marines ~

This morning they reported five more Marines killed in Iraq on a road patrol. It breaks my heart to hear that so many young boys, twenty-year-olds in the blossom of manhood, are being killed. Knowing about the background of our involvement, this is a sacrifice for having made a mistake. What a terrible blame our President has to carry.

On reading about these boys and feeling the pain that the parents and friends of these soldiers are experiencing I sat down and wrote a poem entitled:

Tribute to 20 Ohio Marines

Evening Star ~

Stood at my window at half past five and looked out across the tops of the pines and saw the evening star, huge and brilliant, hanging there in the western sky.

Morning with Tom ~

Tom's wife asked me to sit with him while she was away. It was amazing how collected and at peace he was. In spite of the turbulant past everything had come into focus now and Tom was happy as I had never seen him before. He looked into my eyes and assured me.

Just an Orange ~

My wife has a bad cold. Is in bed. Yesterday I peeled an orange for her. In the course of the day she mentioned to me, three times, how moved she was by that gesture.

Two Kinds of Prayer ~

The submissive kind: accepting what comes as God's will. Willing to comply.
The insistent kind: begging to be heard, tenacious, falling at the Lord's feet and imploring...and not letting go until He hears.

Tom and I fall into these respective categories. Tom is struggling, begging. When I see how positive things are developing I think the Lord might just be hearing his prayer.

Tom ~

Walked over to visit Tom today. About a half hour's walk. Gives me time to mull things over. Always apprehensive about how I will find him. Saw his doctor this morning standing out in front of his office, cell phone in hand, then getting in his car. Thought he was off to Tom's bedside. No, Tom was in good shape this morning. Said he got up, walked downstairs and breakfasted before lying down. "I feel just great", he said.

Piano Lesson ~

While playing the piano I am finding out that the fingers do a lot of things right, if I just let them. That means that I have to stop thinking about fingering the right notes. Focus more on the beauty of the sounds. Maybe this is one of the lessons [for living] I should have learned a long time ago. Learn to forget myself.

Memorial Day in Germany ~

Yesterday was Memorial Day here and those soldiers killed in W.W.I and W.W.II were commemorated. In church we remembered them with prayers. The priest told of families that had lost sons and up to this very day they are psychologically broken because of that. Of course, I prayed for those soldiers together with all the people in our village.

Would I have shot at them back then? Over the years I have learned what it meant for Germans to live in a totaltarian state, to be terrorized, and to conform or be shot. God spared me the awful situation and the decisions one had to make, living in Germany during Hitler's time. That diabolical charisma. I often ask myself how I would have reacted.

Tom - Consolation?

One feels so helpless. What can I say to Tom that has meaning? Give consolation, strengthen faith. I end up saying nothing of real value. I told him that. He was saddened and said I was all wrong. He appreciated every minute of my visits. It was just the presence and my quiet response to his condition and fate that made him so happy, he said. He wanted to make sure I understood that. We held hands for a long time.

Tom ~

Tom was suprisingly well today. Was listening to the radio, had read some newspaper. Could eat. No bottle hanging over the bed. Refused to go back to the clinic [they wanted to start chemo today and radiation]. Said he was happy to be home and "in God's hands".

God Seeker ~

"No one can seek the Lord who has not already found Him." 

                                           St. Bernard of Clairvaux

A remarkable statement. What is he driving at?
Is he pointing our a natural affinity that has already led us to God, perhaps in our untainted childhood?
Or does "our having found Him" refer to the time before Adam's fall? Or in a prior life? Does he see us as creatures of God, whose limited human nature can only search. Have we have already found Him in some prior state but forgotten or lost Him.