Mercy/Music

Music for a Pandemic

Posted on by stephen t berg / 6 Comments
Guillaume Dufay

Musicologist Christopher Macklin says “O sancte Sebastiane”, by Guillaume Dufay, was a chart-topper for those trying to cope in the wake of the Black Plague. The connection here is not the story of St. Sebastian’s martyrdom, it’s the music. Even if baroque is not your bag, listen to any version of it (found four on Spotify), and the swells of melancholy, the helium of wailing is enough to persuade any depressive to carry on ‘till at least the next-day. And that’s something, considering that that pestilence took one in every three adults.

Sad music makes sadness bearable. I know blanket statements like this never reach the end of the bed, but consider: for most of us, after a breakup (remember?), its painful to watch happy couples together, sooner hang out with a morose single friend. The principle at work is the same.

That’s why my own pick for this pandemic is “Mad World” by Tears for Fears. A pretty big hit in the 80’s. There’s a heap of covers, but I especially like the instrumental version by Omina Fare. The harp hits my heart in a devastatingly merciful way; maybe the way “O sancte Sebastiane” comforted many in the 14th century.

It’s a giant leap from Guillaume Dufay to Blind Willie Johnson’s, “Jesus is Coming Soon” or Essie Jenkins’ “Influenza Blues,” both written during the ‘Spanish’ flu. Both serving our age-old need for catharsis.

Or from there to The Ethiopians singing, “Hong Kong Flu” during the avian influenza of ‘68.

It’s certainly worth mentioning HIV/AIDS here. Easily a multi-genre genre of its own, enlisting songs from Neil Young (“Philadelphia”) to the Pet Shop Boys (“Being Boring”).

MERS, SARS and the rest have spawned their own. This one? The other night I was invited to read some poetry over on Dave Von Beiker’s show. He’d written a song for the occasion: “Little Mercies,” which was, a little mercy.

It’s happening across our globe. Art of all kinds, focused on this time, gathering a particular force; period pieces taking on new meaning. All little mercies. Connecting us. Like a song.

Christianity/Poetry/Spirituality

Believing is not the same as Being Saved — Lisa Martin

Posted on by stephen t berg / 4 Comments

Two years ago I wrote a review of this book. I sent it to a couple places, one asked me to shorten it. I didn’t want to. I don’t recall hearing back from the other (there are of course other good reviews out there). Because I can be lazy, and because life goes on, I shelved it. Well, as you know, life has hit the brakes for us all and is telling us, Go back, rekindle things you love. So I remembered this book (the relevance of which seems especially apt today). Here’s the review:

 

Believing is not the same as Being Saved  — Lisa Martin

Growing up in a Baptist church, where evangelical dogma was as incontrovertible as the prairie sky streaming in through lancet windows, hardly a Sunday went by when I wasn’t reminded of the verse: “Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.” This verse, found in that crackling Book of Acts, shaped me, gave me parameters for a special sort of belonging above the lost world around me. Of course, that simplistic and misshapen template has been overlaid by seasons of experience, and I hope, some wisdom and grace; and yet, like invisible ink under certain light, it reappears. So when I saw a book of poetry called, Believing is not the same as Being Saved (2017), how could I avoid being intrigued?

Several readings later I’ve come to regard this book as root-and-branch inspired. For beyond the seemingly effortless marriages of meaning and meter, rhythm and reality, imagery and emotion; beyond the simple elegance of Martin’s language, the fluid lyricism, the fresh and surprising images, lies a soulful might and a germinating and generous faith that holds you, walks you through the complexities of grief, suffering, loss, and the flawed, incomplete natures of joy and love.

Continue reading →

Hope/Kindness/Mercy/Spirituality

Compassion-20: The Disarming Virus

Posted on by stephen t berg / 9 Comments

When the virulence leaves and the old life returns
with its morning Starbucks, frozen DiGiornos,
bullish NASDAQ, droning CNN,
when spiky fears retract their bloody mandibles
and head back to their cloudy houses,
when the Grand Princess is fully booked
and the fans return to T-Mobile Park,
what will have been learned from the
demonstration of bodily democracy?

Well my friend, consider Compassion-20, the gentle virus:
In Northern Italy, there’s been an outbreak of mercy,
Cardinals Of The Treasury fear it might reach the Vatican.
In China, The People’s kindness can’t be contained,
Xi and the Central Military Commission
watch helplessly as it crosses the border into Tibet.
The first carrier in Sweden has sent a handwritten card
of gratitude to his elementary school teacher.
There’s been a run on ballpoint pens;
experts warn teachers around the globe,
there’s up to a 70% chance they’ll be receiving mail.
In Lybia and Mali the armies are burying
their UB-32 rockets and 106mm rifles and digging wells.
In Paris, the CEO of AXA Insurance has opened a shelter
and is giving away Blondo boots and Teva sandals.
Shut it down! Tweet’s the 45th Administration.
But the latest Fox News headline is grim:
Pandemic of Grace—Lost All Sponsors.
Sean Hannity, who appears to have robust immunity,
blames the WHO for “weaponizing happiness.” 
Much the same at NBC, BBC, CBC,
“Good night and good luck,” says Carole MacNeil,
“such news cannot be construed and we’re heading off-air.
In the meantime, wave your hands frequently
and don’t touch your Facebook.”

Family/International Women's Day 2020

International Women’s Day – Family, Motorway to Manhood

Posted on by stephen t berg / 7 Comments

I’ve learned a lot from men.
Who does the dishes, who sits in the living room.
How to use the bible like a sword.
Roll Bull Durham and chew Beech-Nut,
change oil on a 545 Cockshutt, and that
house parties and damn near everything else
start out fun and end in competition.

Maybe that’s why I’ve always been more comfortable around women.
Not that women aren’t competitive
          — take my lovely wife, geez!  badum-pshh —
it’s that more often than not a woman will stand up,
come over to your side of the board
and help you with your next move.
(Oh and let me add here that my wife’s life-long career
toward relational restoration, has been about lifting
embracing, sweetening, releasing, beginning with her kids.)

I should say as well that I learned much from my father:
decency, how to handle disappointment, and distance.
If mom was earth and moon, dad was Saturn,
still, how I loved those far-off inscrutable rings.

My big sister was a nurse. (Latin nutricius ‘person that nourishes’)
Had the heart for it. And the stomach.
And she could play the piano and sing like a flood,
like beauty and holy upon many waters.
Patron Saint Agatha with pipes.
She’ll tell you I’m piling it on or that time has changed that,
but it hasn’t, not for me, and as for her nutricius kindness,
well, richer and deeper each year.

My little sister played guitar for a while,
was a little wild back in the day
(curiously ending up in the legal profession).
She was more like me except cooler and more coordinated,
and she always drove sporty cars.
Often its the younger sibling that is owed the most apologies.
But I’ve never felt that from her. This is just another way
of saying I’ve known nothing but love from her.
And you know how good that feels.

I read women poets now. (Not exclusively.)
Men utilize language. Many are Cirque du Soleil athletic.
Women garden words. Plant, water, nurture,
the greening reaching beyond language
where good poetry wants to go.
Maybe it’s because a woman has better access to their childhood,
never needing to disown it along the motorway to manhood.

And so here we are, a day in a year to honour women.
On our way but a ways to go.
What with that little word men, housed and held in women,
as though women carry men, and the insecure among us
resent it.

Misogyny deeply scripted in the very language needed
to overcome it.

But let me step back. We know gender is a slurry.
(Here I bow to my used-to-be-daughter-now-son.)
Ghettos of exception? yes, but society
is moving beyond the binary.
(Still lead by science more than thoughtfulness.)

My two older brothers are thoughtful types.
Some early burly flashes of macho
but now all sunset and sensitive;
able to reckon with abstraction and
swim the lake of human emotion.
And is that not part of the evolution?