What became of the monk?

 

 

The song, the song, I can’t get rid of the song

You know how a tune works its way into your brain and constantly repeats itself. For Oz, this happened with the amusing diddy, Animal Fair. If you don’t know it, it goes like this:

I went to the animal fair,
The birds and the beasts were there,
The big baboon by the light of the moon
Was combing his auburn hair,
The monkey bumped the skunk,
And sat on the elephant’s trunk;
The elephant sneezed and fell to his knees,
And that was the end of the monk,
(: The monk, the monk, the monk:)

 

What became of the monk at the animal fair?

There are other versions and variations of lyrics, but I like this one best. The image of a big baboon by the light of the moon combing his auburn hair seems hilarious. Not as funny as the site of an elephant who sneezes and falls on his knees, doing who knows what to the monk, the monk, who in the heck is the monk?

After the paroxysms of laughter, curiosity seizes Oz. Who and why would anyone write such nonsensical verses? And, the monk, the monk, who in the heck is the monk?

The lyrics to the tune first find print in 1898 in the Chicago Record. The occasion is the landing of American troops in Cuba during the Spanish American War. In preparation for the landing, the troops are on deck and lying about, passing the time, singing. The meaning was, I am sure, lost to those who belted out the words. It was nevertheless mesmerizing and uplifting, appropriate for soldiers wondering what is going to happen tomorrow, what is going to become of me?

The tune must be old. It must be an English doggerel, for the refrain constantly asks what became of the monk.

The monk?

The monk I suppose was the monk that lived in the abbeys across England in the time of King Henry VIII. King Henry we know had six wives, one was not enough because he wanted a son and a son was not what he got until he married Jane Seymour, and having done her duty to king and country, Jane died. The monk, the monk, you ask, what became of the monk? To marry his wives, Henry dissolved the Catholic Church in England and became head of his own church, the Church of England.

By 1542, this “Dissolution” led to the closure of all monasteries and convents in England, and children everywhere asking, “What became of the monk?” Henry himself, exhausted by his marital efforts, died at the age of 55, supposedly uttering these last words:

“Monks! Monks! Monks! What became of the monks?”

 

The answer to the monks whereabouts

The answer is that most monks kept quiet or simply moved away. Those that spoke out about high-handed Harry were pilloried or executed like London’s Carthusian Martyrs.

In 1886, 18 of these monks were beatified by Pope Leo XIII, perhaps leading to the reemergence of the doggerel, and the occasion for the Chicago Record to print the lyrics.

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Requiem for a Heavyweight

“Do we really want to travel in hermetically sealed popemobiles through the rural provinces of France, Mexico and the Far East, eating only in Hard Rock Cafes and McDonalds? Or do we want to eat without fear, tearing into the local stew, the humble taqueria’s mystery meat, the sincerely offered gift of a lightly grilled fish head? I know what I want. I want it all. I want to try everything once.”
― Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly

Chefs are fond of hyperbole, so they can certainly talk that way. But on the whole, I think they probably have a more open mind than most people. Anthony Bourdain

July 27, 2017: Anthony Bourdain on the ferry to Vashon Island while filming Parts Unknown in Seattle, Washington on July 27, 2017. (photo by David Scott Holloway)

 

In the restaurant world, Anthony Bourdain was a heavyweight. Not that he would says so. Rather, he would say that the art of creating food and serving it was perfected by others. He just wrote about it, spoke about it, and shared it. And it was in the sharing, that the world became friends with Anthony.

He truly loved life, it seemed. So, his departure leaves us stunned.

On cherche les mots et n’en trouve aucun.

Long ago, I stopped believing anything is strange, just different, and yet…

It is strange, one thinks, for one so curious as Anthony was, to take one’s life, and, by doing so, end the quest to discover what life is all about. Or was it, that Anthony had long ago, tired of the Sisyphean task, of searching and questioning, and knowing that one is no closer than before. Life is a journey, they say. Did he tire of that journey? Did he discover something he was searching for and having found it, could rest?

One looks for answers, and there is none. Anthony Bourdain took his own life in a hotel in France, and one asks why?

We’ll never know. He has departed for parts unknown.

 

Memorial Day

PRELUDE
(To Departmental Ditties)

I have eaten your bread and salt.
⁠I have drunk your water and wine.
The deaths ye died I have watched beside,
⁠And the lives ye led were mine.

Was there aught that I did not share
⁠In vigil or toil or ease,—
One joy or woe that I did not know,
⁠Dear hearts across the seas?

I have written the tale of our life
⁠For a sheltered people’s mirth,
In jesting guise—but ye are wise,
⁠And ye know what the jest is worth.
Rudyard Kipling, 1885

Memorial Day is America’s tribute to those who gave their lives that we could live our lives free from tyranny.

Especially to those whose sacrifices and names are known only unto God.

And what is there to remember of those whose names are not known, whose deeds not written down? It is enough to know the sacrifice was great, greater than we will ever know.

Warriors’ Dreams

A wilderness of summer grass
hides all that remains
of warriors’ dreams.
Matsuo Bashō

all that remains of warriors’ dreams

Setting out on foot in the spring of 1689 from Edo with his disciple Kawai Sora, Matsuo Bashō (松尾 芭蕉, 1644–1694) traveled some 1,500 miles, for 5 months in the north of Japan. Along the way he became ill and contemplated dying far from home. Recovering, Basho and his companion proceeded to Hiraizumi to view the spot where the legendary samurai Minamoto Yoshitsune of the Heian Period (794 to 1185) had fallen.

There Basho composed the above poem.

the stuff of dreams

This thought is echoed by William Shakespeare in The Tempest, through Prospero, Act IV, Scene One.

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

a field of dried grass

Basho returned to Edo where he lived another 5 years. In the summer of 1694, he made one last trip before arriving in Osaka. There, he became sick with an illness in his stomach and died peacefully in bed, surrounded by his disciples. His last know poem follows:

falling sick on a journey
           my dream goes wandering
                          over a field of dried grass

ume ga ka, 梅が香, plum blossom scent

The plum blossom scent

The plum blossoms (ume) scent
Chased again and again
By cold

Japanese

梅が香に　追いもどさるる　寒さかな

Ume ga ka ni/ Oimo dosa ruru/ Samusa kana

Meaning of Basho’s Scent of Plum Blossoms

Who does not recall an early spring, the scent of the plum blossom, chased away by the cold, again and again? Until, it is spring at last.

Line two, 追いもどさ is a bit of a struggle for me. Chased, pursued, run after, driven away are all candidates as the action verb. るる may be translated as continuously, but I have chose “again and again”.

This simple haiku’s beauty lies in the ending rhyme of the three lines:

kani – ruru – kana

The ume is the Japanese plum tree, symbolizing the start of spring, because of its early blossoms that typically flower in February and March.

Here in Oz we have our own flowering trees, which though beautiful and heavenly in their smell, too soon begin to stink.

Reality Check

From time to time, Oz needs a reality check.

We all need a morning compass, something  that points the direction that we need to go. Why morning, because that is the beginning of the day, the start of the journey, and by night we need to rest.

Life is beautiful

Oz’s daughter says, “Life is beautiful.” That and a cup of coffee is a good way to start the day. Focus on the positive and good will come. Oz likes that.

The answer is 42

Oz is off to Dakota County 42. He is just not sure if it is North or South Dakota, or Minnesota.

Oz is also a big fan of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy (HG2G) by Douglas Adams. Earthling Arthur Dent is having a very, very bad day. His house is about to be bulldozed, his best friend is an alien, and, did I mention, in five minutes, Planet Earth is going to be demolished to make way for a hyperspace bypass.

Survival means hitching a ride on a passing spacecraft to who knows where. Does anybody really know what time it is?

Arthur and his companions have no compass, but along the way they learn that “42” is the “Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything”, figured out by a supercomputer named Deep Thought over 7.5 million years. Unfortunately, no one knows what the question is.

So we are off in search of the question.

Reality is a slippery thing, especially in a digital world.

Whispering Tree

Soft as the voice of an angel, wind that whispers in the tree, of thoughts known only to God and to me.

Robyns Lake House

Now that it is spring and the weather is nice, Oz is spending a lot more time at the lake. Actually, it is Robyn’s Lake House, a new website featuring items for the lake house. These items include lamps, rugs, furniture, decor, and pictures.

Here is one picture I particularly like. It is a tree and yet not a tree, an artist’s dream-like rendition of a golden tree. As I look at it, the melody from the song Whispering Hope by Alice Hawthorn, and the above thought comes to mind.

You can visit robynslakehouse.com and see this beautiful tree.

You are what you think

“You are what you think,” my daughter said and smiled.

Such a simple thought

Smile and the whole world smiles, such a simple thought, an idea that is contagious. Something that always makes us feel better. It is just what the doctor ordered. Besides, they say, it takes less effort to smile than frown.

Oh, doesn’t a smile on your face make everything fall into place?

So smile and brighten someone’s day. (You don’t need to be Irish, but it helps.)

Tout bien ou rien

Et si tu le fais bien et vite, tu comprends francais.

 

Has Oz mentioned that his grandmother was French? Oh, there is so little we know of each other, but then, very little we know of ourselves.

 

I think I got this from John Muir in his dedication of the book On National Parks, 1901. He got it elsewhere, though where, I don’t know. The sentiment is surely an old one.

I translate it as all is well or nothing. That is literal. Somewhat like the English, All or nothing, but not quite.

Some translations give it as, Do your best or not at all. That works too. If that is the case it is like the Flemish, Als Ik Kan, literally, as I can, and figuratively, to the best of my abilities.

The French phrase, tout bien ou rien, contains opposites, all or nothing, polar extremes, it is good or it is not. Shakespeare likde this form of “simplespeak”. It is ambiguous and clear, depending on the intended purpose of the speaker. One is afraid to argue for seeming the fool.

Ambiguity is a fact of life. It puts one in trouble and keeps us out of trouble. Just ask any politician, who has to explain contrary positions to opposing sides.

Tout bien ou rien, c’est bien fait, c’est tout.

Now, quick, try this – Vite fait bien fait.