[Peace-discuss] Jan. 8 demo

[C. G. Estabrook]

OK - I'll bring flyers - and then offer encouragement from where I can see the 
whole intersection (= inside the bar on the corner).

"A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a demo, and such a long demo:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter."

Eliot borrowed those lines from a 17th century divine, so I'll re-gift them to 
you all.

They're based on Lancelot Andrewes's "Nativity Sermon" (1622) and represent a 
recollection by the magus that sets off the reflections that follow.

--CGE


On 1/6/11 5:08 PM, Karen Medina wrote:
> I cannot attend a demo on the 15th.
> -karen medina
>
> On Thu, Jan 6, 2011 at 2:52 PM, C. G. Estabrook<galliher at illinois.edu>  wrote:
>> The temperature is supposed to be in the teens Saturday afternoon.
>>
>> Let's postpone our demonstration for a week. --CGE
>>
>> ===============
>> The Journey of the Magi
>> ===============
>>
>> "A cold coming we had of it,
>> Just the worst time of the year
>> For a journey, and such a long journey:
>> The ways deep and the weather sharp,
>> The very dead of winter."
>> And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
>> Lying down in the melting snow.
>> There were times we regretted
>> The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
>> And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
>> Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
>> And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
>> And the night-fires gong out, and the lack of shelters,
>> And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
>> And the villages dirty, and charging high prices.:
>> A hard time we had of it.
>> At the end we preferred to travel all night,
>> Sleeping in snatches,
>> With the voices singing in our ears, saying
>> That this was all folly.
>>
>> Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
>> Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
>> With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
>> And three trees on the low sky,
>> And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
>> Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
>> Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
>> And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
>> But there was no information, and so we continued
>> And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
>> Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.
>>
>> All this was a long time ago, I remember,
>> And I would do it again, but set down
>> This set down
>> This: were we lead all that way for
>> Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
>> We had evidence and no doubt. I have seen birth and death,
>> But had thought they were different; this Birth was
>> Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
>> We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
>> But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
>> With an alien people clutching their gods.
>> I should be glad of another death.
>>
>> --T. S. Eliot
>>
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>
>