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| -Short Attention Span Theater- |
| "The harsh content of old photographs" |
| 2008-05-06 |
| American Digest . . . I like the harsh content of old photographs. There's often a truth to them that all the careful curating of our soppy era cannot obfuscate. Things are as they are, not as some wish they might have been. Lovers stare without smiles. The hands charred by hard work and harsh soil are seen sharp. The child in the coffin is dead. What you see is what they had. What you see is what we've lost. I was alone in the room, except for the very old man in the walker. He was stopped along the wall on the left looking searchingly at a large photograph of a street scene. He glanced up and gave me a long look as if to say, "What the hell are you doing in my museum?" Then he seemed to think better of it and beckoned me over. . . . Apropos of nothing except that it's a touching story. Read it and be moved. |
| Posted by:Mike |
| #5 And there are people who refuse to understand that God does send his special minions to walk among all the peoples of the world... |
| Posted by: M. Murcek 2008-05-06 14:03 |
| #4 For my friend whom I and several thousand others (including dozens of priests, visitors from all over the globe, and the Archbishop) celebrated the funeral mass and interment yesterday 5 May 2008. Born 28 June 1936 Kansas Capuchin vows 14 July 1957 Kansas Ordained 9 June 1962 Pennsylvania Entered Eternal Life 1 May 2008, Ascension Day We have giants all around, but you need to take the time to find them. Men of this sort are never ones to call notice to themselves. I want to publicly thank God for allowing me to know and call frie4nd the remarkable human being that was Father Malachy McBride, Order of Friars Minor, Capuchin |
| Posted by: OldSpook 2008-05-06 12:32 |
| #3 In English: THE STORY OF MALACHY What can be said? There was this youth, a young man called Malachy, we say, that’s how it was. Well, one day this young man saying, “I’ll go to Huliland”, got everything ready. This youth, himself, having said , “I’ll go to Huliland,” learnt the best approaches to preaching. He learnt how to speak gently, and how to understand spoken Huli. He learnt how to patrol through the bush. I’m off to Huliland, he said, and off he went, we say, that’s how it was. Stopping first at Gubari, he went on to Bajaga we say, that’s how it was. While he was thus travelling, he criss-crossed Gambe boundaries; he travelled all around; we say, that’s how it was. The people said, Malachy is a wonderful man, full of wisdom, utterly truthful, that’s how he tells it, we say that’s how it was. Ah yes, when he did such great things, his superior saw what was going on, and said, ‘Let’s send him to Buruani’, we say, that’s how it was. Malagi himself did many great things (in Buruani); he did a lot of work, toiling for others, not for himself: he worked unceasingly, we say, that’s how it was. Because of this, we Huli people thank the Great Lord God, giving praise, praising Malachy continously, we say, that’s how it was.. And now Malachy has gone on ahead, and is filled with everlasting joy, we say, that’s how it was. |
| Posted by: OldSpook 2008-05-06 12:27 |
| #2 Speaking of ethnomusicologist: Huli language (uplands of New Guinea) A chant in praise of a hero they knew. MALIGINAGA BI TE Ae ale be, laja-o. Igiri mbira ogoria haja-o. Igiri ore biago ibu mini Malagi winija, larima, abijani-o. Mbiru nde, igiri o biagome, Hela Huli pole, lowa, mbirale manda manda bija-o. Igiri biagome howa Hela Huli pole, lowa tuguli lagane jaribu manda bija. Bi dendebi lolenebi, manda bija. Huli bi hale holene manabi manda bija. Irabu ibaga bu holenebi manda bija. Hela Huli pole, lalu pija, larima, abijani-o. Piganengi ibu Gubari hole pialu, Bajaga dindi haru hole pija, larima, abijanio. Ibu ani hajagola, Gambe dindi tu bolangwa halu, pu ibu pialu ibaga bu haja, larima abijanio. Wali agali tigwa lalu, Malagi igiri baja gibi ore, mini timbuniwi, bi tiaga tiagabi, ani lalu ka, laja, larima, abijanio. Ae nde, Biabe timbuni bialu hajagola, ibu hanguane de hondowa, Malagi Buruani pe lamija, laja, larima abijani-o. Ani pe la hajagola, Igiri Malagi o biagome biabe timbuni dewaru, wali agalinaga, ibuninaga ndo, bialu haabo halu haja, larima abijanio. Ogoninaga, Huli wali agali iname Dahulijali Anduane Homogohondo, kai timbuni lalu, Malaginaga mini yaraga haabo harima, larima, abijani-o. Aju, nde, Maligi ibu bamba halu, turu hai haabo holene yai ho kago, larima, abijani-o. |
| Posted by: OldSpook 2008-05-06 12:24 |
| #1 There is always nostalgia for what was once treasured, or should have been treasured, that is now lost. I once knew an elderly lady who was an ethnomusicologist. She had traveled the world several times and had collected relics from dozens of peoples who are now extinct. Perhaps the only trace that they ever existed was an instrument or reel to reel tape of the music they played. Though the university saved her collection, it just packed it in boxes and forgot about it. Except for one exceptionally heavy set of gongs, a gift from an Asian prince. Turned out they were solid gold. That got their attention. Though after a quick check of everything else made of metal, the rest of the stuff went into boxes. Eventually it will either decay to dust, or just be thrown away. |
| Posted by: Anonymoose 2008-05-06 11:15 |