Sea Dreams and Time Machines

Tomorrow is the first official day of spring, which is delightful to my somewhat pagan heart. And, as someone who occasionally (or often, depending on whom you ask) feels she’s living in the wrong time period, I take this opportunity to wish you a happy Vernal Equinox. May you, like the Sphinx at Giza, orient yourself towards the sun tomorrow and have a bright and promising kind of day. (Or at least look forward to the weekend.)

And should you need a soundtrack for your celebration of spring, I am here to answer the question: “Just what kind of music does one listen do when suffering from temporal instability?” If you, like I, have ever been told you are a ‘living anachronism,’ you use ‘archaic’ or ‘funny old’ language in your daily speech, or merely have an irrepressible desire to shout ‘Huzzah!’ then I recommend a dose of Renaissance Rock.

Renaissance what?

Rock. No, seriously. Mix together a healthy dose of escapism, a passing acquaintance with Shakespeare, a quartet of teal kilts, and some guitars and fiddles, and you end up with The Lost Boys, a group of temporal travelers at least twice as crazy as I am. I treated myself to their newest album a few weeks ago (Heroes and Scoundrels, though their other relatively new album, the Teal album is also excellent) and have been happily humming “Warriors for the Working Day” and other excerpts pretty much ever since. Humorous skits about the escapades of a bunch of rowdy minstrels escaping the Tower, consorting with Merlin, and entertaining the occupants of taverns are interspersed among the music, and while it’s not exactly what I’d call soothing background music, there’s a fun assortment of musical styles involved. The Lost Boys throw together Renaissance-era and traditional folk songs set to new instrumentation, modern rock songs with anachronistic lyrics, and a bunch of original works that are extremely catchy, like my favorites, “Life is Good,” and “Scoundrels.”

If you’re looking for further ways to indulge a bit of temporal instability, I also recommend the Mediaeval Baebes*, and for a more authentic experience, Sting’s Songs from the Labyrinth, a collection of lute works by Elizabethan composer John Dowland.

*Watch out, their website has automatic-play music of some of their works, which are lovely, but I don’t know if there’s a way to turn it off.

In his lifetime, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was the most beloved poet in America, internationally acclaimed for his poetry, his translations (he spoke or read at least 12 languages), and his open-minded gentlemanly regard for all the cultures and visitors that crossed his path. He lived most of his adult life in Cambridge, MA, in a gorgeous house that dated back to before the Revolutionary War, and had in fact been the headquarters for Gen. George Washington during the siege of Boston in 1775-76. His house is now a National Park, and is still entirely furnished with the belongings of himself and his family.

I worked there for 2 seasons and fell utterly in love with Henry and his family, not to mention the rangers who work in the house. It’s a crying shame that cryptic and difficult seems to be the preference for modern poetry, because the musicality, optimism, and love for language with which Longfellow’s poems overflow are sadly underappreciated today. And in that spirit, I give you one of my favorite Henry poems, which I used to open and close my tour on “Longfellow: Creator of Memory.”

The Builders

All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.

Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.

Being a massive word-hound, I was incredibly tickled by this site when my brother sent it to me. (Many thanks, by the way!) http://www.savethewords.org/

I have so far decided that I need to find ways to use antipelargy (‘reciprocal or mutual kindness, the love of a child for a parent’), hirquitalliency (‘strength of voice’), and stibogram (‘a graphic record of footprints’).

And for other word-joy, I recommend A.Word.A.Day newsletter, delivered straight to your inbox courtesy of wordsmith.org

Whether you’re an Elizabeth, an Elinor, an Edward, or an Emma, (not to mention a Wickham, a Willoughby, or a Weston!), I wish you a happy Austen-day, where the clever have room to spar, the silly are given their due, and deserving gents (often with large estates) end up with lovely, sensible wives.