the white Gospel page, shining
“[The scribal scholars of Ireland] did not see themselves as drones. Rather, they engaged the text they were working on, tried to comprehend it after their fashion, and, if possible, add to it, even improve on it. In this dazzling new culture, a book was not an isolated document on a dusty shelf; book truly spoke to book, and writer to scribe, and scribe to reader, from one generation to the next. . . .
In a land where literacy had previously been unknown, in a world where the old literate civilizations were sinking fast beneath successive waves of barbarism, the white Gospel page, shining in all the little oratories of Ireland, acted as a pledge: the lonely darkness had been turned into light, and the lonely virtue of courage, sustained through all the centuries, had been transformed into hope.”
—Thomas Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe, 1995.
“The hand that wrote this is no more”
“Sad it is, little parti-colored white book, for a day will surely come when someone will say over your page: ‘The hand that wrote this is no more.’”
—Anonymous, from a manuscript quoted in How the Irish Saved Civilization: The Untold Story of Ireland’s Heroic Role from the Fall of Rome to the Rise of Medieval Europe, by Thomas Cahill, 1995.
serious play
“At its beginnings, the New Orleans Mardi Gras was based on the French Catholic pre-Lenten festivity calendar. It was celebrated in public at first by white men who appeared in blackface and strangely reenacted some of the moves that celebrated the bringing together of slaves from different plantations in the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries after the crops had been harvested. . . . This was a time of serious play, deep play, in which all the resources of the community were called on in an amazing bonfire blast that could easily be interpreted as a riot.”
—Roger D. Abrahams, Blues for New Orleans: Mardis Gras and America’s Creole Soul, 2006.
images of “wildness”
“The Zulu parade of New Orleans’ black middle class and elite community, founded n 1909 as a reaction to white stereotypes of blacks as “savages,” is a Carnival activity rivaled in scope and visibility only by the Rex parade on Mardi Gras day. Zulu members dress in Mardi Grass skirts and “wooly wigs,” put on blackface, and throw rubber spears and decorated coconuts to the delighted crowds. Working class blacks . . . also invoke images of ‘wildness’ by masquerading proudly in sylized Plains Indians costumes.
The black “Mardi Gras Indians” are hierarchical groups of men with titles such as Big Chief, Spyboy, Wildman, and Lil’ Chief who dress in elaborate bead and feather costumes weighing up to a hundred pounds. The best-known costume makers say that their costume patterns come to them in dreams, and they take pride in never repeating a color or theme from year to year. After months of time and money invested in sewing costumes and practice sessions at local bars, a dozen or more “tribes” appear early on Mardis Gras day to sing, dance, and parade through back street neighborhoods.”
—Roger D. Abrahams, Blues for New Orleans: Mardis Gras and America’s Creole Soul, 2006.
The umbrella’s use in New Orleans parades
“Umbrellas, both furled and unfurled, are seen in the Mardis Gras and jazz funeral marches of New Orleans, in Brazil, in the brushback dance of Trinidad, and again among the cakewalk dancers in the United States in the nineteenth and eartly twentieth centures. Ribbons are attached to the top of the open umbrellas, and feathered birds are used as finials, much as among the Asante people of Southern Ghana and elsewhere in Africa. The umbrella’s use in New Orleans parades is symbolic, rhythmic, and practical in serving as parasols against the blistering sun. These highly decorated umbrellas are not used in the rain, however. . . .”
—Roger D. Abrahams, Blues for New Orleans: Mardis Gras and America’s Creole Soul, 2006.
the endless Negro blocks
“he walked the endless Negro blocks to home because it was still day. He was suspicious of them by night or by day. What were they forever laughing about from doorstep to door that he could never clearly hear—Their voices dropped when he came near and didn’t rise till he was past earshot. Yet their prophecies pursued him—
De Lord Give Noah de rainbow sign—
Wont be by water but by fire next time”
—Nelson Algren, from A Walk on the Wild Side, 1956. As quoted in Sustaining New Orleans: Literature, Local Memory, and the Fate of a City by Barbara Eckstein, 2006.
Rising Sun Blues
“There is a house in New Orleans
They call the Rising Sun
It’s been the ruin of many poor girls,
And me, O Lord, for one. . . .
One foot is one the platform,
The other one on the train,
I’m going back to New Orleans
To wear that ball and chain.”
—Rising Sun Blues, traditional, first recorded by bluesman Texas Alexander in 1928. Most commonly sung by men, including Bob Dylan and Eric Burden (of the Animals), the song is, ironically, a Storyville prostitute’s lament. As quoted (and explained) in Sustaining New Orleans: Literature, Local Memory, and the Fate of a City by Barbara Eckstein, 2006.
lines tend to want words
“Use number 2 pencils. Get a good pencil sharpener and sharpen about twenty pencils. When one is dull, grab another. . . .
Write in a hard-covered notebook with green lined pages. Green is easy on the eyes. Blank white paper seems to challenge you to create the world before you start writing. It may be true that you, the modern poet, must make the world as you go, but why be reminded of it before you even have one word on the page? The lines tend to want words. Blank paper begs to be left alone. The best notebooks I’ve found are National 43-581.”
—Richard Hugo, The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing, 1979.
the green wall
“Be glad of the green wall
You climbed across one day,
When winter stung with ice
That vacant paradise.”
—James Wright, quoted by Richard Hugo in The Triggering Town: Lectures and Essays on Poetry and Writing, 1979.
the transport of the Countess Mahaut
“The arrangements for the transport of the Countess Mahaut [of Artois]’s household were in the accepted pattern. Since her usual retinue was only made up of some forty people it . . . probably only required some sixty horses . . . [with] many highly decorated saddles . . . worked in silk velvet with flowers of gold, others with pearls. Not surprisingly leather covers were provided for the safe transport of such precious objects. . . . [S]he made much use of a large four-wheeled chariot. . . . Not only was it provided when necessary with new wheels, well shod with iron, but there might also be a new cover of tan cloth, lined on the inside with samite. The interior was adorned with velvet curtains sprinkled with silver rosettes, striped hangings of perse (a fine, usually dark blue, woollen cloth), with the chains and rings to hang them, a carpet of seven and a half ells, and eighteen decorative silver knobs. . . . As Mahaut grew older she relied more and more on another litter. The one she used in 1321 was covered in scarlet, had a well-stuffed mattress with three cushions and two pillows covered with luxurious silk, striped with gold and silver, and filled with down. Its horses had saddle pads of velvet and housings of azure perse. For access there was a folding stool and a small ladder.”
—Margaret Wade Labarge, Medieval Travellers: The Rich and Restless, 1982.