Poetry and Painting

I kicked off my official sabbatical with a day trip to the De Young Museum and the Palace of the Legion of Honor: both wonderful art museums in San Francisco.  While at the Legion of Honor I came across William Bougeureau's painting titled Broken Pitcher (1891) (Scroll down and see the painting below).  I was very drawn to the peasant girl in the painting and wondered what might be going on in her life and head that would make her sit there, broken pitcher at her feet, without moving to fix things, to solve her dilemma. I wondered if perhaps she sat there musing over a problem that had no ready answer....

Can't go home without the water.

There, in fits, sleeps red-eyed father.

Vacant mother sent her fetching

with a pitcher cracked all round,

bound to break.  Her bare feet catching,

pitcher swiping rocky ground.

Can't go home without the water.

Without water can't go home.

Better here awhile, alone.

No plan now. None there to be--

with red-eyes veined from last night's batter,

mother bruised, used up.  All these

mines await her barefoot patter.

Without water can't go home.

Without water, daughter, dare you go?

Save her!  Save her, won't you, Bouguereau?

Place her safely on your canvas

covering her in oils so father's

eyes won't waken mother's antics

when she comes home without water,

without water. Daughter, dare you go?

Welcome to My Sabbatical Blog

I'm glad you have found your way to this blogsite.  This will be my primary way of keeping in touch with my Hillside family throughout the term of my sabbatical: May 21 through the end of August, 2008.  

Those who know me know that I sometimes go by the name of Tito Tinkstrom.  Well, this site will be a dabbling playground for spontaneous Tinkstromian tinkerings of all kinds: hopefully touching theology, art, poetry, Hawaii, Wales, Hopkins, cross-country traveling, family reunions, books, aesthetics, ministry, family, life, and who knows what else.

There might end up being many posts.  There might end up being very few.  We'll just have to see how things tinker along.  Until then, 

fare well as you go, wind behind you, hope ahead.

In Hidden Places, With Names Unknown

Let's tinker with the notion that only powerful people in powerful places move the engines of the world.  Sometimes it is that a cataclysmic avalanche starts with the smallest fall-from-branch snow-tuft.

Gerard Manley Hopkins wrote a wonderful poem called St. Alphonsus Rodriguez.  It is about a Jesuit priest (1532-1617) who did nothing spectacular in the world's eyes throughout his long career.  He was merely a humble door porter at a college in Majorca for 46 years.  (Majorca is an island belonging to Spain). He was known for having profound impact on those around him. He was canonized by the Catholic Church in 1887.

But in the Kingdom of God--surprise, surprise--it is often in the overlooked corners with the understated folks where God is doing something profound and vital and world-altering.  With praying door porters. And store clerks, and electricians, and accountants, and middle-school students, and wandering poets. Oh, He uses kings and presidents and CEO's as well.

The point is that He is the point. He can make rocks cry out, donkeys speak, storms sit still, and heavens declare glory.  And if He can do that, He can use Alfonso.  He can make your life and my life sing.  The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me (Psalm 138:8)!

And now the poem:

Honor is flashed off exploit, so we say;

And those strokes once that gashed flesh or galled shield

Should tongue that time now, trumpet now that field,

And, on the fighter, forge his glorious day.

On Christ they do and on the martyr may;

But be the war within, the brand we wield

Unseen, the heroic breast not outward-steeled,

Earth hears no hurtle then from fiercest fray.

Yet God (that hews mountain and continent,

Earth, all, out; who, with trickling increment,

Veins violets and tall trees makes more and more)

Could crowd career with conquest while there went

Those years and years by of world without event

That in Majorca Alfonso watched the door.