In 2015 I posted a note about the word “Jew” as differently understood by the Victorian Catholic poets Coventry Patmore and Gerard Manley Hopkins. At the time, I thought that the two poets’ correspondence about the word might help us understand the then topical issue of boycotting out of existence the country named Israel and the concept named Jew.
But as of 2017, those two-year-old thoughts of mine have gone anachronistic. Language, including the word Jew, no longer seems to work in all the ways it did two years ago. It has lost some functions and acquired others. So I’ve updated my note. WordPress has filed the revision in its original 2015 position and linked it to its original 2015 title, but the text you’ll reach is new when you click
A poet says “Jew” to another poet
Aslant on a tilted surface, a ship’s steel curves align themselves into a complex array of near-verticals and are changed from a simple prow into a Richard Serra multiform. Emitting excited puffs of steam as they prepare to nuzzle the new shape, the ship’s companion tugs bustle into line as merrily as if they were executing poses for the jovial approval of Raoul Dufy. As in the sunny vacationland France of a Chelsea gallery, all here in New York harbor is innocence, luxe, and the thoughtfully capitalized beauty of gaits trained by dance. The big ship and her brood of little boats seem to have prepped for their appearance before the camera in a boutique full of Lartigues.
There, after the primpers undercoated the sky with pink and the water with blue, they finished off the big ship’s funnels with a dramatic application of buff.
A hundred years ago, that tint at the source of cloud was a form that hope had chosen for an emblem. Buff cylinders multiplied over water were the insigne of the Hamburg-America Line, the most important transport link between Europe and the United States for the desperate Jews of Russia during the last years of the czars. Imagine you can hope now in the way they hoped then. In the mind’s eye, see a yellow glow travel from right to left across the ocean. See it take on readable form as water and sky unscroll before it.
When the ship with bright funnels comes into its haven, its passengers will disembark into the boutique’s chosen range of the spectrum and commence a different way of being seen.
The photograph is in the George Grantham Bain Collection, Library of Congress, http://www.loc.gov/pictures/related/?&pk=ggb2005013361&st=gallery&sb=call_number#focus
The immigration image is at Wikimedia Commons, http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Jewish_immigration_Russia_United_States_1901.jpg. The information there transcribes the copyright date in the lower right corner as 1901, but I read it as 1909 or possibly 1902. A fashion historian might be able to date the clothing. The Hebrew text carried by the American eagle is found in several Jewish prayers. Adapted from Psalm 17.8, it reads, “And hide us in the shadow of thy wings.”
All three images have been Photoshopped for contrast and tone.
From Mitt Romney’s commencement address, Liberty University, May 12, 2012:
You enter a world with civilizations and economies that are far from equal. Harvard historian David Landes devoted his lifelong study to understanding why some civilizations rise, and why others falter. His conclusion: Culture makes all the difference. Not natural resources, not geography, but what people believe and value. Central to America’s rise to global leadership is our Judeo-Christian tradition, with its vision of the goodness and possibilities of every life.
Read more: http://www.businessinsider.com/heres-the-full-text-of-mitt-romneys-liberty-university-commencement-address-2012-5#ixzz1ui5Tj5KJ
A Judeo-Christian, type species:
like the author of Under the Volcano.
Click to enlarge.
is the modernist poet Mina Loy (1882-1966), who wrote about the moon:
A silver Lucifer
cocaine in cornucopia
In what’s called real life, Mina Loy was Mina Löwy. But a respectable anthology of the not invariably respectable, Alex Danchev’s 100 Artists’ Manifestos, from the Futurists to the Stuckists (Penguin, 2011), christens her (on p. 62) Löwry.
And this, at a characteristic moment,