I thought I’d never miss: -
The wide expanse of pasture of the pampas,
The lead gray skies & stratus clouds
The whistling, whining, violent “pamperos”,
The wet moist cold,
The hot damp heat,
The monotonous landscape
Bare of trees & bushes 7 human beings
Populated by lazy, cattle.
But I do,
And remember,
The balmy breezes of early spring,
The mauve of jacarandá trees in early fall,
The crisp, white frost of midwinter,
The golden yellow of the aroma in late spring
The pungent, acrid odor of the figs in midsummer.
I thought I’d never miss:
The untidy almacén at my corner
Overflowing with cellophane bags of capeletti & ravioli
And mounds of sacks of new potatoes,
Reeking of onions & “tipo Roquefort cheese”,
Of smoked ham & bacon hanging from hooks
Or:
The heated discussion of the Italian neighbours,
The chattering, singing & crying of their children,
The clatter of their plates & knives - they ate
In the patio & almost lived there,
Their plaintive singing of their summer land
And the merry quartets from Barbero & Rigoletto.
Or:
The austere grays & browns & blacks
That Porteños think proper to wear,
Their sober silence and quiet in public vehicles
The busy little sidewalk cafes under striped awnings,
The interminable wait for tram 35,
The long and never ending route it took,
But I do,
And remember:-
The exquisite taste and stark simplicity
That Porteños think proper for wear,
Their polite “permiso” as they sidled by you on colectivos
The gracious old-fashioned cadence of the
“Cuando” danced in a café.
The beautiful church on Juramento and Cabildo
I always watched out for out of the window of Tram 35
The expectation of getting to Mother’s flat,
At the end of the line,
And the warmth I’d get there!
Filomena de Irureta Goyena de Hayward
Nueva Rosita, Coahuila, Mexico
Dec 5, 1956.
The above poem written by my mother in the northern Mexico mining town of Nueva Rosita has haunted me ever since she read it out to me a few years later. It has haunted me and also filled me with guilt that I never made her as happy as I could or that I might have shown disrespect. In fact I feel guilt because at age 15 I was not all that less of a teenage problem than my 15 year old granddaughter Rebecca is now. All I can say in my defence is that I was far less mature so my offences were not as critical.
When I see my daughter Hilary (Rebecca’s mother) and notice her smile it is the face of my mother that I gaze into and I have the idea that if I am pleasant and kind to her I will somehow compensate for my actions in the past with her grandmother, my mother.
Perhaps the most singularly beautiful sentence in the English language is this one:
“Do this in memory of me.”
It can be found in the New Testament, Luke 22:19 and also in 1 Corinthians 11:24-25. But it was only at the very bottom of the list below that I found the quote with the word memory. In fact remembrance is just as beautiful.
 | |||
| The Sacrament of the Last Supper, Salvador Dalí, 1955 |
New International Version (©1984)
and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me."
New Living Translation (©2007)
and gave thanks to God for it. Then he broke it in pieces and said, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this to remember me."
English Standard Version (©2001)
and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, “This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”
New American Standard Bible (©1995)
and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, "This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me."
Holman Christian Standard Bible (©2009)
gave thanks, broke it, and said, "This is My body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of Me."
International Standard Version (©2012)
gave thanks for it, and broke it in pieces, saying, "This is my body that is for you. Keep doing this in memory of me."
King James Bible (Cambridge Ed.)
And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.
Aramaic Bible in Plain English (©2010)
And he blessed and he broke and he said, “Take eat; this is my body, which is broken for your persons; thus you shall do for my Memorial.
GOD'S WORD® Translation (©1995)
and spoke a prayer of thanksgiving. He broke the bread and said, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this to remember me."
King James 2000 Bible (©2003)
And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.
American King James Version
And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.
American Standard Version
and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, This is my body, which is for you: this do in remembrance of me.
Douay-Rheims Bible
And giving thanks, broke, and said: Take ye, and eat: this is my body, which shall be delivered for you: this do for the commemoration of me.
Darby Bible Translation
and having given thanks broke it, and said, This is my body, which is for you: this do in remembrance of me.
English Revised Version
and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, This is my body, which is for you: this do in remembrance of me.
Webster's Bible Translation
And when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.
Weymouth New Testament
and after giving thanks He broke it and said, "This is my body which is about to be broken for you. Do this in memory of me."
World English Bible
When he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, "Take, eat. This is my body, which is broken for you. Do this in memory of me."
Young's Literal Translation
and having given thanks, he brake, and said, 'Take ye, eat ye, this is my body, that for you is being broken; this do ye -- to the remembrance of me.'
For Roman Catholics the moment is the proof that in transubstantiation the substance of bread and wine becomes the body and blood of Jesus Christ. For other Christians, the breaking of the bread and the elevation of the wine is simply commemorative, a wonderful memory of an event past. For Roman Catholics, under the pain of mortal death, they are to believe that when they partake of Holy Communion they are eating the flesh and drinking the blood of Jesus Christ.
While I will not argue the one or the other and remain at a safe distance I will state here that, “Do this in remembrance of me,” is truly beautiful and my modus vivendi.
In the last four lines of my mother’s poem she writes:
I always watched out for out of the window of Tram 35
The expectation of getting to Mother’s flat,
At the end of the line,
And the warmth I’d get there!
Those lines (I was a fellow passenger of my mother in Tram 35) hit me every time when my daughter and her two daughters come four our usual Saturday evening dinner. Because it is winter I have a roaring fire waiting for Hilary when she gets here around 6:30. I put lots of effort into making a very good meal and having a family film DVD to watch after. Then I take them all home and while they are in the car I think of my mother and how at the very least for one day of the week, Hilary does not have to work, or cook, or wash dishes and simply can sit down in the warmth that Rosemary and I have given her.
I have kept the Arts section of the NY Times of January 16 knowing I would eventually quote from A Swinging Party With Old Friends (Nate Chinen – Music Review) which is about a ceremony for the 2013 National Endowment of the Arts Jazz Masters award.
During the ceremony and performance one of the recipients, pianist Mose Allison, “said little except in song, playing Was, an original parlor waltz featuring his daughter, Amy Allison, on vocals. It’s a meditation on mortality, infused with more curiosity than self-pity; it suggests that the afterlife has a lot to do with the simple matter of being remembered.
In remembrance of my mother and my father, what I do during the day, I do so and dedicate to them often. They live on.
Addendum: Dalí's painting is in a hallway at the National Gallery in Washington DC. When you go from the old wing of the museum to the new you pass by this painting, its only decoration. At the end of the hallway you will find, appropriately, the excellent museum cafeteria.