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Rural Diversity

Migrant workers..
From Texas to Wisconsin
Fifty years ago..

Coming to where the work
and dreams were plentiful.

A little ale and little sleep
This cultural diversity is a part of
our rural farming history

Past and Present

A young Texan hombre
Finding work and a little pay
Courting a senorita
both from the same tiny Texan town, Cotulla

They marry here in Wisconsin
Their offspring playing
in the fields of their toil.

Most went on to find jobs
in industry; living the blue collar life
making the steel harvesters
that promised to replace the manual labor.

Look in the fields today
Still they come,
but from farther borders
Fifty years later...
coming to where the work
and dreams still smell of promise.


Dedicated to Jose Charo, Sr and Alicia(Salvidar) Charo
in Celebration of their Fiftieth Wedding Anniversary

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La Copa De La Vida/the Cup Of Life

Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Go, go, go (go, go, go)
Ale, ale, ale (ale, ale, ale)
Go (go)
Go (go)
Go (go)
Go (go)
Here we go!
The cup of life,
This is the one.
Now is the time,
Don't ever stop.
Push it along,
Gotta be strong,
Push it along,
Right to the top.
Como cain y abel
Es un partido cruel
Tienes que pelear por una estrella
Consigue con honor
La copa del amor
Para sobrevivir y luchar por ella
Luchar por ella (yeah!)
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Here we go!! ale, ale, ale
Go, go, goal!! ale, ale, ale
Arriba va!! el mundo esta de pie
Go, go, gol!! ale, ale, ale
La vida es
Competicion
Hay que soar
Ser campeon
La copa es
La bendicion
La ganaras
Go go go
And when you feel the heat,
The world is at your feet.
No one can hold you down
If you really want it!
Just steal your destiny
Right from the hands of fate.
Reach for the cup of life
'cause your name is on it!
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Tu y yo, ale, ale, ale!
Go, go, gol! ale, ale, ale!

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Urban Time vs. Rural Time

3 am:
Urban time: Alarm clocks, hoots and toots
Rural time: Cocks crow, cows moo and weavers beaker

4 am:
Urban time: Whoever snoozed the alarm? Dress up… very scarcely
Rural time: Dust the mat; grab yesterday’s very hard ugali and into overall

5 am:
Urban time: Marikiti and Gikomba beat traffic – rush hour
Rural time: Milking and feeding; early bird catches the worm

6 am:
Urban time: Office not open, tarts hover at Koinange zonked with sleep
Rural time: Coffee farm supervisor calls out names – mine missing

7 am:
Urban time: Offspring sings national anthem in academy playfully
Rural time: Sibling barefoot sings “Yesu anipenda” without blasphemy

8 am:
Urban time: Yaaaawn! Hate work before it even begins – so monotonous
Rural time: Tea baskets at back, yard stick in hand, water jar on head

9 am:
Urban time: What took company tea so long? Was tea boy fired or what?
Rural time: Sing Mary oh, sing Mary oh… Market women return with empty baskets

10 am:
Urban time: Finally the tea is here… (Chit chat) I love this job!
Rural time: The sun’s scorching – take a breath beneath shade

11 am:
Urban time: Silence and whispered gossip, functional smiles and fake hugs
Rural time: Shout greeting from ridge to ridge and insults from bush to bush

12 pm:
Urban time: Yaaaaaawn! Bad date - fear the approach of the next hour
Rural time: Any one with a watch? The sun has hid beneath the cloud

1 pm:
Urban time: Extraordinary times call for extraordinary measures – am dieting…
Rural time: Carry produce to factory, take a nap in the wilderness, and water the livestock

2 pm:
Urban time: Oh how I hate this! Parliament session on, but ethics dictate TV without volume
Rural time: Women plot today’s chama as men discuss the local barmaid’s “possessions”

3 pm:
Urban time: Who tampered with the office clock? I can see some hawkers outside…

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Byron

Canto the First

I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.

II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.

III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.

IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.

V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.

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Byron

Canto the Second

I
Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations,
Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain,
I pray ye flog them upon all occasions,
It mends their morals, never mind the pain:
The best of mothers and of educations
In Juan's case were but employ'd in vain,
Since, in a way that's rather of the oddest, he
Became divested of his native modesty.

II
Had he but been placed at a public school,
In the third form, or even in the fourth,
His daily task had kept his fancy cool,
At least, had he been nurtured in the north;
Spain may prove an exception to the rule,
But then exceptions always prove its worth -—
A lad of sixteen causing a divorce
Puzzled his tutors very much, of course.

III
I can't say that it puzzles me at all,
If all things be consider'd: first, there was
His lady-mother, mathematical,
A—never mind; his tutor, an old ass;
A pretty woman (that's quite natural,
Or else the thing had hardly come to pass);
A husband rather old, not much in unity
With his young wife—a time, and opportunity.

IV
Well—well, the world must turn upon its axis,
And all mankind turn with it, heads or tails,
And live and die, make love and pay our taxes,
And as the veering wind shifts, shift our sails;
The king commands us, and the doctor quacks us,
The priest instructs, and so our life exhales,
A little breath, love, wine, ambition, fame,
Fighting, devotion, dust,—perhaps a name.

V
I said that Juan had been sent to Cadiz -—
A pretty town, I recollect it well -—
'T is there the mart of the colonial trade is
(Or was, before Peru learn'd to rebel),
And such sweet girls—I mean, such graceful ladies,
Their very walk would make your bosom swell;
I can't describe it, though so much it strike,
Nor liken it—I never saw the like:

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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

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Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

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Long, Tall Texan

One, two, three, four
Giddy up
Giddy up
Well Im a long tall texan
I ride a big white horse
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Well Im a long tall texan
I ride a big white horse
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah is that your horse?
(he rides from texas on a big white horse)
Yeah
Well Im a long tall texan
I wear a ten gallon hat
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Well Im a long tall texan
I wear a ten gallon hat
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah is that your hat?
(he rides from texas with a ten gallon hat)
Yeah
Well I was walkin down the street
With my shinin badge
My spurs jinglin down at my feet
I seen a man a comin
Comin with a gun
And I just cant be beat
Well Im a long tall texan
I enforce justice for the law
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)
Well Im a long tall texan
I enforce justice for the law
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)
Well people look at me and say
Hurrah hurrah are you the law?
(he rides from texas to enforce the law)

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A Map Of Culture

Culture


Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?



What is Culture?


I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

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Da'ale Da'ale

YAH YAH HABIBI WEN ISALAM?!
GULI KALAM...
DA'ALE DA'ALE, DA'ALE DA'ALE...LE
DA'ALE DA'ALE, DA'ALE DA'ALE...LE LE LE...
I have many enemies around me
How can people be so hard to me?
But You are my light,
You are my hope,
And You will save me, oh...
You are my Angel,
You are the One,
You are my Angel,
Please, don't let me down!
A'SALK YA RABBI MOTHAY TA'ANENI
A'SALK YA RABBI MOTHAY TASHIVENI
MEDO ANI LAFONACHO'
SEAM SHOLEM AL AMACHO'
YAH YAH HABIBI WEN ISALAM
YAH YAH HABIBI GULI KALAM
YAH YAH HABIBI WEN ISALAM
YAH YAH HABIBI GULI KALAM
DA'ALE DA'ALE, DA'ALE DA'ALE...LE
DA'ALE DA'ALE, DA'ALE DA'ALE...LE LE LE...
OH YAH HABIBI
OH YAH HABIBI
You are my Angel,
You are the One,
You are my Angel,
Please, don't let me down!
DA'ALE DA'ALE

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The Cup Of Life

The cup of life
This is the one
Now is the time
Don't ever stop
Push it along
Gotta be strong
Push it along
Right to the top
Como cain y abel
Es un partido cruel
Tienes que pelear
Por una estrella
Consigue con honor
La copa del amor
Para sobrevivir y luchar por ella
Luchar por ella (yeah)
Do you really want it... (yeah)
Chorus 1:
Here we go! ale, ale ale!
Go, go go! ale, ale ale!
Arriba va! el mundo esta de pie
Go, go, gol!! ale, ale, ale
La vida es
Competicion
Hay que sonar
Ser campeon
La copa es
La bendicion
La ganaras
Go, go, go!
And when you feel the heat
The world is at your feet
No one can hold you down
If you really want it
Just steal your destiny
Right from the hands of fate
Reach for the cup of life
'cause your name is on it
Do you really want it...(yeah)
Do you really want it...(yeah)
Chorus 2:
Tu y yo! ale, ale ale
Go, go ,gol! ale, ale, ale
Tonight's the night we're
Gonna celebrate
The cup of life!!! ale, ale, ale

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II. Half-Rome

What, you, Sir, come too? (Just the man I'd meet.)
Be ruled by me and have a care o' the crowd:
This way, while fresh folk go and get their gaze:
I'll tell you like a book and save your shins.
Fie, what a roaring day we've had! Whose fault?
Lorenzo in Lucina,—here's a church
To hold a crowd at need, accommodate
All comers from the Corso! If this crush
Make not its priests ashamed of what they show
For temple-room, don't prick them to draw purse
And down with bricks and mortar, eke us out
The beggarly transept with its bit of apse
Into a decent space for Christian ease,
Why, to-day's lucky pearl is cast to swine.
Listen and estimate the luck they've had!
(The right man, and I hold him.)

Sir, do you see,
They laid both bodies in the church, this morn
The first thing, on the chancel two steps up,
Behind the little marble balustrade;
Disposed them, Pietro the old murdered fool
To the right of the altar, and his wretched wife
On the other side. In trying to count stabs,
People supposed Violante showed the most,
Till somebody explained us that mistake;
His wounds had been dealt out indifferent where,
But she took all her stabbings in the face,
Since punished thus solely for honour's sake,
Honoris causâ, that's the proper term.
A delicacy there is, our gallants hold,
When you avenge your honour and only then,
That you disfigure the subject, fray the face,
Not just take life and end, in clownish guise.
It was Violante gave the first offence,
Got therefore the conspicuous punishment:
While Pietro, who helped merely, his mere death
Answered the purpose, so his face went free.
We fancied even, free as you please, that face
Showed itself still intolerably wronged;
Was wrinkled over with resentment yet,
Nor calm at all, as murdered faces use,
Once the worst ended: an indignant air
O' the head there was—'t is said the body turned
Round and away, rolled from Violante's side
Where they had laid it loving-husband-like.
If so, if corpses can be sensitive,
Why did not he roll right down altar-step,
Roll on through nave, roll fairly out of church,
Deprive Lorenzo of the spectacle,

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V. Count Guido Franceschini

Thanks, Sir, but, should it please the reverend Court,
I feel I can stand somehow, half sit down
Without help, make shift to even speak, you see,
Fortified by the sip of … why, 't is wine,
Velletri,—and not vinegar and gall,
So changed and good the times grow! Thanks, kind Sir!
Oh, but one sip's enough! I want my head
To save my neck, there's work awaits me still.
How cautious and considerate … aie, aie, aie,
Nor your fault, sweet Sir! Come, you take to heart
An ordinary matter. Law is law.
Noblemen were exempt, the vulgar thought,
From racking; but, since law thinks otherwise,
I have been put to the rack: all's over now,
And neither wrist—what men style, out of joint:
If any harm be, 't is the shoulder-blade,
The left one, that seems wrong i' the socket,—Sirs,
Much could not happen, I was quick to faint,
Being past my prime of life, and out of health.
In short, I thank you,—yes, and mean the word.
Needs must the Court be slow to understand
How this quite novel form of taking pain,
This getting tortured merely in the flesh,
Amounts to almost an agreeable change
In my case, me fastidious, plied too much
With opposite treatment, used (forgive the joke)
To the rasp-tooth toying with this brain of mine,
And, in and out my heart, the play o' the probe.
Four years have I been operated on
I' the soul, do you see—its tense or tremulous part
My self-respect, my care for a good name,
Pride in an old one, love of kindred—just
A mother, brothers, sisters, and the like,
That looked up to my face when days were dim,
And fancied they found light there—no one spot,
Foppishly sensitive, but has paid its pang.
That, and not this you now oblige me with,
That was the Vigil-torment, if you please!
The poor old noble House that drew the rags
O' the Franceschini's once superb array
Close round her, hoped to slink unchallenged by,—
Pluck off these! Turn the drapery inside out
And teach the tittering town how scarlet wears!
Show men the lucklessness, the improvidence
Of the easy-natured Count before this Count,
The father I have some slight feeling for,
Who let the world slide, nor foresaw that friends
Then proud to cap and kiss their patron's shoe,
Would, when the purse he left held spider-webs,
Properly push his child to wall one day!

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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

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VI. Giuseppe Caponsacchi

Answer you, Sirs? Do I understand aright?
Have patience! In this sudden smoke from hell,—
So things disguise themselves,—I cannot see
My own hand held thus broad before my face
And know it again. Answer you? Then that means
Tell over twice what I, the first time, told
Six months ago: 't was here, I do believe,
Fronting you same three in this very room,
I stood and told you: yet now no one laughs,
Who then … nay, dear my lords, but laugh you did,
As good as laugh, what in a judge we style
Laughter—no levity, nothing indecorous, lords!
Only,—I think I apprehend the mood:
There was the blameless shrug, permissible smirk,
The pen's pretence at play with the pursed mouth,
The titter stifled in the hollow palm
Which rubbed the eyebrow and caressed the nose,
When I first told my tale: they meant, you know,
"The sly one, all this we are bound believe!
"Well, he can say no other than what he says.
"We have been young, too,—come, there's greater guilt!
"Let him but decently disembroil himself,
"Scramble from out the scrape nor move the mud,—
"We solid ones may risk a finger-stretch!
And now you sit as grave, stare as aghast
As if I were a phantom: now 't is—"Friend,
"Collect yourself!"—no laughing matter more—
"Counsel the Court in this extremity,
"Tell us again!"—tell that, for telling which,
I got the jocular piece of punishment,
Was sent to lounge a little in the place
Whence now of a sudden here you summon me
To take the intelligence from just—your lips!
You, Judge Tommati, who then tittered most,—
That she I helped eight months since to escape
Her husband, was retaken by the same,
Three days ago, if I have seized your sense,—
(I being disallowed to interfere,
Meddle or make in a matter none of mine,
For you and law were guardians quite enough
O' the innocent, without a pert priest's help)—
And that he has butchered her accordingly,
As she foretold and as myself believed,—
And, so foretelling and believing so,
We were punished, both of us, the merry way:
Therefore, tell once again the tale! For what?
Pompilia is only dying while I speak!
Why does the mirth hang fire and miss the smile?
My masters, there's an old book, you should con
For strange adventures, applicable yet,

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Soccer Under 20

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III. The Other Half-Rome

Another day that finds her living yet,
Little Pompilia, with the patient brow
And lamentable smile on those poor lips,
And, under the white hospital-array,
A flower-like body, to frighten at a bruise
You'd think, yet now, stabbed through and through again,
Alive i' the ruins. 'T is a miracle.
It seems that, when her husband struck her first,
She prayed Madonna just that she might live
So long as to confess and be absolved;
And whether it was that, all her sad life long
Never before successful in a prayer,
This prayer rose with authority too dread,—
Or whether, because earth was hell to her,
By compensation, when the blackness broke
She got one glimpse of quiet and the cool blue,
To show her for a moment such things were,—
Or else,—as the Augustinian Brother thinks,
The friar who took confession from her lip,—
When a probationary soul that moved
From nobleness to nobleness, as she,
Over the rough way of the world, succumbs,
Bloodies its last thorn with unflinching foot,
The angels love to do their work betimes,
Staunch some wounds here nor leave so much for God.
Who knows? However it be, confessed, absolved,
She lies, with overplus of life beside
To speak and right herself from first to last,
Right the friend also, lamb-pure, lion-brave,
Care for the boy's concerns, to save the son
From the sire, her two-weeks' infant orphaned thus,
And—with best smile of all reserved for him—
Pardon that sire and husband from the heart.
A miracle, so tell your Molinists!

There she lies in the long white lazar-house.
Rome has besieged, these two days, never doubt,
Saint Anna's where she waits her death, to hear
Though but the chink o' the bell, turn o' the hinge
When the reluctant wicket opes at last,
Lets in, on now this and now that pretence,
Too many by half,—complain the men of art,—
For a patient in such plight. The lawyers first
Paid the due visit—justice must be done;
They took her witness, why the murder was.
Then the priests followed properly,—a soul
To shrive; 't was Brother Celestine's own right,
The same who noises thus her gifts abroad.
But many more, who found they were old friends,
Pushed in to have their stare and take their talk

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Cup Of Life

The cup of life
This is the one
Now is the time
Don't ever stop
Push it along
Then let it roll
Push it along
Go go go
Como cain y abel
Es un partido cruel
Tienes que pelear por una estrella
Consigue con honor
La copa del amor
Para sobre vivir y luchar por ella
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Do you really want it? (yeah!)
Here we go! Ale, Ale, Ale
Go, go, go! Ale, Ale, Ale
Tonight's the night
We're gonna celebrate
The cup of life, Ale, Ale, Ale
The cup of life
It's do or die
It's here it's now
Turn up the lights
La copa es
La bendicion
La ganaras
Go go go
Uno, dos, tres! Ole, Ole, Ole
Un, deux, trois! Ale, Ale, Ale
Tonight's the night
We're gonna celebrate
The cup of life, Ale, Ale, Ale

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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.


II.

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The Yellow Rose Of Texas

Oh the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl I love
Her eyes are even bluer than Texas skies above
Her heart's as big as Texas and wherever I may go
I'll remember her forever because I love her so
There are so many roses that bloom along the way
But my heart's in Amarillo and that's where it will stay
With the yellow rose of Texas so I'd better get there fast
'Cause I know I was her first love and I want to be her last
Oh the yellow rose of Texas is the only girl I love
Her eyes are even bluer than Texas skies above
Her heart's as big as Texas and wherever I may go
I'll remember her forever because I love her so
The eyes of Texas are upon you all the live long day
The eyes of Texas are upon you, you cannot get away
Do not think you can escape them at night or early in the morn
The eyes of Texas are upon you 'till Gabriel blows his horn
The eyes of Texas are upon you all the live long day
The eyes of Texas are upon you, you cannot get away
Do not think you can escape them at night or early in the morn
The eyes of Texas are upon you 'till Gabriel blows his horn
The eyes of Texas are upon you all the live long day
The eyes of Texas are upon you, you cannot get away
Do not think you can escape them at night or early in the morn
The eyes of Texas are upon you 'till Gabriel blows his horn

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