Postlude
Today was notable for two things.
The first thing was that, since sunset yesterday, my head has been echoing with the sound of the Tuba Mirum. Some of my more assiduous readers will recognize that this is possibly a bad thing, indicative of some creeping insanity visited upon the too-religious of this world. In fact, a month ago, I ended a post by quoting the words of the Dies Irae, the section which precedes the Tuba Mirum in the Requiem Mass.
It is a grand piece that has been booming slowly and majestically in my head. Translated from the Latin (more or less), it begins with:
The wondrous sound of the trumpet comes forth
Through the land of the graves;
It summons all before the throne.
I have no idea why this sequence is progressing thusly in my head. I can only hope that by the time my students graduate, it will have come to the end, with the "Lux æterna luceat eis, Domine, cum sanctis tuis in æternum, quia pius es." For I should certainly hope that the eternal light shines upon them, the special ones forever, because He is merciful.
The second thing is that one of my former students had a quick chat with me while I was morosely having a rushed breakfast alone between invigilations. Said student's voice sounded odd amidst the thundering of the last trump, so I looked up. To my surprise, he thanked me for teaching him many years ago. (I had taught him the use of the Martial Voice, the Rhetorical Voice, and the Argumentative Voice. Also the kinds of debate, and how to be a gentleman in the course of a debate.) He remembered all of that, and he had been telling his own students about it. And recommending me to them!
I felt oddly shy, and perhaps a little wistful that those days were long gone. I said something about that. He looked at me, not very embarrassed, and replied with some very nice things. Then he wished me belated Teachers' Day happiness. I could have sworn my general immunity to extreme spiciness was malfunctioning. The chili in my food was making the sweat run down the side of my nose.
The first thing was that, since sunset yesterday, my head has been echoing with the sound of the Tuba Mirum. Some of my more assiduous readers will recognize that this is possibly a bad thing, indicative of some creeping insanity visited upon the too-religious of this world. In fact, a month ago, I ended a post by quoting the words of the Dies Irae, the section which precedes the Tuba Mirum in the Requiem Mass.
It is a grand piece that has been booming slowly and majestically in my head. Translated from the Latin (more or less), it begins with:
The wondrous sound of the trumpet comes forth
Through the land of the graves;
It summons all before the throne.
I have no idea why this sequence is progressing thusly in my head. I can only hope that by the time my students graduate, it will have come to the end, with the "Lux æterna luceat eis, Domine, cum sanctis tuis in æternum, quia pius es." For I should certainly hope that the eternal light shines upon them, the special ones forever, because He is merciful.
The second thing is that one of my former students had a quick chat with me while I was morosely having a rushed breakfast alone between invigilations. Said student's voice sounded odd amidst the thundering of the last trump, so I looked up. To my surprise, he thanked me for teaching him many years ago. (I had taught him the use of the Martial Voice, the Rhetorical Voice, and the Argumentative Voice. Also the kinds of debate, and how to be a gentleman in the course of a debate.) He remembered all of that, and he had been telling his own students about it. And recommending me to them!
I felt oddly shy, and perhaps a little wistful that those days were long gone. I said something about that. He looked at me, not very embarrassed, and replied with some very nice things. Then he wished me belated Teachers' Day happiness. I could have sworn my general immunity to extreme spiciness was malfunctioning. The chili in my food was making the sweat run down the side of my nose.
Labels: Remembrance, Requiem
etched with acid at 5:47:00 pm
1 Comments:
I bring you a limerick:
A mosquito cried out in pain:
"A chemist has poisoned my brain!"
The cause of his sorrow
was para-dichloro
diphenyltrichloroethane
Written by Adam Bernard. (:
Smile!
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