Tag: Fenek Solère
-
Part II here
The Illuminated Plain
Democratic governments are not suited to the publication of the thunderous revelations I am in the habit of making. The unpublished parts will appear later . . . when Europe will have restored its traditional monarchies.
–Salvador Dalí, Diary of a Genius (1964) -
In springing flowre the image of thy day;
Ah see the Virgin Rose, how sweetly shee
Doth first peepe forth with bashfull modestee
— Edmund Spenser (1552-1599) -
2,042 words
In an age of skyscrapers and digital highways, it is rather cathartic to pass through the seventeenth-century oak doors of the Christ Church Gate and walk into Canterbury Cathedral’s cobbled precincts. Looking up, I see blackbirds flocking overhead, feathers fluttering on the perpendicular tracery of the octagonal towers bearing the Tudor Court of Arms and the Welsh Dragon. My eyes are captivated by the motifs in memory of Arthur, Henry VII’s first-born and heir apparent, who died in Ludlow just short of his sixteenth birthday, fatefully allowing his younger brother to rule in his stead. (more…)
-
I vow to thee, my country, all earthly things above,
Entire and whole and perfect, the service of my love;
The love that asks no question, the love that stands the test,
(more…) -
Lights out tonight
Trouble in the heartland . . .–“Badlands” (1978)
I was sold on Springsteen the moment I first heard the mournful wail of his harmonica as he began to sing “The River”:
-
December 10, 2018 Fenek Solère
Musica Deo Sacra
1,656 words
Evensong drifted in wisps of blue incense down the shadow-columned nave as I cast my eye over the gold Garter Banner fluttering overhead. My attention was drawn to the apsidal chancel and fourteenth-century vaults, with their red and turquoise fronds that stare benignly down on the heads of the Schola Cantorum choristers, their angelic voices echoing off the chambered underbelly of the Romanesque cross tower. A mass of mesmeric candles flickered over the polished, bone-like surface of the reliquaries in the chantry chapels of the DeSpensers, Beauchamps, and de Clares.
-
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month had passed, and Elsa Bauer could not sleep while the wind howled about the hilltop farm, running cold, malevolent fingers down her big stone chimney, the old beech’s branches rustling against the slate and glass like a cacophony from a demonic symphony. (more…)
-
Avner rustled the Evening News, pursing fat lips to speak. “I say Machen’s got a damn fine piece about ghostly bowmen saving the boys at Mons in the paper!” Then, folding the page, he proffered, “Given the Boche a right bloody nose!” (more…)
-
6,042 words
“Their captain was Robert Rogers, of New Hampshire, – a strong, well-knit figure, in dress and appearance more woodsman than soldier . . . He was ambitious and violent, yet able in more ways than one, by no means uneducated, and so skilled in woodcraft, so energetic and resolute, that his services were invaluable.”
–Francis Parkman, Montcalm and Wolfe (1885) (more…)
-
To Father Paul Laforgue, the Algonkian Indians are savage pagans in dire need of salvation
To the Algonkian Indians, Catholic priests are greedy, selfish, Norman pigs of sorcerers
–An excerpt from the back cover of the 1987 Paladin edition of Black Robe (more…)
-
We are the last people on earth, and the last to be free: our very remoteness in a land known only to rumour has protected us up till this day. Today the furthest bounds of Britain lie open – and everything unknown is given an inflated worth. But now there is no people beyond us, nothing but tides and rocks . . . (more…)
-
‘I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
But now you’re here
Brighten my northern sky’