People my age grew up with a strange wound and longing in their parents: as if we’d all been driven out by flood from a homeland that no longer existed, where on stormy nights, the church bells clanged randomly beneath the waves; and you might hear those who’d refused to leave (and been turned into mermen by some curse or mercy) chanting in their black and golden robes, as strange lights burned in stony caves beneath the sea.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
"Drowned Latinesse, lost and lovely and strange — and cruel, we heard..."
Wow. Summorum Pontificum is definitely bringing out the poetry in people: