Not just for Hallmark™

Well, Valentine's day approacheth. So for those in Dublin, this is the week to nip into Whitefriars Church and take a peek at the relics of St Valentine.

Okay, technically, you can't see his actual relics, but you can see a wooden casket with a little plaque reading: "This shrine contains the sacred body of Saint Valentinus the Martyr, together with a small vessel tinged with his blood." Mmm, a vial tinged with blood... romantic.

And it's also the time of year that I dig out some Chaucer. I just went to find an e-text of The Parlement of Fowles (my Riverside Chaucer is still sailing the high seas) and - lo and behold, in my scribbling on the novel this morning, I happened to quote its opening line:

"The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne..."

Kinda flukey, which I like.

Anyhoo, this time o'year is all about the Parlement because it's the earliest association of Valentine's Day as a day for lovers (usually dated to 1380s). True, Hallmark™ is not overtly mentioned in Chaucer, but his Valentine's Day is set in an enclosed classical garden, presided over by Nature. The trees are filled with every kind of bird, all waiting to choose their mates. A delay leads to a raucous debate on love, which - in classic Chaucerian fashion - is wrapped up neither neatly nor definitively, leaving the audience to continue the discussion.

Words engendering further thought... just as it should be!

And, thoughts of nature and love lead to... a mangrove swamp in New Caledonia, and one of Yann Arthus-Bertrand's signature images:

Graveyard books

That MacNeice reference to 'books in graveyards' has been loitering in my mind for the last few days. It reminded me of this post over here, exploring how some artists are giving books a new life. Surreal, beautiful images.

But 'books in graveyards' also reminded me of a man I met once - a Coptic scholar. While excavating a cemetery for the poor (called Al-Mudil) in Middle Egypt, a manuscript was found under the body of a 12-year old girl, and he was called in to consult with the antiquities inspectors. They dated the scene to the fourth century. Before burial, someone laid the book in the grave, like a pillow, and then lay the body of the child down, resting her head on the book.

Today (pretty much as then), the manuscript is priceless, one of the oldest 'books' (as in, sewn in quires and bound) in the world. No-one could explain its presence in a poor grave. It was the Book of Psalms - I remember us idling over possible precious words that might have meant so much to her, or those who buried her.

And I was thinking of those fourth-century psalmey words when I watched Martin Luther King's 'I Have A Dream' oration, filled as it is with biblical allusion.

I don't think I had ever seen the complete speech. Extraordinary.