Sunday 27 January 2019

Only Cotton



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           



Dear Reader,

Lots of my cherished books I have kept for years and 'Understanding Poetry' by James Reeves is still one of my favourites. It first came out in 1965 but I think everything he writes about poetry is pertinent to today.  I thought I would share these quotes with you.

'poetry has existed from the earliest times as a manifestation of the human spirit and a relief from, or expression of, emotion.  The forms of poetry have changed, and its uses and purposes have varied from age to age but one thing is certain: the primary purpose of poetry is magic.

'The desire to communicate to express, to give voice to emotion, is the root from which all poetry springs.  All poetry has to do with communication; but it is not merely saying something in a special way, it is a special form of words which has the power, magical power, to evoke certain responses in
the hearer or the reader, and this power never leaves it.

'But the reason poetry has virtue at all times lies in the need of man for magical formulations, word-patterns, which give expression to emotional or intellectual situations perpetually recurrent in the human condition'.

 I have always wondered where lines of poetry came from that come into my head and am very happy to know that there is a sort of magic that goes with them.

                                                                      *









Only Cotton

In the Southern Punjab
the sun scorches, the insects hum,
small pieces of cotton dust
fill the air,
whirl, suffocate, poison.
Aruni and Paloma, ten and twelve,
bend and pick, bend and pick,
hour after hour.
Scratches on their arms
scab and bleed,
their heads ache,
their vision blurs,
their drinking water canisters
contaminated with lethal spray.
At dusk they crawl home.
At dawn, they start another day.

                  *

Mrs. Anne Hudson-Berry
selects a cool cotton dress
adorns herself,
hails a taxi
has lunch at the Ritz.

                                                                *

With very best wishes, Patricia
                              



























Sunday 20 January 2019

January Weather

Dear Reader,


A few years ago a very dear friend had a terrible accident at a cross roads near here in which the driver of the other car was killed.  Apparently it was all due to the January sun being very low in the sky.   What was all this about I wondered and here are a few thoughts about what I found.

During the autumn and winter months the sun is naturally lower in the sky.  This means that when light hits the surface it will also reflect that lower angle. In summer the sun is much higher in the sky. According to the AA in the UK, sun glare causes over 2,900 accidents annually on British roads.
Sun glare impacts your sight even after you have been exposed, which means that for a few seconds you won't be able to see things ahead of you.  This experience has been described as 'blinding'.

I expect this is what happened to the Duke of Edinburgh and lots of people will be advising him not to continue driving.  But I do hope that he doesn't attend to this and carries on as long as he feels able.  As an old person myself I hope to be able to drive as long as I can without causing any trouble on the roads, thus keeping my independence.

                                                                         *

January Weather

We know from recorded history,
that in St. Merryn
a hundred years ago,
there blew great winds
and the sea was smoking white.

We know it was warm in Kent,
where the thrushes thought spring
had come, and piped away.
And primroses were a yellow carpet
in North Norfolk,
or so the parson wrote.

We know of cutting winds in Hampshire,
of icicles and frost, and
in Skiddaw on a mild day,
a brown spotted butterfly was seen.
We know that hungry church
mice ate bible markers,
hungry people died of cold.

And we know that this dark winter month
had days of snow, that wild clouds
gathered in the sky unleashing icy rain,
churning up the plough.

And yet again, we also know
the sun shone in that distant year,
it was warm enough to push through
early snowdrops, and Holy Thorn.
Light was glimpsed, here and there,
all life struggled for its moments.


                                                                         *

With very best wishes, Patricia




Sunday 13 January 2019

In Her Spare Room

Dear Reader,


                                                                            Toad, Badger, Mole and Ratty



I have been reading an excellent book given to me at Christmas about Kenneth Grahame's life by Matthew Dennison called 'Eternal Boy'.  As most of you readers will know 'The Wind in the Willows' is one of my very favourite books and I thought you might like a snippet of information about the author's life. 

In January 1879 Kenneth arrived for the first time at the Bank of England and started work in the position of gentleman clerk.    He was nineteen years old, serious-minded, tall, and broad-shouldered.  He had not been keen to work in a bank and had hoped to go to Oxford University  but his uncle, John Grahame, refused to fund a university education.  He  thought a good job in a bank was what Kenneth should have and procured him a place at the Bank of England.  Kenneth had read a piece by George Augustus Sala, published in 1859, which painted a sober picture of the clerk's working day.   He described a 'great army of clerk martyrs....settling down to their loads of cash-book and ledger-fillers' each morning like clockwork.  Sala apostrophised their wretchedness...

During his life,  Kenneth wrote many essays rejecting commercial, cooperate and committee life, celebrating the 'escape' of city men from the daily grind. His real love was the countryside and in particular, waters and rivers.   Long after his retirement when asked to write about his experiences at the Bank of England he replied  'Nothing doing ....much too dull a subject.'

                                                                         *

In Her Spare Room

I see these books,
draw in a breath,
as cherished memories
race into my head.

These are:

Akenfield
Portrait of an English Village
Swallows and Amazons 
The Speckledy Hen
The Little Flower of St. Francis
My Friend Flicka
The Wind in the Willows
Tales of an Old Inn

The owner of this house
is unknown to me,
but her collection
of treasured books
tells me a little of her,
what makes her who she is,
what makes me who I am.

                                                                          *

Very best wishes, Patricia




 

Sunday 6 January 2019

Waif

Dear Reader,



                                                                                         Waifs
 Dear Reader,

I have had a bad cold and cough this week so haven't thought of something interesting to tell you  but I have read 'The English Year Book' and thought you might like some of the quotes.

January 4th, Richard Hayes, 1764 in Kent.

'Our roads are very full of water, I never saw the London turnpike so much cut with the carriages, by having almost continuous rains little or much.'

January 4th, S.T. Coleridge, 1804 in Westmorland.

Horsedung echoing to the merry (Foot) traveller on a frosty morning.

January 5th, Katherine Mansfield, 1915 in Buckinghamshire

'Saw the sun rise.  A lovely apricot sky with flames in it and then a solemn pink.  Heavens, how beautiful!  I heard a knocking, and went downstairs.  It was Benny cutting away the ivy.  Over the path lay the fallen nests - wisps of hay and feathers.  He looked like an ivy bush himself.  I made early tea and carried it up to J., who lay half awake with crinkled eyes.  I feel so full of love today after having seen the sun rise'.

                                                                          *

Waif

The waif lived in a tent
on the beach.
He was cold, he was hungry.
He was always hungry.

He met a boy from a big house.
They played together
on the sand, picked up winkles
and shells, ran down to the sea.

The boy took him to his house
cut large slices of bread,
buttered them, piled cherry jam on top,
gave them to the waif who
wolfed them down.

When autumn came the boy
went back to boarding school.
The waif missed his friend,
screwed his fists into his eyes
as the tears gathered.
Wept for the loss of friendship and food.

                                                                          *

With best wishes, Patricia