Que reste-t-il de nos amours?

Dear Reader,

If you aren't much good at french translation: 

Que reste-t-il de nos amours?  Que reste-t-il de ces beaux jours? 

 I thought of this poem after watching a film with Iris Murdoch and another actress dancing in their kitchen but the title could apply to anyone.

It roughly means: What is left of our love? Where have all those beautiful days gone?   

Quite so.  I send a lot of time at night awake these days and obviously think about my life.  Why did I do this thing or that? Why didn't my marriage work out? Why did I send someone to prison when I was a magistrate, when I don't believe in prisons as they are?  Why did I send my children to boarding school when I was so unhappy at the ones I went to?  These are the sort of questions I ask myself but have come to the conclusion it is much better not to.  We did what we did, presumably at the time we thought it was for the best and really that is an end to it.  Looking forward is the best way to be happy now I think.  

I have just started to put some of my poems on a Poetry Group page and it has been uplifting and fun.  I was very welcomed by Tony Church, the administrator, and others and I am very much enjoying being part of it.  I have always been a bit of a recluse and loner but have found much to entertain me as one of the group. Thank you Poets Corner.

                                                                                     *

My chimp has been very quiet this week, sitting in his box peacefully. I saw photos of real chimps in the wild this week with some information about them. As I remember it, it said that chimps reactions to each other are very much the same as ours to each other. I don't think that news came as a surprise.  I would remind anyone who has forgotten that my chimp lives in my head and was introduced to me by Prof. Steve Peters in his book: The Chimp Paradox. 

                                                                                     *

From Samuel Pepys, January 29th, 1661Surrey

'To Southwark, and so over the fields to Lambeth, and there drank, it being a  most glorious and warm day, even to amazement, for this time of year.'

                                                                                     *

Que reste-t-il de nos amours?

 

 

 

 

A kitchen somewhere in France,

a candle alight on a small round table

remains of supper not yet cleared,

two old women sitting silently,

listening to soft music.

 

‘Que reste-t-il de nos amours?

Que reste-t-il de ses beaux jours?’

 

The two old women rise slowly,

start to dance,

gently holding each other close

crumpled hand in crumpled hand,

cheek brushing cheek,

no words spoken.

 

Is it of the once vibrant love

they had had together

that they are thinking,

or of other loves, or that life is short,

and each of us only have one turn at it,

that life is only made of moments

and they have had their share?

 

‘Que reste-t-il de tout cela

   Dites le moi?’

 

The two old women dance on, 

quietly swaying,

to soft music no longer playing.......

 

                                                                              *

 

With very best wishes, Patricia

 

 

 

 

 

Journeys

 Dear reader,

I didn't know much about lions but found out that lions are the only cats that live in groups which are called prides, though there is one population of solitary lions. Prides are family units that may comprise anywhere from two to 40 lions including up to three or four males, a dozen or so females and their young. All of the pride's lionessess are related, and female cubs typically stay with the group as they age . Young males eventually leave and establish their own prides by taking over a group headed by another male.

Males defend their territory, marking the area with urine, roaring menacingly to warn intruders and chasing off animals that encroach on their turf.  Female lions are pride's primary hunters and leaders.  They often work together to prey on antelopes. zebras, wildebeest, and other large animals of the open grasslands. Many of these animals are faster than lions, so teamwork pays off. Female lions also raise their cubs communally.  Lions will also hunt alone if the opportunity presents itself and they also steal kills from hyenas or wild dogs.

                                                                                      *

I did say I would keep you up to date every so often about my chimp and how he is behaving.  Just to remind you this chimp lives in my head.  This week he went berserk.  I thought my daughter Jessica was coming to see me at teatime on Friday.  But she didn't turn up.  Well, said the chimp, she has probably been in an accident. Not don't worry, she probably got held up somewhere, or forgot. It had to be something bad or catastrophic according to my chimp.  It turns out I had got the wrong day.  But the chimp can make life a misery and I had to give him a severe talking to.  Whether it will do any good...... 

                                                                                        *

From Francis Kilvert, January 22nd, 1872 in Radnorshire

'Sunday.  A cold raw frost fog, dark and dreary....The Chapel bell rolled out sharp and sudden through the white mist to give notice of the service a quarter of an hour beforehand.  The hedges were hoary with rime and frost and the trees were hailing large pieces of ice down into the road.

Few people in Chapel.....I thought the markers in the Bible and Prayers had suddenly become very short, and after service Wilding the Clerk told me the church mice had eaten them off.'

                                                                                      *

Journeys

 

Young,
we fly to distant places,
walk the Silk Road,
swim in the Nile,
climb Kilimanjaro,
sail the great seas,
picnic in the desert
under the stars.

 

Middle aged, with children,
we travel to Europe,
walk in the hills,
ski, surf board, visit museums,
exclaim at the Eiffel Tower,
swim in rivers,
raid the High Streets.

Grandparents, and old now,

we travel all over the world,
enjoy lions in Africa,
natives dancing in Bali,
big white whales in vast oceans,
and explore National Parks

while drinking cups of tea,
preparing for the unknown

and longest journey.

                                                                                                           ^*

^{With very best wishes, Patricia}
                     

 

 

Sometimes

Dear Reader, 

First of all thank you so much all those of you who wrote voting that my blog continues.  I am very glad and will do my best to make the page interesting, funny sometimes, and hope that my poem touches the heart.

This week I have been reading more books about the first World War. Vera Brittain's very powerful autobiography, 'Testament of Youth'.  This war is my special interest, perhaps because my father served in it.  He was mentioned in dispatches three times for bravery and when he came home was never very well.  He had been gassed.  What Vera is saying in this long book is that her generation of young people, say between 18 years old and 25, lost their youthful exciting years because of the war.  Instead of finishing her degree at Oxford university she became a nurse and performed her horrible duties with a heavy heart.  Her fiance was killed at the front and she never really got over it.  Hers was a 'bankrupt, shattered generation' and she hoped the successive generations would learn from the war's futility and  horror.

I wonder if they have?

                                                                                      *

From Gilbert White, 1776, January 14th in Hampshire

'Rugged, Siberian weather,  The narrow lanes are full of snow in some places .....The road-waggons are obliged to stop, and the stage-coaches are much embarassed.  I was obliged to be  much abroad on this day, and scarce ever saw its fellow.'

From James Woodeforde, 1790, January 14th in Norfolk

'The season so remarkably mild and warm that my brother gathered this morning in my garden some full blown primroses.'

                                                                                     *

Sometimes

I feel overwhelmed by
a spirit of joyfulness,
a desire to jump, to dance,
to laugh, to see the world
in a bright light,

sometimes I am optimistic
enjoy the warmth of the sun,
soft patter of rain on my face,
the wonders of this world.

Sometimes I believe
people are kind and good,
are innocent of evil,
deserve praise and
I honour them

and sometimes I don't.

                                                                                  *

With very best wishes, Patricia

The Mind cupboard

 Dear Reader,

My daughter Jessica thought I might like to have a Poetry Page on Facebook in order to meet other poets.  This I made last week and then joined a poetry group.  I have already been in touch with one or two poets and found this to be an enjoyable situation.  Years ago in Oxford I went to a Creative Writing Course for Poets and met lots of like minded people which was lovely, and stayed friends with many of then after the course ended.  Sadly the the meetings had to stop for various reasons and since then I have only one poet friend, in fact my tutor, Sue Johnson.  She is very busy and also lives a long way away from me so I am poet friend bereft. 

I have been writing this blog for seven years now and wonder if any of you readers do in fact read my poem of the week.  Or do you enjoy the blog for other reasons?  I do want to know so please take the time to write to me.   patricia.huthellis@googlemail.com        and say whether you want me to continue or not. If I get five people wanting me to continue, I will.  If not, I won't.  It is up to you.  Over 71,000 people have kindly looked at the blog over these years and I will be sad not to write it anymore. I look forward to Sundays when, after breakfast, I retire into my study and write.  It has been a rewarding journey so far, and long may it continue if you wish it to be so.

                                                                                   *

                                                         If man does not keep pace
                                                                with his companions,
                                                        perhaps it is because he hears
                                                                   a different drummer.
                                                          Let him step to the music
                                                                          he hears
                                                          however measured or far away.

                                                                                           Thoreau

                                                                                     *

The Mind Cupboard

My mind cupboard overflows
with unwanted debris.
It needs a spring clean.

I will brush away the cobwebs
of cheerless thoughts.
Scrub out the stains of childhood.

I will replace the brass hooks
corroded with salt tears,
empty all the screams
hoarded through the years.

I will replace the accumulated ashes
from the worn shelf-paper,
with virgin tissue.

I will chase and catch the wasps,
relieve them of their stings.
I will refill this cupboard
with love, and learnt, brighter things.

                                                                                     *

With very best wishes, and don't forget to let me know,

Patricia

January Weather

                                                                                 Skiddaw mountain

 

Dear reader,

I do hope you all enjoyed a lovely and peaceful Christmas and a very happy New Year to you too.  We had a very quiet time with daughter Jessica, and granddaughter Mary who cooked the lunch, a nut roast and lots of vegetables, delicious. We also had Christmas pudding and brandy butter.  The crackers were a bit of a disappointment, from Marks and Spencer, with no toys or games. However, we had paper hats so felt festive nevertheless. 

Now it is on to 2023 and I am optimistically thinking it will be a good year.  As every day I am alive and maybe there won't be all that many left, I am determined to make each day important and special.  Not with something big but just a small goal to be thought of and then done.  Perhaps writing a new poem  or turning out a draw, or getting in touch with  friend who is not well and cheering them up.  And every day I must do my exercises.  I know this sounds very boring but I do know that when I do do them I walk better and can get up from the floor with some ease. 2023 bring it on!

                                                                                       *

Chimp news.  For those of you who have forgotten what the Chimp is, let me just remind you. He is your other self and lives in your head.  He is a very nice chap but difficult sometimes.   His main goal is to look after you and see you come to no harm.   But he can be over zealous.  While the adult human  interprets things in a calm and logical manner the Chimp interprets things in an emotional manner.  Still he was relatively quiet over the break and I didn't have to admonish him more than once.  The Chimp can be your best friend or your worst enemy.  This is the Chimp paradox.  The book about the Chimp Paradox is by Professor Steve Peters.  I have found it very helpful in dealing with anxiety.  My Chimp is my friend but I have to question his wisdom sometimes.

                                                                                      *

From Samuel Pepys, 1667, January 1st, in London

'Lay long, being a bitter, cold, frosty day, the frost being now grown old, and the Thames covered with ice.'

From Gilbert White, 1768, January 1st, in Hampshire

'It freezes under people's beds.'

                                                                                       *

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, 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