Rambling about Poetry When I Should Be Making Pies

I just had an Aha! moment:  the daily email from Writer’s Almanac ended with this George Eliot quote:

“If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life,
it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heart beat,
and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.”
~ George Eliot


So that’s where she got the title of her book!  She is Suzanne U. Clark and her book is entitled The Roar on the Other Side, A Guide for Student Poets.  And it’s one of those wonderful books that I dipped into when it first arrived and one of those wonderful books which eventually was left languishing on my shelf.  [Janie, we’re doing a Winter Reading Challenge, right?  This book will be on my list.]

How do you feel about poetry?  My father loved poetry, absolutely adored it.  When he was dying of pancreatic cancer, one of his students visited him in the hospital and they exchanged lines of poetry in the fashion of Marianne and Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility.  

I’ve been lukewarm about poetry until about ten years ago.  Now the reading of a poem is part of our daily morning routine.  We’ve read our way through a few anthologies and have several poetry collections in our queue.  One of the bennies of a modest familiarity of general poetry is that when an allusion or outright reference to a poem is dropped in literature, we usually catch it.   Additionally, I think the daily drip, drip of words crafted together will infuse into us a sense of their beauty. 

Please! Some days the poems are dogs.  My son and I both roll our eyes and mumble what-ev-er.  Some days I’m delighted and my son is tolerant. On occasion, however, the words hit their mark and arrest us both. 

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks,
And in some perfumes there is more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet by heaven I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Sonnet CXXX
 ~ William Shakespeare

“And in some perfumes there is more delight than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.” Did you laugh outloud when you read this line?  I did! I love this sonnet, I think, because I could imagine my husband saying these words.  It was his honesty, his integrity that drew me to him, and honest he is.  Even when I have bad breath.  Kind, mind you, but truthful.  He eschews sentimentality and doesn’t particularly care for Hallmark cards. The couplet at the end is essential to the sonnet.  Because his love is also the truth.

My middle son, who is getting married next month, inherited the blunt genes but also the kind ones.  I can count on him to let me know if I have missed plucking a truant hair from my chin.   I value this highly because I hate those nasty female chin hairs!  And I know he loves me, and it is this love and not nastiness that informs those lovely conversations. 

For Lisa, the dearest of dear friends,

OLD FRIENDSHIP

Beautiful and rich is an old friendship,

Grateful to the touch as ancient ivory,

Smooth as aged wine, or sheen of tapestry

Where light has lingered, intimate and long.

Full of tears and warm is an old friendship

That asks no longer deeds of gallantry,

Or any deed at all – save that the friend shall be

Alive and breathing somewhere, like a song.

Eunice Tierjens, Leaves in Windy Weather

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Our computer at home died.  Dead.  We are hoping for a resurrection and waiting for an Elijah to come visiting.  (Or is it Elisha?)  I’m at the library and have lost this post once already; I’m pushing the 30 minute internet limit, but they like me here!  I had a picture in mind for Fine Art Friday and can’t find it on the web.  Rats!

I’m trying to learn thankfulness in all things.  I want to type: (sigh); but I don’t think sighing is learning thankfulness, do you?  (grin) 

This week has brought a mixture of light fun and heavy interactions.  Have you noticed that emotional work is very exhausting?  I’m getting random – I’d better go.  Happy November, dear reader.

For All The Saints

This is one of my favorite hymns.  I want it sung at my funeral.  I have a long and ever growing wish list of music for this service.  My husband gently reminds me that funerals are usually an hour, or two, in duration.  But For All the Saints is significant as my first choice, made when I was in my twenties.   This hymn makes me yearn for the “yet more glorious day” while I feebly struggle here on earth, reminds me of the communion we share with those who have gone before, and strengthens me with that distant triumph song.   You can hear it here.

For all the saints who from their labors rest,
Who thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy name O Jesus, be forever blest.
Alleluia!  Alleluia!

Thou wast their rock, their fortress, and their might;
Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight;
Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true light.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

O blest communion, fellowship divine!
We feebly struggle, they in glory shine;
All are one in Thee, for all are Thine.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

O may thy soldiers faithful, true, and bold,
Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old,
And win with them the victor’s crown of gold.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long,
Steals on the ear the distant triumph song,
And hearts are brave, again, and arms are strong.
Alleluia, Alleluia!

The golden evening brightens in the west;
Soon, soon to faithful warriors comes their rest;
Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day;
The saints triumphant rise in bright array;
The King of glory passes on his way.
Alleluia! Alleluia!

From earth’s wide bonds, from ocean’s farthest coast,
Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host,
Singing to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Alleluia!  Alleluia!

words by William Walsham How 1864, 1875
tune by Ralph Vaughan Williams, 1906

These I Have Loved

I love to read lists like this.  Having it in poetical form is delight upon delight.  What are some of your favorite items?  I especially like the strong crust of friendly bread, and hair’s fragrance. Don’t you love hugging a friend and smelling her/his hair?  Or am I weird?  Rupert Brooke hits all the senses doesn’t he? 

These
I Have Loved

 
These
I have loved:

White
plates and cups, clean-gleaming,

Ringed
with blue lines; and feathery, fairy dust;

Wet
roofs, beneath the lamplight; the strong crust

Of
friendly bread; and many-tasting food;

Rainbows;
and the blue bitter smoke of wood;

And
radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;

And
flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours,

Dreaming
of moths that drink them under the moon;

Then,
the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon

Smooth
away trouble; and the rough male kiss

Of
blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is

Shining
and free; blue-massing clouds; the keen

Unpassioned
beauty of a great machine;

The
benison of hot water; furs to touch;

The
good smell of old clothes; and other such—

The
comfortable smell of friendly fingers,

Hair’s
fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers

About
dead leaves and last year’s ferns—

                                                Dear
names,

And
thousand others throng to me! Royal flames;

Sweet
water’s dimpling laugh from tap or spring;

Holes
in the ground; and voices that do sing—

Voices
in laughter, too; and body’s pain,

Soon
turned to peace; and the deep-panting train;

Firm
sands; the little dulling edge of foam

That
browns and dwindles as the wave goes home;

And
washen stones, gay for an hour; the cold

Graveness
of iron; moist black earthen mold;

Sleep;
and high places; footprints in the dew;

And
oaks; and brown horse chestnuts, glossy-new;

And
new-peeled sticks; and shining pools on grass—

All
these have been my loves.

 Rupert
Brooke (1887-1915)

April is Poetry Month!

This poem’s length will tempt many to skip it.  But it truly is worth the time and contemplation. It captures the emotional cyles of life and the renewal that “spring” seasons of life bring. What do you think of it?

The Flower   

How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean
Are They returns! even as the flowers in Spring
To which, besides their own demean,
The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring;
   Grief melts away
   Like snow in May,
As if there were no such cold thing.

Who would have thought my shriveled heart
Could have recovered greenness? It was gone
Quite underground; as flowers depart
To see their mother-root, when they have blown,
   Where they together
   All the hard weather
Dead to the world, keep house unknown.

And now in age I bud again,
After so many deaths I live and write;
I once more smell the dew and the rain,
And relish versing: O, my only Light,
   It cannot be
   That I am he
On whom they tempests fell all night.

George Herbert

Shout!

Shout, for the blessed Jesus reigns;
Through distant lands his triumphs spread;
And sinners, freed from endless pains,
Own Him their Saviour and their Head.

He calls his chosen from afar,
They all at Zion’s gates arrive;
Those who were dead in sin before
By sovereign grace are made alive.

Loud hallelujahs to the Lamb,
From all below, and all above!
In lofty songs exalt his name,
In songs as lasting as his love.

Benjamin Beddome, 1769

The tune for this, Truro, is one of my favorites.  I’m playing this during the prelude tomorrow.

Life Verse

I was reading in Isaiah today and came across my life verse in 12:2

Behold, God is my salvation,
I will trust and not be afraid;
For the Lord God is my strength and song,
And He has become my salvation.

You can easily line up the options:
salvation, security, strength, song        ~         despair, fear, weakness, empty silence

I like the interplay between God’s work and my response:  God saves me, I trust Him, but He is my salvation.  The nuance between the declarative present tense is and the progressive sense of has become is another delight to me.  The musical element is very precious.  The chiastic nature of the verse links trusting and singing together.  This verse gripped me as a young girl and has carried me through the quiet pools and the deep waters of life.

Do you have a life verse?