It gets worse and worse.

poetry, quotes, , , , ,

Malcolm Guite answers a question about writing poetry.

“You bring up depression. Many of your poems are helpful companions during dark times. When your poems touch on difficulty, they do so as one who has experienced it and yet you’re such a jolly man. How is that?” 

“Ah, yes, well, a couple of things about that.” He laughs. “As you know, these are things we all share in common. One of the things I consciously resist and rebel against is the idea of poetry as just personal self-expression. The idea of the lonely, romantic genius in his weird, peculiar place, who everyone has to make allowances for leads to this kind of confessional poetry which gets worse and worse and more and more obscure. What does it amount to? Another strange adventure in the little world of me. I don’t buy that at all. No, I want to be the bard of a tribe, to tell the great, collective stories that bind us together, but, of course, I tell them as they’ve happened to me. Whatever is personal of mine, is most emphatically not in the poems as purely self-expression.

“Confessional poetry becomes very tedious after a while. The poetry I want to write and that I enjoy reading articulates the joys and sorrows of life. As to the jollity, I suppose I would say that anyone with lighter emotions who hasn’t experienced any pain is in danger of sentiment. I trust them about as much as I trust a Thomas Kincaid painting. You know, there’s a term Tolkien coined, eucatastrophe. Eu, meaning good, so a good catastrophe, but it still has the word catastrophe in it. In some sense, the eucatastrophe at the end of the Lord of the Rings is trustworthy because we’ve been with these characters to the very edge of the crack of doom. That’s why I trust the resurrection because the church doesn’t backpedal on Good Friday.”

From the Rabbit Room

Little shining water.

nature, , ,
A favorite eucalyptus tree.

Yesterday my godmother called, suggesting that we go for coffee or a walk. What a nice idea! I knew I needed the walk, and didn’t need the coffee, so she came over, and we ambled along my usual path, but farther than I’ve been going lately. That gave me the oomph to go again this afternoon, on a Sunday of all days, when typically I need a nap more, and rarely get that…

It’s been a week or more since the rains, I can’t keep track, and the creek has quieted down to a silver ribbon. Actually I walk along two different creeks, and cross the bridge where they merge.

The tender fennel ferns are popping out greenly.

Through these sweet fields.

nature, poetry, , , ,

When the flowers of earth have faded,
go outside at night and look up…

WANDERERS

Wide are the meadows of night
And daisies are shining there,
Tossing their lovely dews,
Lustrous and fair;
And through these sweet fields go,
Wanderers ‘mid the stars __
Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune,
Saturn, Jupiter, Mars.

Tired in their silver, they move,
And circling, whisper and say,
Fair are the blossoming meads of delight
Through which we stray.

-Walter de la Mare

All the weeds are pretty.

homemaking, housework, my garden, work, , , , , , ,
Hairy Bittercress

When the overcast lifted and the sun came out, and my house and I were warmed up, thanks to the wood fire that I was oh so grateful to have had the energy to get going — then I looked out the kitchen window and decided that I would wash the glass patio table that had gotten all dirty from rain and wind and leaves.

It was one of those things where you do one little task, which leads to another, and another. I was oh so grateful for the way that happens, which also can’t be counted on. I pulled out the bare and mushy begonia stems nearby, that had been pleading with me through the window for weeks, and so removed their shame. From there I carried my small green trug all around the garden to fill with trimmings of mint, rose geranium, and part of a lavender bush that had escaped the shears back in the summer.

Chocolate mint

I even repotted a plant! Soon after Christmas Day I had gone to the nursery to see if they still had a little live Christmas tree of any sort, but they were sold out. I had thought a conifer in a pot would be nice by my front door, to get me through the winter. It’s become a pet project to have something in that spot, a plant that is healthy and cheery, and preferably blooming, to greet guests and me when we come and go.

They were sold out of Christmas trees at the nursery, but they did have blooming Kangaroo Paws. I brought one home and switched out the aster right away, but the new plant was cramped — so I moved it into a larger pot where it could spread its roots out more comfortably. This is the “before” picture, though:

All the weeds are pretty right now, because they are all tiny and fresh-fresh green. I can identify most of the peskiest, which in some cases come from seeds or plants that in past years I encouraged to grow in my garden. From that group the ones that I am now dis-couraging to greater or lesser degree are Love-in-a-Mist (nigella), violas, and California poppies.

Common groundsel

I pulled dozens of just-up nigella and bittercress out from around other plants that I don’t want to be choked out, and promised myself I would work on the asparagus beds in couple of days, after they have dried out more:

Violas infesting the asparagus beds.

The plan is to remove all the violas, and then spread mulch again. I don’t know what has been digging in there — maybe crows?

Baby California poppy with Hairy Bittercress

My favorite leather work gloves are pigskin, because they are soft and flexible enough not to hinder me throwing wood into the stove, or doing other tasks that require some dexterity. But they wear out really fast, and are expensive. So I ordered two other types to try out, and they arrived today:

The ones on the left are supple enough and mold to my hands, and I think I’ll use them in the house when dealing with the wood and the stove. The ones on the right are stiffer, but they will be fine for carrying cordwood into the garage or house.

For gardening, I use non-leather gloves, because for that I need even more dexterity, but I end up taking them off half the time. I’m thinking of switching to thin vinyl gloves, but I wonder if my hands just have a mind of their own, and want to be in the dirt all the way.

There’s no rain or frost on the forecast here in my corner of the world, but sunshine is predicted. That will be good for my mood, and probably for sleep, too. I think I’ll make it through January again!

Petty spurge