Night night HHH!
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Awww Herakles, please don't worry. You will be amongst friends and I'm sure I speak for most of us when I say that I am just excited to be meeting a few of the fell poets at long last and have no expectations of people's appearence or ability...they aren't important to me. Being able to talk to you all in the flesh and hopefully sharing an amazing and challenging experience is what matters. I think this thread shows how supportive and non-judgemental we all are, you included, and I really do hope that you'll come.
I'm off to bed too, I don't want to ruin this feeling of being almost back to normal by being exhausted again...night all!xx
Herakles, I can only echo what Hes said; You will be amongst freinds so it would be good to see you there. Even if you decide not to run there are always the kiddies races for the family and we'll all need cheering on as we come of Cat Bells. So don't give up on the day even if you don't fancy racing.
Nicely put by Hes and Harry, appearance and ability matter not, we are not flawless, perfect, supermodel celebrities (cosmetically enhanced and depth of character removed) we are fellrunners of all shapes and sizes, a wide range of ability and varying hairdo's strung out on a hill and welcoming anyone who wants to join us;)
freezing Midlands dawn
tangerine, apricot sky
sugar-coated fields
:cool:
Hope is the thing with feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all
And sweetest in the Gale is heard
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm
I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest Sea
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb of Me.
Emily Dickinson
Nice choice Stef :cool:
Keeping with the ornithology (and hope) theme :)
The Darkling Thrush
I leant upon a coppice gate
When Frost was spectre-gray,
And Winter's dregs made desolate
The weakening eye of day.
The tangled bine-stems scored the sky
Like strings of broken lyres,
And all mankind that haunted nigh
Had sought their household fires.
The land's sharp features seemed to be
The Century's corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fevourless as I.
At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited;
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt, and small,
In blast-beruffled plume,
Had chosen thus to fling his soul
Upon the growing gloom.
So little cause for carolings
Of such ecstatic sound
Was written on terrestrial things
Afar or nigh around,
That I could think there trembled through
His happy good-night air
Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew
And I was unaware.
Thomas Hardy
thanks for posting Emily Dickinson Stef F. I did n't know till I read in the paper yesterday that Emily Dickinson was virtually unknown in her own lifetime and her collection of 1800 poems were discovered by her sister, who thought they warranted recognition and duly got them published and the rest as they say is history.
carpet of snowdrops
beneath busy rookery
heralds season's turn
:cool:
The Fell Poets Society present
Simon Armitage
at Dufton Village Hall
15th of July 2010
8pm
The Poet and Writer Simon Armitage will be reading a selection of poetry as he walks the Pennine Way from north to south.
Entry is free but Simon will be passing his hat round at the end of the evening to see if he can fund his walk by performing each night.
with regards to a bookshop setting up and providing some books for sale yadda yadda yadda, First place that comes to mind is Sedbergh which markets itself as abook town I bet one of the private book shops there would be more than willing I could e mail some of these if you want, but I don't want stand on any toes if this is already arranged.
Good plan. Feel free to make some enquiries. I'm happy to sort out the bits and pieces of publicity I mentioned if you do that.
Does anyone have access to a PA system of some sort, I've got a megaphone but that might not quite be right! :eek:
http://www.skeptic.co.za/images/stories/megaphone2.jpg
Well done Harry :cool:, maybe we can ask Simon to sign some of the books sold before and after his reading?
Do we know his itineray prior to Dufton such as where his previous stop is and what time is he leaving so people can join him on the walk to Dufton?
I Am Vertical
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
Sucking up minerals and motherly love
So that each March I may gleam into leaf,
Nor am I the beauty of a garden bed
Attracting my share of Ahs and spectacularly painted,
Unknowing I must soon unpetal.
Compared with me, a tree is immortal
And a flower-head not tall, but more startling,
And I want the one's longevity and the other's daring.
Tonight, in the infinitesimallight of the stars,
The trees and the flowers have been strewing their cool odors.
I walk among them, but none of them are noticing.
Sometimes I think that when I am sleeping
I must most perfectly resemble them--
Thoughts gone dim.
It is more natural to me, lying down.
Then the sky and I are in open conversation,
And I shall be useful when I lie down finally:
Then the trees may touch me for once, and the flowers have time for me.
Who else? But our Sylvia.
That is wonderful!
Great credit to HHH, N-dubya and Freckle for making this a reality in such a short time! Didn't think I'd be going back to Dufton so soon. I seem to remember leaving a whole lot of Black Sheep ale untouched on account of having the car last time.
I can bring an unsophisticated PA unless someone else has something snazzier.
Hi Alf we are organising for books to be there to purchase and people can bring their own to sign too, there will be more details about this and the walk nearer the time but if you are interested in finding out more about the itireray it is on simon armitage's website.....
http://www.simonarmitage.com/
First Kiss
by April Lindner
This collision of teeth, of tongues and lips,
is like feeling for the door
in a strange room, blindfolded.
He imagines he knows her
after four dates, both of them taking pains
to laugh correctly, to make eye contact.
She thinks at least this long first kiss
postpones the moment she'll have to face
four white walls, the kitchen table,
its bowl of dried petals and nutmeg husks,
the jaunty yellow vase with one jaunty bloom,
the answering machine's one bloodshot eye.
Love's Emblems
Now the lusty spring is seen;
Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view:
Everywhere on every green
Roses blushing as they blow
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.'
Yet the lusty spring hath stayed;
Blushing red and purest white
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid:
Cherries kissing as they grow,
And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waist:
All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.'
John Fletcher, from the New Penguin Book of Love Poetry
I've posted this before but I felt it's really appropriate for me tonight. I've had such a busy weekend which has involved a hell of a lot of driving, I ran a 25 miler on Sat, and I've just finished a 12 hour shift today(with over 2 hours of driving to add on to the day!) So...now I'm home...alone too :(...babba has to stay at Grandmas while I'm working...missing her tons...:(
Jimjams on and glass of wine in hand, I really love this poem...
The Day Is Done
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
Such songs have power to quiet.
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music
And the cares, that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
Big congratulations and thank you for organising the Simon Armitage gig! That is so fantastic. I'm sorry that I haven't been more help but you guys seem to have it wrapped up. Your efficiency is amazing.
Am shattered...common theme on the thread. Am off for a few days r&r in Penzance with my mum. I'll try and look in and post when I can.
with the setting sun
my running mate grows taller
and then she is gone
Good morning all!
Crows nerve fails
Ted Hughes
Crow, feeling his brain slip,
Finds his every feather the fossil of a murder.
Who murdered all these?
These living dead, that root in his nerves and his blood
Till he is visibly black?
How can he fly from his feathers?
And why have they homed on him?
Is he the archive of their accusations?
Or their ghostly purpose, their pining vengeance?
Or their unforgiven prisoner?
He cannot be forgiven.
His prison is the earth. Clothed in his conviction,
Trying to remember his crimes
Heavily he flies.