Hi Freckle, great to see you! I've been absent from here for ages. It would be great to catch up with you sometime soon. Hope all is well?.xx
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
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Hi Freckle, great to see you! I've been absent from here for ages. It would be great to catch up with you sometime soon. Hope all is well?.xx
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Eee! I know what you mean. Chin up lass. :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Three original fell poets all on at once. Blimey. That's not happened for a while! Hi to you both. x
I was just thinking the same thing! Its a rare occasion these days. Good to be with you both.
Quote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Take care guys, I'm off to bed. Got a strenuous day ahead tomorrow. Ducky's Farm Park awaits. ;-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Ha Ha ! good luck with that one Harry, can I remind you two and all frequenters of the thread to check out the durham literary festival website as loads of poets are performing and it could be a good time to meet up.....Hes I am OK (just about!) xQuote:
Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill
Night HHH, enjoy the farm! X
Thanks for the tip off Freckle, I'll take a look. It would be great to meet up and maybe have a wee run too. I'm off to bed now but will be in touch, would be good to hear how you're getting on. Night night xx
Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Fantastic Hes, and you've really caught the somber spirit of the moment. Ran up Cairn Gorm last Sunday and it was 'full-on/ no holds barred' winter, snow, severely below zero wind chill, dense cloud and gloves icing up!!! No single vestige of summer there anymore!Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Another gem from Piet Hein, thinking like the physicist he was....
I'd like to know
what this whole show
is all about
before it's out
Chinese noodles
just like doodles
egg fried rice
is very nice
:o
Following on the autumnal theme, I have visited one or two stunning beaches this summer but the memory now is fading fast. The beaches between Arisaig and Moror in the Highlands are just unbelievable and completely beautiful - all white sand, dunes and rocky spurs with a backdrop, just to round things off, of the islands of Rhum, Eigg and Skye as a skyline out to sea.
And then totally randomly discovering Talisker Bay in Skye – a rugged rocky beach, at the end of a long walk through the fields from where the road runs out, with high cliffs either end, off the side of one a mini (but not that mini) replica of Angel Falls cascades!! And then as the tide goes out a gorgeous light and dark dappled, fine sandy beach is exposed. You’d have to see it to believe it – its almost like something out of a dinosaur movie. Have a look at this!!!:).
I also did a humungous swim with one of my daughters off of Anaxos beach in Lesbos to a little crag of an island way out to sea – when we finally washed up on the island we felt like we’d discovered our own special secret haven.... albeit it one burnt to a crisp by the relentless sun and covered in cormorant droppings and surrounded by an urchin invested shallows :D. And Eftalou Beach much be one of the most unspoilt beaches in Greece, gorgeous but rocky with swimming costumes that soon disappear completely when you stray a couple of hundred yards from the taverna.
Anyway here’s a beach poem that kind of fits the bill...
I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining,
A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on;
I came when the sun o'er that beach was declining,
The bark was still there, but the waters were gone.
And such is the fate of our life's early promise,
So passing the spring-tide of joy we have known;
Each wave that we danced on at morning ebbs from us,
And leaves us, at eve, on the bleak shore alone.
Oh, who would not welcome that moment's returning
When passion first waked a new life through his frame,
And his soul, like the wood that grows precious in burning,
Gave out all its sweets to love's exquisite flame.
Thomas Moore
Quote:
Originally Posted by Einar
When its brown,
its done
When its black
its burnt
(wise advice from Granny B to me):D
Great stuff Derby Tup and Wormstone! I love these midget gems.
Hi folks, I've not read this thread right from the beginning, but I've 'popped in' every now and again and there's some really nice stuff on here! Do some of the posters on here write their own stuff, and if not, where do you find such a store of outdoorsy poetry?
September Midnight
Lyric night of the lingering Indian Summer,
Shadowy fields that are scentless but full of singing,
Never a bird, but the passionless chant of insects,
Ceaseless, insistent.
The grasshopper’s horn, and far-off, high in the maples,
The wheel of a locust leisurely grinding the silence
Under a moon waning and worn, broken,
Tired with summer.
Let me remember you, voices of little insects,
Weeds in the moonlight, fields that are tangled with asters,
Let me remember, soon will the winter be on us,
Snow-hushed and heavy.
Over my soul murmur your mute benediction,
While I gaze, O fields that rest after harvest,
As those who part look long in the eyes they lean to,
Lest they forget them.
Sara Teasdale
Hi plodding bear glad you like the thread, some of us occassionally write our own stuff as well as post others. I haven't found a specfic outdoorsy site but rather have browsed poemhunter and poetry archive for poems...robert frost is a firm favourite and seems to have an understated and elgant connection with nature in his poetry.Quote:
Originally Posted by plodding bear
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/home.do
I really enjoyed both your narrative (in particular the discovery of the secret bay) and the poem...Talisker Bay looks awesome :-)Quote:
Originally Posted by Stolly
A beautiful choice as ever from the Alfster.....:wink:Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
I was driving home tonight listening to radio three and some pretty etheral choral type music when at the end of the coast road i spotted the most beautiful orange crescent moon...who would have thought that billy mill roundabout could herald such a moment?
Autumn
A touch of cold in the Autumn night --
I walked abroad,
And saw the ruddy moon lean over a hedge
Like a red-faced farmer.
I did not stop to speak, but nodded,
And round about were the wistful stars
With white faces like town children.
Thomas Ernest Hulme
Good afternoon - I've been away in Scotland where on some of those ever increasing information boards - they now dish out a smattering of poetry (usually from Gaelic poets - and usually about nature). It helps to complement the stuff on wildlife and pine cones . I should have made a note of a few of them .
Anyway this is High Tide from NZ writer Julie Leibrich. Not sure whether the Sanna refers to Sanna sands at Ardnamurchan but it is nice to think it does. I'll need to catch up with some of the offerings on the thread - but I rather liked 'Autumn' above ( but aren't we getting ahead of ourselves ???)
There is a croft. A man.
A time between the sky
and the horizon.
A place of no names.
On the croft there is a house
circled by turnips and cast-eyed sheep
sharpening their teeth on rowan trees.
There is a beach here too, though
to see it now, you have to bend your eyes
around the church where Knox once stood
and look beyond that history.
You will observe
the white sands of Sanna.
A shore-line, where they placed
their treasure above the high tide mark
when they could carry it no more.
Here is the house I did not live in.
Here is the church in which I did not sing.
Here is the man I did not marry.
What a lovely offering Sunbeam...........
It is indeed Autumn, there are some early signs.....
Blackberrying
Donning old clothes we grab a placky bag each
And begin the short saunter to the cemetery
In search of bejewelled black fruits.
Walking amongst the headstones
you with your eagle eye identify
the first offerings, illusions of metallic rubus
in the early evening light.
We stop to pick a few, you the low ones and I
Reach slightly higher.
In no time, we perfect our technique,
twist and pull, twist and pull,
ouch!
Pressing on further
Among the uncut grass and memories
Of the loved and the lost
We find the mother of all blackberry bushes
Filled to the brim with antioxidants!
Working as a team, every now and then
I glance over with the realisation
that even at six
you have began to surpass me
and this window of innocence
will not always be open.
Walking home with a bumper crop
Discussing the various culinary options
You excited and proud, I filled to the brim
With the lightness and hope
of a September nuance in
Autumns temporary infancy.
Wonderful stuff. Today's training run was about half an hour longer than it could have been because I kept stopping to graze on blackberries from the hedges.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Thanks Harry... not the best poem I ever wrote but one of the best experiences I have had, blackberry picking with my beautiful little girl...they tasted really good, we made a crumble served with cream (yikes!) and I made a compote type thing with the rest! so in all likelihood whilst your were running and grazing I was feasting too- on seasonal produce at least! ;)
Nice ode to blackberrying freckle :cool: I was only saying to our office manager over here in China earlier this week that it's prime blackberry season at home ;)
It is indeed, I could get into this foraging business its really good fun, there were a few mushrooms in the graveyard too but I thought I had better err on the side of caution with that one ;), however if anyone has any autumnal foraging suggestions/tips/advice they would be most gratefully accepted....hugh fearnley eat yer heart out!Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
i found this...might be useful i guess...
http://www.foragingguide.com/edible_mushrooms.html
foraging for food
berries, mushrooms, crab apples
fields and hedgerows
:cool:
Sounds like you both had a great day freckle :DQuote:
Originally Posted by freckle
In case you don't eat them or preserve them (in a nice compote!) straight away then look out!
Blackberry Picking
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
for a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
sent us out with milk-cans, pea-tins, jam-pots
where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
we trekked and picked until the cans were full,
until the tinkling bottom had been covered
with green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
with thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
the fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
that all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Seamus Heaney
Wonderful Alf. Thanks for posting :)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
aw how lovely...i really liked the heaney poem too alf...apparently it is an old english supserstitution that you should pick the berries before the 29th september otherwise they will have the "devils piss" on them...i kid you not...hugh fearnley said so! ....it is based on truth as by end of sep the rain may well lead to the development of a fungus which could upset the tummy at the very least and be toxic at the worst!Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Mushrooms
Overnight, very
Whitely, discreetly,
Very quietly
Our toes, our noses
Take hold on the loam,
Acquire the air.
Nobody sees us,
Stops us, betrays us;
The small grains make room.
Soft fists insist on
Heaving the needles,
The leafy bedding,
Even the paving.
Our hammers, our rams,
Earless and eyeless,
Perfectly voiceless,
Widen the crannies,
Shoulder through holes. We
Diet on water,
On crumbs of shadow,
Bland-mannered, asking
Little or nothing.
So many of us!
So many of us!
We are shelves, we are
Tables, we are meek,
We are edible,
Nudgers and shovers
In spite of ourselves.
Our kind multiplies:
We shall by morning
Inherit the earth.
Our foot's in the door
Sylvia Plath
Thats so cool DT...well I think this may be my new fad, i may even have to acquire a mushroom avator!
thanks for posting....
off to dream of collecting mushrooms in a basket through some woodland paradise far far away! (like the true elf that I am!)
night!
Goodnight freckle. Sleep well :cool:
Ode to autumn
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease;
For Summer has o'erbrimm'd their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twinèd flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barrèd clouds bloom the soft-dying day
And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river-sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies
John Keats
One of my favourite poems DT...those two opening lines have got to be two of the most well written, they just trip of the tongue...lovely stuff...I wonder what it is like in china at this time of the year?
I am also wondering how all those people doing ben nevis feel as they wake up this morning with such a colossal mountain in front of them!
Alone Looking at the Mountain
All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other -
Only the mountain and I.
By Li Bai
Lovely choice that freckle :)
China, late summer
humid, sticky, very close
even rain is warm!
Very evocative DT actually it is fairly warm where I am today too but not sticky! september seems to have been a whole lot drier than august so far!Quote:
Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Anyone else read the interview that Simon Armitage did with Morrissey in the Guardian magazine today? I can't remember who said you shouldnt meet your heroes but Simon got more than he bargained for I suspect, especially with the comment about the Chinese that Morrissey dropped in there.
Ooooo no i haven't ...i wonder if i can get it online...off to seek it now!....i have to say tho i wasn' disappointed by meeting the man armitage but I might change my mind when his book comes out, lets see ;)Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
The Colossus
Slyvia Plath
"I shall never get you put together entirely,
Pieced, glued, and properly jointed.
Mule-bray, pig-grunt and bawdy cackles
Proceed from your great lips.
It's worse than a barnyard.
Perhaps you consider yourself an oracle,
Mouthpiece of the dead, or of some god or
other.
Thirty years now I have labored
To dredge the silt from your throat.
I am none the wiser.
Scaling little ladders with glue pots and pails
of lysol
I crawl like an ant in mourning
Over the weedy acres of your brow
To mend the immense skull plates and clear
The bald, white tumuli of your eyes.
A blue sky out of the Oresteia
Arches above us. O father, all by yourself
You are pithy and historical as the Roman
Forum.
I open my lunch on a hill of black cypress.
Your fluted bones and acanthine hair are
littered
In their old anarchy to the horizon-line.
It would take more than a lightning-stroke
To create such a ruin.
Nights, I squat in the cornucopia
Of your left ear, out of the wind, Counting the red stars and those of plum-
color.
The sun rises under the pillar of your tongue.
My hours are married to shadow.
No longer do I listen for the scrape of a keel
On the blank stones of the landing."
I found it...very well written article...Quote:
Originally Posted by Alf
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010...tage-interview
Quite differently written from most interviews you read. Interesting.Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
Plus a couple of good plugs for the Scaremongers and his latest book!