Goodnight freckle. Sleep well
Goodnight freckle. Sleep well
Poacher turned game-keeper
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
Poacher turned game-keeper
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
Last edited by freckle; 04-09-2010 at 10:45 AM.
Lovely choice that freckle
China, late summer
humid, sticky, very close
even rain is warm!
Poacher turned game-keeper
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!Originally Posted by Derby Tup
Lovely choice that freckle
China, late summer
humid, sticky, very close
even rain is warm!
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
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...
http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2010...tage-interview
Quite differently written from most interviews you read. Interesting.
Plus a couple of good plugs for the Scaremongers and his latest book!
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