Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week so far. I have managed some lovely reading today and finished a book!

My chosen poem this week is by the British-American poet Wystan Hugh Auden (1907-1973).

O Tell me the Truth About Love

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go round,
And some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth as the edges?
O tell me the truth about love. 

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on 
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides. 

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't ever there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead, 
And Brighton's bracing air,
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
Or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love. 

When it comes, will it come without warning,
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love. 

W. H. Auden

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week so far.

My chosen poem today is by someone I have never come across before. Elinor Wylie (1885-1928) was an American poet and novelist popular in the 1920’s and 1930’s.

Velvet Shoes

Let us walk in the white snow
In a soundless space;
With footsteps quiet and slow,
At a tranquil pace,
Under veils of white lace.

I shall go shod in silk,
And you in wool,
White as a white cow's milk,
More beautiful
Than the breast of a gull.

We shall walk through the still town
In a windless peace;
We shall step upon white down,
Upon silver fleece,
Upon softer than these.

We shall walk in velvet shoes;
Wherever we go
Silence will fall like dews
On white silence below.
We shall walk in the snow. 

Elinor Wylie

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I’ve been at school today but I have managed some lovely reading which has been very nice. I have also been rather busy with my Etsy business. The TBR Tickets are proving very popular!

My chosen today is by the Scottish novelist, essayist, poet and travel writer Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894).

Winter-Time

Late lies the wintry sun a-bed,
A frosty, fiery sleepy-head;
Blinks but an hour or two; and then, 
A blood-red orange, sets again.

Before the stars have left the skies,
At mourning in the dark I rise;
And shivering in my nakedness,
By the cold candle, bathe and dress.

Close by the jolly fire I sit
To warm my frozen bones a bit;
Or with a reindeer-sled, explore
The colder countries round the door.

When to go out, my nurse doth wrap
Me in my comforter and cap; 
The cold wind burns my face, and blows
Its frosty pepper up my nose. 

Black are my steps on silver sod;
Thick blows my frosty breath abroad;
And tree and house, and hill and lake,
Are frosted like a wedding-cake.

Robert Louis Stevenson

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week and is ready for the weekend. I am back at work on Sunday so today I have been catching up with admin and prep for Sunday and next week but I have managed some reading.

My chosen poem this week is by the post-war poet Geoffrey Hill (1932-2016).

Epiphany at Saint Mary and All Saints

The wise men, vulnerable in ageing plaster,
are borne as gifts
to be set down among the treasures
in their familial strangeness, mystery's toys.

Below the church the Stour slovens
through its narrow cut. 
On service roads the lights cast amber salt
slatted with a thin rain doubling as snow.

Showings are not unknown: a six-winged seraph
somewhere impends-it is the geste of invention,
not the creative but the creator spirit.
The night air sings a colder spell to come. 

Geoffrey Hill

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week so far. Mine has been a very busy week with work and trying to get ready for Christmas. Getting ready for Christmas is never easy for myself and my husband because we are both musicians and this is our busiest time of year.

My chosen poem this week is by William Barnes (1801-1886). Barnes was born to a farming family in Dorset. He worked as a solicitor’s clerk before becoming a schoolmaster and then he was ordained. Over his life he wrote approximately 800 poems.

A Winter Night

It was a chilly winter's night;
And frost was glitt'ring on the ground,
And from the gloomy plain around
Came no sound,
But where, within the wood-girt tow'r,
The churchbell slowly struck the hour;

As if that all of human birth
Had risen to the final day,
And soaring from the wornout earth
Were called in hurry and dismay,
Far away;
And I alone of all mankind
Were left in loneliness behind.

William Barnes

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has had a good week so far.

My chosen poem this week is actually a song but I really like it and I read it as a poem so I thought I would share it with you. The song is by the English actor, broadcaster, and writer and performer of comic songs Michael Flanders (1922-1975).

The Hippopotamus Song

A bold Hippopotamus was standing one day
On the banks of the cool Shalimar,
He gazed at the bottom as it peacefully lay
By the light of the evening star.
Away on a hilltop sat combing her hair
His fair Hippopotamus maid;
The Hippopotamus was no ignoramus
And sang her this sweet serenade:

Mud, mud, glorious mud,
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow 
In glorious mud!

The fair Hippopotamus he aimed to entice
From her seat on that hilltop above,
As she hadn't got a ma to give her advice,
Came tiptoeing down to her love.
Like thunder the forest re-echoed the sound
Of the song that they sang as they met.
His inamorata adjusted her garter
And lifted her voice in duet:

Mud, mud, glorious mud,
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow 
In glorious mud!

Now more Hippopotamus began to convene
On the banks of that river so wide.
I wonder now what am I to say of the scene
That ensued by the Shalimar side?
They dived all at once with an ear-splitting splosh
Then rose to the surface again,
A regular army of Hippopotami
All singing this haunting refrain: 

Mud, mud, glorious mud,
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So follow me, follow
Down to the hollow
And there let us wallow 
In glorious mud!

Michael Fanders

Happy Reading

Etsy

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Happy Friday!

I hope everyone has some fun plans for the weekend.

My chosen poem for this week is by the Irish poet and playwright Frederick Louis MacNeice (1907-1963).

Snow

The room was suddenly rich and the great bay-window was
Spawning snow and pink roses against it
Soundlessly collateral and incompatible:
World is suddener than we fancy it. 

World is crazier and more of it than we think, 
Incorrigibly plural. I peel and portion
A tangerine and spit the pips and feel
The drunkenness of things being various. 

And the fire flames with a bubbling sound for world
Is more spiteful and gay than one supposes-
On the tongue on the eyes on the ears in the palms of one's hands-
There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses. 

Louis MacNeice

Happy Reading

Etsy

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