Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Too exhuausted...

to post a Tuesday poem - but, don't worry - not all the Tuesday poets feel like this and you can read the poem at the hub and from there navigate a world rich in poetry. This week's featured poem, 'lost and found on the b train in winter'  is by Walter Bjorkman, guest edited by Michele Elvy.

This week I feel more lost than found and definitely wintry.

Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Tuesday Poem - 'Greensleeves'

I'm watching 'The Tudors' - sort of like Game of Thrones without dragons, wolves or eunuchs (well, certainly no actual dragons...). Hence this posting! I've always loved this folk song and particularly so when I discovered that it was attributed to Henry VIII. As a youngster, I became fascinated by the Tudors after reading Jean Plaidy's account of Elizabeth - and I've only just realised this very minute (thank you Wiki)  that Plaidy was the pseudonym  of Eleanor Hibbert who also wrote as Victoria Holt and Phillipa Carr - my goodness, what a prolific output! I believe the attribution to Henry VIII has been discredited but I still associate 'Greensleeves' with Henry and the doomed Anne Boleyn.

Greensleeves

Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously.
For I have loved you well and long,
Delighting in your company.

Chorus:
Greensleeves was all my joy
Greensleeves was my delight,
Greensleeves was my heart of gold,
And who but my lady greensleeves.

Your vows you've broken, like my heart,
Oh, why did you so enrapture me?
Now I remain in a world apart
But my heart remains in captivity.

chorus

I have been ready at your hand,
To grant whatever you would crave,
I have both wagered life and land,
Your love and good-will for to have.

chorus

If you intend thus to disdain,
It does the more enrapture me,
And even so, I still remain
A lover in captivity.

chorus

My men were clothed all in green,
And they did ever wait on thee;
All this was gallant to be seen,
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

chorus

Thou couldst desire no earthly thing,
but still thou hadst it readily.
Thy music still to play and sing;
And yet thou wouldst not love me.

chorus

Well, I will pray to God on high,
that thou my constancy mayst see,
And that yet once before I die,
Thou wilt vouchsafe to love me.

chorus

Ah, Greensleeves, now farewell, adieu,
To God I pray to prosper thee,
For I am still thy lover true,
Come once again and love me.

When you've done a little pavane here - trip the light fantastic over here where Tim Jones is this week's editor, bringing a poem, 'A whimper after the bang',  by Melbourne-based poet, Emily Manger.  If you'd like to hear more of Manger's work, click here.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

The Tuesday Poem has been interrupted

by an impromptu office move. Sorry people - but check out the Tuesday Poem hub here - 'Agnus Dei' - great poem by Marty Smith brought to us all this week by guest editor, Janis Freegard. From the hub, of course, you can freerange other Tuesday poems. Have a lyrical week. I'm moving furniture, conquering bird mites - the usual stuff.

Tuesday, July 22, 2014

Tuesday Poem

Bluebeard


This door you might not open, and you did;
So enter now, and see for what slight thing
You are betrayed... Here is no treasure hid,
No cauldron, no clear crystal mirroring
The sought-for truth, no heads of women slain
For greed like yours, no writhings of distress,
But only what you see... Look yet again—
An empty room, cobwebbed and comfortless.
Yet this alone out of my life I kept
Unto myself, lest any know me quite;
And you did so profane me when you crept
Unto the threshold of this room to-night
That I must never more behold your face.
This now is yours. I seek another place. 


 by Edna St Vincent Millay

As soon as I cut and pasted this poem, I questioned it. I'm leaving it up as my Tuesday Poem choice, but the issue of privacy is far more fraught for women! When you've contemplated what you'd do for a room of  your own, check out the Tuesday Poem on the hub. Today's poem, 'News from the Island' by Tracey Sullivan is a tribute to the art of weaving (appropriate after visiting the Bendigo Sheep and Wool Show!) - or any art, really. I love the fact that the weaver offers news of the coveted weaving - as though it is (as it is, I guess) a mutual friend. Thanks to Claire Benyon, this week's editor, for showcasing the work of Tracey Sullivan.

I'm currently reading Candia McWilliam's memoir, What to Look for in Winter. Wonderful and sad. I keep meaning to blog quotations from what I'm reading and I so rarely manage that. We'll see what we can do later this week.

Today I ate yoghurt soup - so delicious, even in the middle of winter. I think it will appear as a staple on my summer menu!
 


Tuesday, July 15, 2014

Tuesday Poem





There is nothing quite like a kitchen smelling of fresh bread and nothing quite like the alchemy of sourdough. These are my second lot of baguettes. Sharp-eyed visitors will notice the tea towel on which they rest features kiwis - I bought it in New Zealand when we visited there two years ago.

What poem would best go with a photo of crusty sourdough baguettes? Pablo Neruda's 'Ode to Bread', of course. It was his birthday and Bastille Day this week, so baguettes and 'Ode to Bread' feel like a good fit! I don't wish to break copyright, so read the Ode to Bread here.

When you've made yourself a piece of toast or cut into a fresh loaf, waltz over to the Tuesday poem blog and read this week's featured poem, 'Another Exile Paints a Spring Portrait of Kathleen Mansfield'. This poem, by Riemke Ensing, is brought to you this week by Kathleen Jones. I love the charming and telling details in this poem and the playful annotations in the poem's 'margins'. Just beautiful!

From the hub you can explore other Tuesday poems - and read a poem of mine - here -  which has been posted by Helen McKinlay. Serendipitously, my poem is a kind of ekphrastic poem, too.

Tuesday, July 08, 2014

Tuesday Poem

On this cold Melbourne day, I bring you a memory a summer...



Summer

The summer screeches in with black cockatoos,
black tails flaring a yellow streak
as pale as battery eggs.
They sit in a tree we can't name
cracking something between their dark beaks
or sail above the swimming poll
into the blue eye.
There's a posse of six each year.
I look out for them now
the way I check the horizon for smoke
or the forecast for temperatures over the big 40.
On days when I long for cathedral cool
I look up from filling the bird baths
they're hanging upside down
above the scorched tree ferms
methodially feeding
and I stand a little longer
in the glare, an alien in my own backyard.


Catherine Bateson 2013

Warmed your hands on this? Hop over to the Tuesday Poem hub. There you can read 'Cracked' by Johanna Emeney, posted by this week's hub editor, Elizabeth Welsh.  Read more of Johanna Emeney's work here



Monday, July 07, 2014

Quote for the day...

It's marking season. Time to remind myself:

It is the supreme art of the teacher to awaken joy 

in creative expression and knowledge.


Albert Einstein