Saturday, December 13, 2014

'The general balm the'hydroptique earth hath drank...'


- St Lucy's day. The yellowed copy of the Penguin Metaphysical Poets, passed down from my sister Alison, via my brother Phil, I think. I can't always tell whose writing it is in the margins with the rather lame, A-level notes, mine or theirs.


As often, a remarkably light-filled day, the house filled with sun till it went down behind Victor's barn some time between four and five. 


As always, it was my birthday yesterday. It rained most of the day, so though we went out we didn't walk, but I did today, just from home,


and a number of wonderful and delicious, small but perfectly formed, things have happened, many of them happenstantial and unlooked for, so I will post about them over the next few days.




8 comments:

Roderick Robinson said...

I just can't bring myself to say Happy Birthday - it's so banal, so unimaginative, even though I mean it. But were I to stray into more demanding territory my nose would bang up against the metaphysical poets, thrown away so casually in your first sentence. Oh goodness, it's hem-kissing time even though I suspect there isn't a hem in sight, that you're wearing trousers for warmth. Trews then.

I wrote a letter (nearly 2000 words) to a chap I know who flies. Worked in a sentence in order to be able to employ the word "nacelle" because it is so lovely. Might it also be metaphysical? I have flirted also with "halcyon" but almost nobody knows what it means. Decided it can't be lovely.

These poets divided up under headlines. There's another lot called, I think, the Georgians. At the time there was a George on the throne but there's got to be a better reason. See, here's my birthday gift. I'm playing straight man to your eminence. Providing you with an opportunity to show off.

I have decided to form a group of one - the Rhyming Poets. Very unfashiomable. Once Auden said that unrhymed verse was harder to write than that which rhymed, everybody mounted the band wagon.

You know I think I should have bought a card at Tesco. Unspoken but deeply felt wishes.

Lucy said...

Thank you Robbie. But you see, if I were to wax knowledgeable on the Georgians, you would never know if I hadn't just resorted to the internet for instant apparent cleverness, and in truth that would necessarily be what had happened. Without doing so, I can only hazily think of Robert Bridges, who might or might not have been poet laureate but otherwise is only unforgotten to literary history as recalled by yours truly because he was GMH's pal. I have not, as I remember, ever seen an anthology of Georgian poetry, though there must have been one. I think it was a bit of a non-starter really, though I dare say it has a cult following or a society with a newsletter somewhere.

Trews is an enjoyable word, and quite serviceable. I am not in fact wearing anything that could be described as slacks, much as I might like to be, but two pairs of leggings: a looser cotton outer pair and inner ones composed of 10% cashmere, a treat and an indulgence in honour of entering my 54th year. Never mind literature, get me onto fibres...

tristan said...

here's wishing you enough breath for the one hundredth candle ... if and when xxx

Lucy said...

Thank you Tristan!

I've just been listening to 'The Surgeon's Mate' on the radio, and learned that Patrick O'Brian's birthday was the same day as mine - it would have been his hundredth on Friday.

Chloe said...

Belated Birthday wishes Lucy :) x

Fire Bird said...

hope it was full of loveliness

Lucy said...

Thanks both, always lovely to see you here.

Natalie d'Arbeloff said...

And even more belated wishes, dear Lucy. May you have as much sushi, sunshine, serendipity and any other good things your heart desires beginning with any other letter of the alphabet, including cyrilic and the other ones I can't spell.