Poem of the week

On such a windy day as this, who better to turn to than a Bronte .....

LINES COMPOSED IN A WOOD ON A WINDY DAY

by: Anne Bronte (1820-1849)

MY soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring
And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;
For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,
Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,
The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;
The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,
The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing
The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;
I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,
And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!

Snow!

It's unlikely I'll be snowed in tomorrow, although I'm sure walking to work will take longer. Not least because I'll have to stop and take pictures! Here are a couple of the last time it snowed heavily.

If I were to be snowed in, however, I think I'd just stay in bed, nursing the slight sniffle I have, reading. I currently have Pat Barker's 'Life Class', Jean Plaidy's 'Prince of Darkness' and P.L. Travers' 'Mary Poppins' on the go, and I'm thinking it might be a good time to start a Hardy or Dickens too. I have to say I like this start to 2010!

Poem of the Week

A summer Day - Lucy Maud Montgomery



I

The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.


II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.


III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.

Hope everyone is enjoying the weather, and not getting too burned (my back is bright pink, oh dear!)

Lost in Romance

Isn't the weather lovely? Oxford is crammed with people eating ice cream and enjoying the way the college stone looks in the sunshine. The river is teaming with punts, and no one seems to be falling in. Bank holiday weather of the most sublime sort - and I don't even care that I'm actually working tomorrow. With weather like this, and the promise of more to come for summer, I could work every day as long as I got a Pimms at the end of it!

I spent much of the day in the Botanic Gardens, marvelling at the riot of colour, and reading about a different sort of colour in Jude Morgan's brilliant 'Passion'. Dovegreyreader was talking recently about Jude's latest book, which reminded me I had yet to read the above mentioned, and it seemed fitting after 'The Ballad of Dorothy Wordsworth', which mum has just picked up, and which seems to hardly be suited to such a day. It needs to be read during a storm. 'Passion' on the other hand, is ideal for the heat and brightness of today, for what other words could be used to describe the four women that are shown in the novel. Mary Shelley and Fanny Brawne have yet to burn as brightly as Caroline Lamb or Augusta Leigh, but it seems to be only a matter of time, before they too fall into the embrace of Byron, Shelley or Keats.
How different from Wordsworth, who has only an obsessed sister to cast a shadow over poetic respectability.

I am barely halfway through, but I am being whirled along, as if I too were engaged in a waltz with a dissolute rake. Jude' style is mesmerising and mercurial; hardly the same from one page to the next. Sometimes taking the voice of one woman, speaking directly to the audience, and at other times allowing the reader to be less involved. On the periphery, untouched by scandal, but seeing it just the same.

I must go tend to my pink arms, and see if I can make my shoulders the same colour. I was too involved in reading to notice the tan lines ....

Waiting for a Wuther

Over on Justine's blog, there's been talk of what best to read to banish the darkness that winter brings.

She suggested Wuthering Heights, which led to a discussion of whether there was a right time of year to read the book. Some books are like that. The best time to read A Christmas Carol is ...? Easter? Hmm - somehow I think the clue is in the name.

Anyway, it set me thinking about what I've been reading this year, and although I made a rule not to read anything I'd read before - I think this might be the exception. If nothing else, reading it before Christmas will help me to be more thankful for the relative sanity of my relations. I don't have family members wanting to kill each other that's for sure.

The problem is I CAN'T start reading it yet. The weather has just been too nice for mid November. All mild and sunny with barely a wuther in sight. I said to Justine that the last time I tried to read it in Oxford I failed, because the dreaming city just isn't wild enough. However, it's supposed to snow on Sunday, so maybe I'll be able to read it them.

On a rather more frivolous note, who do you think would be the perfect person to play Heathcliffe .... personally I would like Alan Rickman, but he might be a bit too old. Maybe Richard Armitage would be better. Any thoughts??

Blenheim Palce

I went to Blenheim today for part of the Independent Literary festival (of which more later in the week).

The weather was a little odd though. After yesterdays sun, I was expecting more of the same, but I got up, opened the curtains .... and I couldn't see a thing! So as I got to Blenheim, this is what I could see ...

Errr - where's the house? I felt like Scarlett O'Hara as I ran up the drive (and run I did, because public transport on a Sunday is hopeless, and I was almost late!

Then, I had time between my events to walk around. I reasoned that two festival tickets meant I was more than qualified to go round the grounds without paying again, so off I went.

That's the lake. What do you mean you can't see the rolling hillside on the other side?

An hour or so later, however, I could finally see the palace.

And I finally spotted where the plinth was .... seriously, I thought I was going mad earlier in the day, because I couldn't find it. Was I getting confused with Windsor I wondered? No, turns out the mist was REALLY bad, because none of what is in this picture was available to be seen earlier in the day!

And there's the house again, taken from the train - beautiful weather!

The best sort of weekend

This has been the sort of weekend I like best. Calm, wonderfully sunny and totally relaxed. I intended to read and possibly write, but other than that had no fixed plans.

Saturday turned out to more sociable, as I had lunch with my Godmother, and drank a glass or two more than I intended, and so ended up in a wonderful bookshop and bought three Jean Rhys novels, whom I'm not sure I even like .... I won't bore you with my drinking exploits, except to say that I did something I wouldn't have done when sober: namely push an annoying tourist out of the way. Usually I 'tsk' at them under my breath.

Today, was an altogether better day, reading wise. I walked into town

There's Magdalene tower which is on my way into town.

Anyway, I sat in Starbucks reading A Boy of Good Breeding until I thought Borders would be open, where I went to return The Glass Blowers which I'd bought a few days previous and then found a first edition in Oxfam (I am rather good at this!). I swapped it for The Road which is the book for September's book club. I also got tempted by a Miss Marple omnibus.

From there I wandered to Hobbs. I'd been in there the day before, but didn't trust my drunken judgement ... I used to work there, and so know their persuading techniques very well, and yet I still came out with two pairs of shoes and a skirt. Needless to state, I don't trust my sober judgement either!

I ambled over to the castle and sat outside Pizza Express, and finished off Boy of Good Breeding and also Hons and Rebels which I'd started on the New York trip and had put to one side. This was rather lovely, as there was a woman singing somewhere, and it was rather hot.

Sadly, sitting nursing a glass of water wasn't winning me any favours, so I moved on to Chequers pub, where I'd arranged to meet friends a little later, and sat with Miss Marple, until I got chatting to a few guys from Stoke, and then said friends arrived.

I got home at about 6.30, and have been reading in the hammock ever since

Not a bad way to spend a weekend methinks. How did yours go?

Weather report

It's been raining cats and dogs here in Oxford (and most of the country, I shouldn't wonder) but I don't care, because on checking BBC weather earlier, I discovered it was going to be 37 degrees C in New York on Friday. Anyone want me to fry an egg?