Two fragments from old poems written about the same time, and clearly written at this time of year:
From The language of flowers:
[…] Shocking pink
petunias shout aloud,
while pompom marigolds,
in shades of summer, shine
like a myriad cartoon suns.
From In due season:
The hennaed heads of marigolds
rubberneck from roundabouts
and corporation window boxes shout
with yellow pansies.
Today is a day of reflection prior to the Spanish elections tomorrow, and the Junta Electoral has reminded us that on such days la ley prohibe todo acto de propaganda – the law bans the staging of any act of propaganda or electoral campaigning.
That has been ruled to include the recent protest gatherings – las manifestaciones y concentraciones – across the country, so I suppose I must keep quiet and reflect. (But without concentrating.)
Yesterday I said that one of my school teachers seemed to believe that pleasure taken in the sound and general impression of poetry was more important than the ability to understand and explain the details of each word and image. Forty years later, I am very glad that was her attitude.
Another memory from that time at school was the context – or, more accurately, lack of context – for the poetry we were studying.
Continue reading “more school memories”
(Click here for a picture of male and female kiwi flowers)
We are gradually trying to replace our old grape vine with a kiwi vine. Our reasoning is mainly that the old vine is not very healthy and produces huge quantities of wasp-attracting fruit that gets mildew and moulders on a grand scale each year.
Since there’s some sixty square metres of trellis, it’s probably not surprising there’s more fruit than we can deal with. Kiwis seem as if they might be rather more controllable.
The photo shows a sucker on one of the kiwis we planted a couple of years ago. The vivid vermilion of these new shoots, and the furriness of the stalks and young leaves, never ceases to amaze me.
Continue reading “of kiwis and poetry”
Silver dandelions bloom
on the moleskin waistcoat
of the night
(Thinking realistically, I know that they are a waste of money and that they frighten all the birds and animals, but I’m a sucker for fireworks. I don’t think I’ve ever watched a display – not even the patriotic red, white & blue of last Thursday’s royal wedding celebrations – without a broad smile on my face. One day I’ll dig out all the notes I’ve made over the years and write a proper poem on the subject.)
Continue reading “fireworks”
don't confuse the narrator 