I’ll tell you about this journal page soon, but first, WOW! What a busy weekend! A very good weekend, but a busy one, and today’s going to be a Recovery Monday. Most of the Monday list-makingI’ll do this morning will be to remind myself why I need to take it easy today. . .
On the list of What I Did This Weekend That Wore Me Out While Bringing Me Joy . . .
(and keeping in mind that all of this followed a meltdown on Friday and a Blue Day of Tears. . . those days happen, for me at least, and perhaps for you as well. . . )
Edited to add: — Researched for, then voted in our Civic Election — Boo-ya!
— Explored a Neighbourhood I’ve been wanting to get to for months. On the way there, stopped at Crate and Barrel to pick up some much-needed glassware (I love the classic stacking Duralex Picardie tempered glasses that bring a bit of France with every sip)
— Found credible replacements for two favourite sweaters my husband has worn right into the mending pile. . . A black, fine merino, slim-fit cardigan, and a black, fine merino, long-sleeve pullover with a placket/golf-shirt neck. . . (The one the latter is replacing was made of cotton, bought in Le Bon Marché in Paris perhaps eight to ten years ago. Believe me, he needed a new one!)
–Found a new-to-me Independent Bookstore that’s been in the neighbourhood we were exploring since the year we were married. . . . That was reason enough to choose a few books, and I did. . . Lovely books, I’ll share later, perhaps, on my book blog. . .
Then, after lunch at a Chinese restaurant in that neighbourhood, home for a nap so I’d be ready for our Night at the Opera — which I described briefly over at Instagram where I posted a sketch I drew during the intermission.. . .
That was just Saturday.
Yesterday, I
–baked the two loaves of bread I’d made on Friday
–cycled a glorious two-hour route in the most delectable fall sunshine with my guy. The last twenty or thirty minutes were a bit too much, to be honest, but overall, an excursion well worth the ensuing fatigue.
— And, of course, I napped afterward, which helped. . .
— made two apple pies to follow the cabbage rolls made by the guy I married back when a certain bookstore was apparently being established. . . (yes, that would be Pater, the one and only guy I’ve ever married 😉
–And enjoyed serving said cabbage rolls and said apple pies to the two local daughters’ families. Of the three grandchildren, the Three, who’s recovering from a nasty bug, wanted his ice cream perfectly aligned lengthwise atop his slice of pie (there might have been tears until his dad accomplished this placement); the Almost-Six wanted her ice cream served with the most miniscule bit of pie you’ve ever seen — pretty much just La Mode rather than Apple Pie À La Mode — if the style indicated by La Mode meant Vanilla Ice Cream Only; and the Almost-Ten? Ah, she’s a connoisseur, and a huge fan of Nana’s apple pie. She’ll eat ice cream with it, occasionally — for the first piece, perhaps — but often prefers just the pie. Of which she had three pieces, last night. . . .
Oh My! Now that I’ve written it all down, I feel I might need another Nap, but it’s barely 8 a.m. here. . .
So first, let me tell you about the journal pages I’m sharing today.
I can’t track down when or where a reader or “follower” drew my attention to Gerard Manley Hopkins’ beautiful but rather brutally honest poem “Spring and Fall,” but wherever that happened, it prompted me to copy the poem out by hand. For some reason I can’t quite understand, I used a page of my watercolour journal to do so, and I chose a page in the second half of the book, even though I’d only used about a third of the pages at the time.
And then, by sheer serendipity this year, working my way through the journal after having abandoned it for many months in favour of others, I came to this page of handwritten poetry about leaves falling just as they were falling outside my windows, falling all over the city, falling from shades of green through to the scarlets and crimsons and burgundies and rusts and ochres and golds. . . to the dried tawny scatterings the sparrows scratch hopefully through each morning out on our terrace. . . .
So on the page on the left, above, I glued a few small leaves I’d collected and dried, and I doodled a bit around them with watercolour before sketching a small maple leaf to join them.
On the page on the right, another maple, this one drawn and painted with my paintbrush only (i.e. no pencil or pen line first) — an exercise I’d been encouraged to try at the watercolour drop-ins I attended.
And then the poem itself, which is beautiful and challenging and deeply poignant, and which I’ve probably read — silently, to myself, and aloud, either to myself or to my husband — ten or fifteen times since re-discovering it written in my journal. I’ll transcribe it for you now, shall I?
Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves like the things of men, you
with your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow’s springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no, nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
Read more about the poem here, if you’re interested. And even listen to me read it, here (a new effort for me, embarked on with considerable trepidation!! Does anyone love hearing their own voice? Christopher Plummer, I suppose. . . ), . . . Its message is not, admittedly, a cheery one, but at least it wraps difficult truths in intriguing rhythms and assonance and alliteration and compelling enjambments and satisfying rhymes, and the central conceit is thought-provoking.
But that’s enough heavy thinking for a Monday morning after a busy weekend. I’m off now to make some breakfast which I will eat while reading my mystery novel (closing in on the last chapters now, stretching out the tension and the dénouement!). . . Pater having scrambled off earlier to get his kayak out on the water, in the sunshine. . . .
How has your week begun? You know I welcome any comments on any of the witterings offered above. Happy Monday!
I so love it when the universe offers evidence that forces just might be at work that we can't control or even understand.
Yes! Me too!
I like the way you're reading the poem – it is beautiful and poignant
Your weekend was very busy indeed. Was it Franz Lehár's Merry Widow?
We'll have the new production of The Magic Flute next month in State Opera-unfortunately,all the tickets are already sold for 2018.
I have preparations for the winter at home and in the orchard-it will take at least two days,depending of the number of gardeners,trimming,formatting…
….and some nice plans for the extended weekend
Dottoressa
Thanks, Dottoressa — yes it was Fehar's Widow.
What a shame those tickets are sold out — I've seen that opera three times now, a strikingly different production each time. It's such a weird plot that it lends itself to interpretation — and honestly, for me, nothing matters as much as hearing that one aria, The Queen of the Night.
Good luck with all the winter preparations. Somehow, when I think of all the work you have to do in the orchard, I'm imagining also the specific smells of that work. .
Travel plans? Or social plans?
Travel 🙂
D.
Ah, beautiful. Thanks Frances. Since I stopped teaching I never read poetry anymore. I must remedy that.
I planned to do so much more reading of poetry in retirement, and haven't quite managed that . . . yet 😉
Please read more poetry to us. A beautifully read poem created an oasis of calm in what remains continuing turmoil and trouble and a natural disater or two in my life. Hence….my non-participation here for months.
Found your reading soothing and your voice one I recognize though I have never really heard you speak before.
Beautiful.
A.in London ( but in Maine for now)
I'm so pleased that you enjoyed the reading. I will say that I felt strangely exposed, in a new way, putting my voice and my interpretation of the poem (because a reading always reflects an interpretation, of course) out there. Interesting to know that my voice can be recognized, that my physical voice must somehow be congruent with my writing voice here.
Hope your troubles are working toward resolution — I miss your voice here.
Yes, I enjoyed your reading. Autumn is such a rich time! Cabbages and apples and sausages…Oh, that's my dinner plan I just planted a few dozen golden violas in the parking lot gardens. I need more plants but I think that the rains are coming. I'll probably get called to work tomorrow so it's outside jobs today!
Cabbages and apples and sausages — a fall trinity, for sure 😉
Those golden voilas will light up the garden in the weeks to come as we descend quickly into the grey rains. . .
one of my favourite poems.
And lovely journal page….
Glad you enjoyed — thanks!
I have fallen into the habit of commenting late, sometimes too late to be part of a discussion here. I will have to overcome my hesitations and be a bit more spontaneous.
The poem rings a bell, although I do not remember when or where I read it. The interpretation in the link you gave surprised me, not knowing much about Hopkins and his religious background. I had rather seen the poem as a comment on the human condition of not being reborn every spring but having to die eventually. But to be open to more than one reading – that is probably what makes good poetry.
How about the elections? Did you get your female mayor?
It's certainly not the only interpretation, but Lancashire's is a very credible reading of the poem, based on his well-regarded scholarship.
We didn't get the female mayor, but we did get a leftie, so that's good, although the council that was elected is development, white-guy dominated. Voter turnout is still too low, sadly.
I made a handmade paper sculpture of a woman using that poem about 30 years ago. Lot it. It resonates. Don't know how to post a picture of it.
I'm so sorry you lost the sculpture you made, but how that must have made the poem yours!
I loved your reading of the poem – you have a lovely voice Frances! As for apple pie, I like mine, if not by itself, then with a nice piece of four year old cheddar from Benton Brothers on Granville Island. And I love cabbage rolls too!
…okay now I'm hungry lol
Pearl
Thanks, Pearl, fellow Vancouverite 😉
My dad loved to say that "Apple pie without some cheese Is like a kiss without a squeeze." I like it that way as well, and I was just thinking that the next time I make apple pie, I might even replace the top crust with a layer of grated cheese added in the last 20 minutes of baking, as per The Joy of Cooking. . .
And I love the poem all over again! Maybe even more the second time.
My, oh my … even with your recent respiratory issues your life sounds so very rich at the moment. A new book store, lovely sketching and journaling, bicycling in the fall, dates with Pater, young family members discovering so much, and apple pie a la or sans mode! If it never got any better than this, THIS would be enough, seems to me. 🙂
Enjoy!
Ann in Missouri
It's true, it would be enough . . . 😉
A couple of things: I love that poem and immediately read it aloud because that's what it wants. It's a very musical cadence so I'm not surprised you love its lilt, given your musicality. Also, I used to really hate hearing my voice on tape till, I don't know what happened, but now I'm totally unphased by how I sound. It doesn't even seem strange?! I have no idea what shifted because a) that's the kind of thing that bothers everyone and b) that's the kind of thing that particularly, relentlessly, bothers me. I mean, I make friends on the basis of vocal timbre. 🙂 Keep recording yourself and playing it back and you will likely become entirely accustomed to how you sound from the outside.
Interesting that you've somehow become accustomed to the recorded sound of your voice. I think for me, my dislike might be partly in response to the problems I have with my larynx (chronically ulcerated) thanks to GERD. . . Even un-recorded, it often doesn't feel like me.
Our house is currently filling with stuff…emptying my mother-in-law's house…trips to the charity shops and seeing what we want to keep as well. I am making soup as I write, listening to an old BBC radio version of Sherlock Holmes' tales and pondering some writing tasks. The weather is so lovely this autumn, with lots of golden sunshine and amazing red skies in the evenings. There are bulbs to plant this weekend as it is getting cooler. Candles to light in the windows. Lo, the hunker is nearly here. Sonnet 73 for me.
Ooh, that sorting of stuff. . . the logistics of our "little island" life meant we never could/had to get stuck with much of our parents' furnishings and artifacts of one sort or another. That's a big task in so many ways. . .
Sonnet 73 indeed. . . Take care.