Ivor Cutler also kept a collection of ivory cutlery in a drawer in his kitchen.
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Did Ivor get it as a gift, Global, or did he have to fork out for it?Originally posted by Globaltruth View PostComment
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Is it time to Phone for the fish knives?Originally posted by johncorrigan View Post
How To Get On In Society, by John Betjeman
Phone for the fish knives, Norman
As cook is a little unnerved;
You kiddies have crumpled the serviettes
And I must have things daintily served.
Are the requisites all in the toilet?
The frills round the cutlets can wait
Till the girl has replenished the cruets
And switched on the logs in the grate.
It's ever so close in the lounge dear,
But the vestibule's comfy for tea
And Howard is riding on horseback
So do come and take some with me
Now here is a fork for your pastries
And do use the couch for your feet;
I know that I wanted to ask you-
Is trifle sufficient for sweet?
Milk and then just as it comes dear?
I'm afraid the preserve's full of stones;
Beg pardon, I'm soiling the doileys
With afternoon tea-cakes and scones.Comment
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Ace!Originally posted by Pulcinella View Post
Use of the terms "serviette" or "napkin" denoted class, in them days!Comment
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Poetry for Black History Month.
Lift Off by Donovan Livingston.
I have no text.
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I had never heard of Louise Gluck before today's Nobel Prize. She seems quite an extraordinary poet - by which I mean that when you read a certain line or poem you can only gasp in wonder.
All Hallows
BY LOUISE GLÜCK
Even now this landscape is assembling.
The hills darken. The oxen
sleep in their blue yoke,
the fields having been
picked clean, the sheaves
bound evenly and piled at the roadside
among cinquefoil, as the toothed moon rises:
This is the barrenness
of harvest or pestilence.
And the wife leaning out the window
with her hand extended, as in payment,
and the seeds
distinct, gold, calling
Come here
Come here, little one
And the soul creeps out of the tree.Comment
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Powerful stuff, Padraig. Thanks.Originally posted by Padraig View Post
And thanks for the Louise Gluck poem, Bella...I was also unaware of her till I heard the announcement from the Academy yesterday. Beautifully written piece...must explore more.Comment
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Just finished reading Louis MacNeice's 'Autumn Journal' - from 1938, with all the resonances one might expect from such a date in poet very, very aware of what had happened in Spain, was seeing the rise of Hitler, and what he thinks of as the unavoidable impact of the future.
BUT there's so much else in it than broodings.
A real stimulant.Comment
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Not much chance this year of celebrating ghosts and goblins, but never mind - you don't have far to go to get a good scare.
One need not be a Chamber - to be Haunted -
One need not be a House -
The Brain has Corridors - surpassing
Material Place -
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
External Ghost
Than its interior confronting -
That cooler Host -
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
The Stones a'chase -
Than unarmed, one's a'self encounter
In lonesome Place -
Ourself behind ourself, concealed -
Should startle most -
Assassin hid in our Apartment
Be Horror's least -
The Body - borrows a Revolver -
He bolts the Door -
O'erlooking a superior spectre -
Or More -
Emily Dickinson 1863 Pub 1891
Postscript:
Last edited by Padraig; 31-10-20, 21:11.Comment
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A Day-Close in November
The ten hours' light is abating,
And a late bird wings across,
Where the pines, like waltzers waiting,
Give their black heads a toss.
Beech leaves, that yellow the noon-time,
Float past like specks in the eye;
I set every tree in my June time,
And now they obscure the sky.
And the children who ramble through here
Conceive that there never has been
A time when no tall trees grew here.
That none will in time be seen.
Thomas Hardy maybe 1909Comment
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This poem felt so Scottish to me...I love MacCaig's clear speech, sharp eye and wry wit.
In a snug room
He sips from his glass, thinking complacently
of the events of the day:
a flattering reference to him in the morning papers,
lunch with his cronies, a profitable deal
signed on the dotted line, a donation sent to his favourite charity.
And he smiles,
thinking of the taxi coming
with his true love in it.
Everything’s fine.
And Nemesis slips two bullets
into her gun
in case she misses with the first one.
Norman MacCaig - Dec. 1985Comment
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There was a lovely interview with Mararet Atwood somewhere on the Beeb steam radio in the recent past. [Can't find it on the dratted Sounds.] The Handmaid's Tale aside, she is a noted poet, and I was amused by her answer to, "How do you write poetry?"....a somewhat daft question. She replied along the lines of, 'Well, when I get an idea I just write it down in cursive longhand on a piece of paper and put it in a drawer. Then when I want to compile a book I just look through the drawer.' She was then asked if she ever changed anything for publication, to which she replied, 'Well, my handwriting is so bad these days, I often can't read what I've written. So sure, there are changes!'Comment
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