Trees Against The Sky

On National Poetry Day, a poem about trees and nature

Trees Against The Sky

Edge of Wood in Cumbria

Pines against the sky,

Pluming the purple hill;

Pines . . . and I wonder why,

Heart, you quicken and thrill?

Wistful heart of a boy,

Fill with a strange sweet joy,

Lifting to Heaven nigh -

Pines against the sky.

Palms against the sky,

Failing the hot, hard blue;

Stark on the beach I lie,

Dreaming horizons new;

Heart of my youth elate,

Scorning a humdrum fate,

Keyed to adventure high -

Palms against the sky.

Oaks against the sky,

Ramparts of leaves high-hurled,

Staunch to stand and defy

All the winds of the world;

Stalwart and proud and free,

Firing the man in me

To try and again to try -

Oaks against the sky.

Olives against the sky

Of evening, limpidly bright;

Tranquil and soft and shy,

Dreaming in amber light;

Breathing the peace of life,

Ease after toil and strife . . .

Hark to their silver sigh!

Olives against the sky.

Cypresses glooming the sky,

Stark at the end of the road;

Failing and faint am I,

Lief to be eased of my load;

There where the stones peer white

in the last of the silvery light,

Quiet and cold I'll lie -

Cypresses etching the sky.

Trees, trees against the sky -

O I have loved them well!

There are pleasures you cannot buy,

Treasurers you cannot sell,

And not the smallest of these

Is the gift and glory of trees. . . .

So I gaze and I know now why

It is good to live - and to die. . . .

Trees and the Infinite Sky.

 Robert William Service (1874-1958)

The Lake Isle of Innisfree

This is one of my all-time favourite poems -'The Lake Isle of Innisfree' by the great W.B.Yeats.

"Poetry is ordinary language raised to the Nth power. Poetry is boned with ideas, nerved and blooded with emotions, all held together by the delicate, tough skin of words." (Paul Engle)

William Butler Yeats (1865 –1939)

 Yeats's words transport me to his ideal place, Innisfree, in County Sligo, Ireland, so that I see, hear and feel it. It's as though I am standing there by that cabin of his dreams with the landscape around me. 

He also conveys the deep longing he feels when he is away from the place and in the city.  There, he is hemmed in by buildings, and swamped by the noise and bustle. But still, deep within his mind and soul is Innisfree, vivid and alive.

The sentiments of the poem resonate strongly with me as I too have my ideal place amid the fields and mountains, with lake water lapping, and peace and solitude.

We, each of us, have our own place that is special to us.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree 

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,

And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,

Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;

There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,

And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day

I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,

I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

Here's the poem read by the man himself at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGoaQ433wnw

And here it is set to music by Mike Scott and The Waterboys

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GMFJi7Z8Ow

I hope you enjoy The Lake Isle of Innisfree by WB Yeats in whichever format you choose to experience it 

The Old Stomping Ground

  A true friend and an unique character, my tribute to Socs who shared our lives for 16 years...

    
Where are you now, my friend
Since our sixteen years together have come to an end?
Have you returned to the old neighbourhood?
And the gateway at which you once stood?

Do the people there catch sight
Of the cat from number three, silhouetted in the moonlight?
Chide their foolishness and turn inside
As you slink into the shadows and hide?

Do you now lie under the privet hedge?
Bask in the sun on the window ledge?
Along the pavements do you still walk?
Pounce on leaves that you joyfully stalk?

Do you sleep in the plant pot under the stars?
Stretch out on the bonnets of neighbours’ parked cars?
When your wild spirit broke free did it soar?
Back to the old place, there to be, forever more?

  We relocated our new home,
But the gardens and fields you never did roam.
The hearth and fire were all you sought
As you clung to life and bravely fought.

Tired and worn, you still followed me around,
But now you moved without a sound.
I watched as your wildness and life ebbed away,
As my wild tiger became a kitten again with each passing day.

They say animals are the truest friends,
And that a broken heart soon mends.
But Socs, my old pal, I miss you in spades,
And the memories and love never fades

I hope you have returned to our old home,
Strong and young again, able to roam.
I will forever hold open the door and see,
You walking through with a 'meow' just for me.
      

Socs was brought to my house by a friend who, knowing how upset I was at the loss of a previous cat, thoughtfully got him for me.   Two weeks earlier, I had attended a party with her and had encountered him there for the first time. Seeing how smitten I was with him and knowing he needed a home, she had hatched the plan of uniting us.  However, arriving on my door-step she didn’t receive the reception she had expected, as my initial reaction was a firm “thank you for the thought but I don’t want any more pets.”  I brought her in for a coffee and the kitten was let out of the carrier to bound around the room.  Of course, before the kettle had boiled he was firmly in my arms, all thoughts of the pain of loss gone, and our lives together had begun.

What a character!  For the first five or six years he was a very independent cat with something of a wild streak.  His mother had been rescued, and on being taken to the vet was found to be both pregnant and terminally ill.  The decision was made to allow her to have the kittens as the birth was imminent, and she received some treatment.  It was believed that she had lived wild for a time and the  father was probably feral.  This may account in part for Socs' personality and behaviour in those early years.  

We often hear it said of someone that he/she was 'here before.'  This was the case with the tiny kitten and so he was named Socrates because of the pensive way he sat and reflected for long stretches at a time.   Once out of kittenhood, he became very much his own cat.  Occasionally he sought cuddles but mostly he behaved in an aloof, majestic manner reminding us daily of his kinship with the king of the jungle.  His body language, his walk, his whole demeanour, his day-to-day behaviour was that of being removed from the crowd.  He ruled the road with a blood-stained claw and woe-be-tide any cat that peeped around the corner, let alone was brave enough or daft enough to place a paw onto his territory.  They say a neutered cat quietens down and if this is true, then I dread to think how many more skirmishes he would have fought had he not had the procedure carried out. 
 
In his sixth year, he mellowed and his behaviour changed. He sought out soft beds, cushions and warm laps.  He allowed himself to be stroked and cuddled and in time, this extended to everyone; neighbours and passers-by.  There were frequent reports of surprise visits to neighbour's sofas and beds for which I apologised with some embarrassment, but everyone seemed to enjoy these casual visits from the unexpected guest.  Over the years, his social life and invitations were greater than my own and neighbours enquired after him as naturally as they did about the rest of the family. People could not pass without giving him some attention.  It was as though having realised the joy to be had from being stroked and cuddled, he sought to catch up on the many he missed in the previous years of self-imposed aloofness.  But the outdoor life continued in the main, and on mild nights he slept under the hedge or in the plant pots, used the privet canopy to watch the world go by or the rain dance on the pavement. And still, he vigilantly patrolled his territory.

The years went by and awareness of the passage of time spurred us on to pursue the dream of relocating to a rural area.  We joked about Socs retiring to the country where he would wander over his estate and be lord of all he surveyed.   Fate however had other plans and four weeks before the move, he fell ill and never fully recovered.  He moved into his country home where he lived as an invalid, pottering about the house and stepping just outside to lie in the sun.  There were to be no great adventures, no long strolls or marking out his new domain.  All of that was now in the past.  He slept most of the day, his whispers and toes twitching in his sleep as he stalked his foe and walked old roads in his dreams.  His new found pleasure was the wood-burner in front of which he lay prostrate or sat upright peering into the flames, like an ancient Egyptian paying homage to the god, Ra.

Socs has gone but his spirit is around me, memories of him are etched in my mind and my love for him is buried deep in my heart.  One small animal brought and taught so much in his time with us.

In memory and thanks to Socs.

Star Gazing

 

Closing the curtains last night, my eyes were drawn to the sky which was a mass of glittering stars.  So I went outside and 

"I stood and stared; the sky was lit,

The sky was stars all over it,

I stood, I knew not why,

Without a wish, without a will, 

I stood upon that silent hill

And stared into the sky until 

My eyes were blind with stars and still 

I stared into the sky."

(Ralph Hodgson,1871-1962)

I stayed for quite a while, mesmerised by the scene above my head.  How many times have I seen stars across my life? - yet, a star-filled sky moves me, affects me as though each sighting was the first.  

The gems twinkling under the lights of their display cases in jewellers' shop windows don't arrest my attention or stop me in my tracks as I pass by.  But these heavenly bodies that are so far away draw me to them, have a magnetic pull on my heart and soul that have me standing or sitting until my neck hurts and I am numb with cold.  Even then, it is difficult to leave their company and go back indoors.  

I opened the curtains before getting into bed so that I could fall asleep with my last memory of yesterday being a glimpse of that star-filled sky.

John Clare Birthday

John Clare 

born 13th July1793

  Today is the birthday of John Clare, a poet of nature.  His poems are simply beautiful.  His love of the natural world flows from every line and his works are more like love letters than poems so filled are they with affection, wonder and care. A simple, honest man of the earth.  A sensitive soul touched and moved by nature to convey in words the most wonderful images, feelings and emotions.

 

ETERNITY OF NATURE

 

 All nature has a feeling: woods, fields, brooks
Are life eternal: and in silence they
Speak happiness beyond the reach of books;
There's nothing mortal in them; their decay
Is the green life of change; to pass away
And come again in blooms revivified.
Its birth was heaven, eternal it its stay,
And with the sun and moon shall still abide
Beneath their day and night and heaven wide. 

John Clare

Article on John Clare http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2012/jul/09/john-clare-poetry