Monday, 21 November 2011

The Hotel Awaits.

Any day now the ladies-in-waiting are due to arrive. Their accommodation is ready - good clean, sweet-smelling straw, clean, filled water trough. They were due to come on Saturday but never arrived, so we must await their coming.

The ladies-in-waiting are twenty-seven in-calf heifers. I look forward to their coming. It will be nice to have the yard filled with curious faces again when I go to get the car out of the garage.

A friend has asked me to fill a notebook with my poems for her to keep. Since I have been taking my drugs (it is a year today since I was ill, incidentally) I do not seem able to do anything creative. But it was interesting reading through them. Most have been posted on my site before, but a long time ago. So I thought I would leave one for you today.

This one was written for the farmer. Hope you like it:

'A Man of Few Words.'

No smile
or word of greeting;
just a raised forefinger
on the steering wheel.

No word of praise
or complaint;
just tacit acceptance.

No eulogies,
no promise of undying love;
just the cuckoo-flower,
the hazel nuts,
the subtle tail feather of the grey partridge,
brought in the afternoon
and given with few words,
but saying more
than any gaudy bunch of roses.


Anonymous said...

I like your poem and I would rather have a man like that than one who is romantic. Shall we see pictures of your ladies-in-waiting?

Jeannette StG said...

Haven't been here for a while, sorry Weaver - this cold I got in Holland takes forever for my spoiled (now) Californian blood to get over!
Your pause in creativity may have to do with your meds. Depending on how much it bothers you - I would bring it up next doc's visit! Let them find you a more fitting med. for you!

Heather said...

Your poem is beautiful Pat, and it speaks volumes. Your creativity will return but may take a little longer - my block lasted 2 years but seems to have come to an end at last, though I do appreciate that we didn't have the same problem.
Looking forward to seeing your ladies when they arrive. Their accommodation sounds very comfortable.

Heather said...

Your poem is beautiful Pat and speaks volumes. I think your creativity will return but may take a little more time.
I look forward to seeing your ladies when they arrive. Their accommodation sounds very comfortable. Blogger is being most unco-operative today and I may have to post this as 'Anonymous'. It's from Heather.

Unknown said...

Beautiful poem...and so true. A relationship needs so much more than Valentine's gifts to keep it going.

Hildred said...

Oh, that raised forefinger, - the small gift from the woods or fields...I know them so well. And they are so precious.

Gerry Snape said...

Pat....lovely words and thoughts in this poem. I regularly have breaks and I just let it happen. One of them is at the moment. But I had about twenty of my poems printed in book form for the family and feel quite satisfied at the moment with not so much poetry coming out. Looking forward to the "ladies"!

angryparsnip said...

What a sweet tender poem. I like it very much.

I know what your mean about not being able to do anything creative. Because of my illness, I am so bone weary that concentration is beyond me. I have all these ideas floating around in my mind but not the ability to do anything.
I hope your creative returns soon. I think you are doing wonderfully.

I can't wait to see the Ladies !

cheers, parsnip

Dominic Rivron said...

It may be that epilim doesn't stifle creativity, but that the effect it has on mood means one doesn't have the hights and lows one has without it. It may be that ideas flow in highs (or lows) and one has to find other ways to stimulate creativity. If so one has to find other ways to generate ideas.

I have googled this a bit - and came across some anecdotal evidence that if people can get the "flow" going, then the evenness of mood induced by epilim meant they worked more consistently.

However - writing poetry is voluntary. I must say that during my life there have been times when I've written a lot - and times when I've dried up completely for months or years. So these things can happen with or without the help of medication.

Dominic Rivron said...

Oh, you asked about Iris Murdoch novels and which ones I've read. I think I've read

The Bell
The Unicorn
The Italian Girl
Nuns and Soldiers
The Black Prince
The Sea, The Sea
The Message to the Planet

I'm sure there's another one - I can't remember the title, but it was about a group of middle class intellectuals going down to the beach at some point and pondering the meaning of life. Sadly, that narrows it down hardly at all.

ArtPropelled said...

Pat this is a beautiful poem. You write so well. Hope your creative energy returns soon.

Share my Garden said...

Just lovely. 'No promise of undying love' but that's what you get from a good solid Yorkshireman, deeds, not words!

mrsnesbitt said...

Love the "one finger raised" Jon is the same - I often say -"Go on JON raise afew more" but no always the one finger! lol!

Pondside said...

Lucky the woman to be matched with a man like this one.

John Going Gently said...

very sweet x

Gwil W said...

A wonderful poem. Glad you saved it.

Gwil W said...

ps - I agree with Dominic's para. 3. Dylan Thomas famously dried up for a year. Poems I mean not booze.

The Solitary Walker said...

Pat, that poem was so wonderful, I'm in an utter daze, it's certainly one of the best you have ever written.

Cuby said...

So glad to hear that your new ladies are settling into their new home,
I like this poem. Glad your creativity is returning, it can be so fickle.

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thank you for the helpful suggestions and for the kind words about the poem. As I have been copying them out for my friend I have been surprised by just how many I have written - some good, some bad and some indifferent.

Pamela Terry and Edward said...

I well remember this poem. I read it to my husband. Beautiful.

I can hardly imagine a barn full of that many expectant heifers! So many hormones!! At dinner the other night, we watched, amused, as seven friends were shown to their table. Each one of them about 8 months along. The entire restaurant giggled.

Elizabeth Musgrave said...

Love this poem. Perfect.

Loren said...

Beautiful poem, reminiscent of the Chinese poetry I've become so fond of as I've "matured."

Love seems measured best in small, concrete actions, not vague, sweeping emotions.