Wednesday, 22 July 2015

the moving finger writes

and having writ moves on.   

I began looking at my blog at 8.30 this morning, nine o'clock has just struck in the dining room and I am still at my computer - in my dressing gown (it is one of the few mornings in the week when there is absolutely no rush to have a shower and get ready to go somewhere).   So what news this morning?

The farmer has just put the food we bought yesterday out at the bird table and scattered poultry wheat on the floor.   Within a couple of minutes eighteen collared doves were on the grass scoffing the wheat.   We hear so many stories about declining bird populations but this is one of the huge success stories - in fact since they arrived here (I believe in around the fifties) they have become so succesful that they are almost a nuisance.    But they are a pretty bird and goodness knows how they ever breed so successfully because their nests are terrible ('two sticks across and a little bit of moss' as the poet says).   We have several nests in our Scots Pines and are always finding broken eggs on the lawn beneath during the nesting season.

Today, one of my favourite days in the month, is our Poetry Day when anything up to fifteen of us meet in friend W's conservatory to read our favourite poems (and maybe have a short discussion afterwards).   One of the nice things is choosing them and I sat for an hour or two last evening doing just that.   The trouble is that once you open a poetry book it is easy to get carried away and just read on:

I had been reading about Carol Rumens and her poetry (she was heavily influenced by Philip Larkin.   I am reading her poem 'Coming Home' about returning home from across the channel.  She gets across very well in her final stanza how small each individual is in the world.

And then a Philip Larkin - one of my favourites 'Maiden Name'.

Then a Ted Hughes 'A Pink Wool Knitted Dress', such a sad poem in the light of the marriage of Hughes and Plath, about their wedding day.

If there is time I shall end with 'Little Trotty Wagtail' by John Clare - because we have a pied wagtail who visits our front lawn every morning - his nest must be somewhere near and he is such a neat and pretty bird.

11 comments:

Heather said...

I too am being naughty and sitting here in my dressing gown. Enjoy your lovely afternoon and those poems. I always think that pied wagtails look as if they might be clockwork as they walk about nodding and flicking their tails. We have had collared doves nest on our pergola and behind the Sky dish! As you say, their so called nests are anything but.

Cro Magnon said...

I have a pair of collared doves in the garden, they wait for me by the chicken run then share the chicken food. The hens don't seem to mind.

donna baker said...

Your day sounds wonderful. Wish I could be at the poetry reading with you.

Frances said...

You've certainly got a fine mix on this day.

I made an early visit to the farmers market and brought home quite a mix of ripe, fresh produce (including okra!) and a couple of intriguing succulent potted plants for my window. I hope to do some drawings of these plants and will think of them as muses.

Best wishes.

angryparsnip said...

What a lovely day is planed.
So enjoy when you post about your Poetry Day.

woofs from The Square Ones
cheers, parsnip

Frugal in Derbyshire said...

Talking of poetry Weave. I have the start of a poem in my head which I think goes something like" Now I will put you in a box with massive walls and a lit that locks" Does it ring any bells with you? It is driving me mad, I know it is from my Art college days (mid 60s)
Gill

Rachel said...

Collared doves make a monotonous cooing noise. I cant stand it.

Midlife Roadtripper said...

Today I purchased a book by Mary Oliver to aid me understanding and writing poetry. Poetry has always intimidated me but I love Oliver. Hoping to expand my acumen as time goes by.

The doves -- when I put out my feeder, I hope the doves take time to discover it so my cardinals and finches can get their fill. Doves devour it.

And, is there something wrong with sitting in your pajamas til late in the morning? Thinking not. Works for me.

thelma said...

Well I loved my collared doves in Essex, thought of bringing them with me, not many round here though. They nipped over from the continent and stayed ;) their nest building is atrocious, very untidy.

Gwil W said...

And having writ moves on . . .

The Weaver of Grass said...

Thanks for the visit. Poetry, as usual, was a lovely, serene afternoon.