Friends are all so good in times of need. I went out for a drive with the farmer this morning and returned to find a bowl of friend W's Beetroot Salad (delicious stuff) - or at least didn't find it until she sent me an e mail to ask if I had found it.
A couple of days ago my friends P and D (who were supposed to be coming for the week end next weekend until I put them off) sent me a lovely card showing a lake (they live in The Lakes). When I opened it, it is a series of fifteen questions. Each one is just a line from a Poem. They ask me for the Title and Poet and then for the preceding line and the following line to the line quoted. I have so enjoyed doing it.
In almost all cases I have known the Poet and the title without looking them up, but the preceding and following lines have sometimes stumped me, and I have been trying hard not to look them up.
One however has completely stumped me - does anyone know - 'you cannot live in the present' - I am sure some of you will know.
And what a lovely idea to send someone who is laid up. Remember it for future use.
Not being so knowledgeable about or as great a fan of poetry as you are, I resorted
ReplyDeleteto Google. I came up with "A Welsh Landscape" by R. S. Thomas. "You cannot live in
the present, At least not in Wales.
If I remember correctly, you gave us the recipe for W's delicious beet salad.
You are so lucky to be surrounded by such good friends.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad you are circulating again. Weave. All I can think of is a doll's house given to a girl for Christmas.
ReplyDeleteNo idea, but then I'm not a big poetry buff. Well done your friends.
ReplyDeleteI have a feeling Sheila is right. Something about worrying the carcass of a dead civilization or along those lines I think it is. Cheers!
ReplyDeleteCecil gray ? I googled it
ReplyDeleteKnowing little about poetry of my own country and language, I know even less about yours, but I think it is a great idea of your friends to send you that list!
ReplyDeleteWhen I was ill or could not be out and about as much as I wanted, as a child I loved reading, of course (and still do), but the best gift for me were paper dolls and their clothes. I don't know if little girls still play with them today.
It would have been lovely meeting you, Pat, but I guess we'll have to look into that again next year - time is running out (leaving Tuesday morning!).
You have some very special friends who know how to help you when you need it. Glad you can still get out and about even if not under your own steam just yet. I can't help out with the poetry poser but it was perfect entertainment for you.
ReplyDeleteR S Thomas.
ReplyDeleteWeaver, what thoughtful friends you have! The poetry exercise was a perfect choice for you, although I would probably not have been able to guess a single one.
ReplyDeleteIt's also grand to hear that you are getting out and about...bit by bit.
Wishing you a beautiful Sunday. xo
I am so glad you are feeling better. Being laid low in the summer always seems much worse than in the winter. I'm very glad you are out and about again!
ReplyDeleteLinda
Weaver, what a wonderful idea your friends came up with !
ReplyDeletecheers, parsnip and thehamish
So glad you are getting gradually better, Pat, - and being brave about 'carrying on', |I think the determination that requires is good for the soul, - always remembering limitations|!
ReplyDeleteTake care - fond thoughts....
What a lovely and loving idea that was!!!
ReplyDeleteIts easy to tell that they know you well and understood what would make you feel better!!!
You are for certain a lucky lass with such good friends !! And I am equally touched when I see how dearly you appreciate them!!!
You are blessed to have such good friends! What a perfect gift.
ReplyDeleteAgain, I am so glad you're on the road to recovery.
To live in Wales is to be conscious
ReplyDeleteAt dusk of the spilled blood
That went into the making of the wild sky,
Dyeing the immaculate rivers
In all their courses.
It is to be aware,
Above the noisy tractor
And hum of the machine
Of strife in the strung woods,
Vibrant with sped arrows.
You cannot live in the present,
At least not in Wales.
There is the language for instance,
The soft consonants
Strange to the ear.
There are cries in the dark at night
As owls answer the moon,
And thick ambush of shadows,
Hushed at the fields’ corners.
There is no present in Wales,
And no future;
There is only the past,
Brittle with relics,
Wind-bitten towers and castles
With sham ghosts;
Mouldering quarries and mines;
And an impotent people,
Sick with inbreeding,
Worrying the carcase of an old song.