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Calma malinconia / Still melancholy
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Castle Rampart, Brittany, France
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Crimson Forest, Hungary
Looks amazing- I wonder whereabouts in Hungary that is.
A tall donnish schoolmaster enters the gate
only a little late, dismounts
with a certain characteristic style
steering between the other master’s cars
He holds both bars and stomps,
observed by some third form boys, behind
the staffroom, past the prefect’s den
and parks his velociped in the cycle shed.
Allons enfants! We foregather before him
in serried desks- pupils in pupitres.
and listen to his high voice entreating us
to sing a folk song about a peasant soup.
Pacing the long dias by the grand piano
he encouraged us to belt ’em out. Pronunciation
rather than grammar was his choice forte.
We embraced “Auprès de ma blonde
“Qu’il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon.“, the
Marseillaise and Sous le pont d’avignon
The lyrics he swiftly chalked above
the staves on the board in the Music Room.
Thinking back, he may have been batered
by the War and tough times along
with the Chinese Inland Mission.
Appearing himself like a cross between Ho Chi Min
and Ezra Pound.
Even then I thought he may not
have fitted in with the other masters
being deemed eccentric he would not have minded
entirely blinded to such bourgeois mores.
“China Reconstructs” tucked under his arm
and head full of ideograms, I wonder
just what I might still learn from him now.
https://studycli.org/chinese-characters/types-of-chinese-characters/
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The Palm Tree, E3
Brilliant sketches once again. Interesting and unusual colours used.
Here is “The Palm Tree” pub, seen from the south.
I have often puzzled about this pub. I pass it as I’m cycling or running on the Regent’s Canal towpath. It stands alone, in a field of green, strangely isolated. Has it always been like that?
The answer to that question is no. It was not always isolated. It used to be surrounded by houses.
Its Historic England entry (1427142) tells me that when this pub was built, in 1935, it was surrounded by terraces of houses, Palm Street, Lessada Street and Totty Street, which have since vanished. The entry says: “the pub is the final remnant of a once built-up, industrial part of London, destroyed in the Blitz and in subsequent…
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Interesting – according to Melanie Klein mourning can be creative and reconstructing. Despite Donne’s injunction the poem seems to achieve this in a reconstruction of a sense of self; beginning over again.
A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say
The breath goes now, and some say, No:
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,
Men reckon what it did, and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That our selves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like…
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Ocean Archway, Amalfi Coast, Italy
Fabulous photograph!
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Ogni giorno / Every day
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penwithlit 