Thursday 3 July 2008
Wednesday 2 July 2008
Daffodils, Dejection and Devotion
I wander'd lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Poetry is about the only thing that is getting through these desperate times. The ultimate escapism that comes from fiction and the 'other' world out there is providing me with some solace that things can get better. I do not think I have ever been in a more distant place as I am currently, never before have I been so unaware of myself and what I am searching for. I am confused and nervous, dejected and uncertain. My mind is buzzing with excitement one minute, down and out the next. Getting myself out of this rut is going to be a tough one.
I have however, recently enjoyed a tremendous film and yet another excuse to pardon myself from thinking about current issues...and it came to me in the form of Narnia, Prince Caspian. I so enjoyed this film that halfway through I actually turned to my other half and said,
'I am really enjoying this, I mean seriously, I feel quite elated I am so happy'
He looked at me a little oddly, but smiled, as if to appreciate my childlike fervent attitude. If you haven't seen it, go forth and do just that. NB, if you haven't seen the first one, do that first.
Other than the odd dinner out, proving more costly than my bank balance can take at the moment, I haven't been doing a great deal in my meagre spare time aside from the gardening. I have devotedly resurrected a rose in my garden, which was a very small, albeit still very significant rose that my mother had passed onto me as a house plant. Survive in the tropics that is my house, it didn't. It whimpered and flopped in about 5 days, drowning in all its water. This greatly upset me, seeing a gift given to me wither and die before my eyes, perhaps metaphoric of my career at present, short-lived and suffering. So, giving it one last chance I pulled off the dead leaves, that came away in my fingertips like a well cooked chicken sliding off the bone, dug a small hole in the front of the Imperata cylindrica (nice contrast depending on what colour the rose turns out to be), gave it some compost and planted it with a silent wish. Low and behold, with limited but sufficient watering 4 days later, new buds have appeared, and the little beauty is blossoming...not quite literally yet.
Maybe there is hope after all.
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Poetry is about the only thing that is getting through these desperate times. The ultimate escapism that comes from fiction and the 'other' world out there is providing me with some solace that things can get better. I do not think I have ever been in a more distant place as I am currently, never before have I been so unaware of myself and what I am searching for. I am confused and nervous, dejected and uncertain. My mind is buzzing with excitement one minute, down and out the next. Getting myself out of this rut is going to be a tough one.
I have however, recently enjoyed a tremendous film and yet another excuse to pardon myself from thinking about current issues...and it came to me in the form of Narnia, Prince Caspian. I so enjoyed this film that halfway through I actually turned to my other half and said,
'I am really enjoying this, I mean seriously, I feel quite elated I am so happy'
He looked at me a little oddly, but smiled, as if to appreciate my childlike fervent attitude. If you haven't seen it, go forth and do just that. NB, if you haven't seen the first one, do that first.
Other than the odd dinner out, proving more costly than my bank balance can take at the moment, I haven't been doing a great deal in my meagre spare time aside from the gardening. I have devotedly resurrected a rose in my garden, which was a very small, albeit still very significant rose that my mother had passed onto me as a house plant. Survive in the tropics that is my house, it didn't. It whimpered and flopped in about 5 days, drowning in all its water. This greatly upset me, seeing a gift given to me wither and die before my eyes, perhaps metaphoric of my career at present, short-lived and suffering. So, giving it one last chance I pulled off the dead leaves, that came away in my fingertips like a well cooked chicken sliding off the bone, dug a small hole in the front of the Imperata cylindrica (nice contrast depending on what colour the rose turns out to be), gave it some compost and planted it with a silent wish. Low and behold, with limited but sufficient watering 4 days later, new buds have appeared, and the little beauty is blossoming...not quite literally yet.
Maybe there is hope after all.
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