Hi all --Enjoying the poetry exchange. In the meantime I find myself wondering if folks have favorite films that remind them of Winedale in some way. (And let's save some time and just say up front that "Fitzcarraldo" is not eligible, okay...?!)The first one that comes to mind for me is "A Month in the Country," made in 1987 with Colin Firth, a young Kenneth Branagh and a heartbreakingly lovely Natasha Richardson. Unfortunately it has fallen into neglect and I hear on Wikipedia that the one remaining print is finally being restored for a DVD release. I won't attempt to describe the film right here, but if you get a chance to land a copy on VHS, or it if pops up on a cable channel (unlikely), check it out and see if the ending doesn't hit you with that leaving-Winedale feeling right in the gut.csOn Aug 19, 2010, at 10:53 AM, Ernie S. wrote:On Aug 19, 2010, at 9:24 AM, Thomas, Eric wrote:Thanks Katey. There are two poems that remind me of Winedale. Little Gidding is one, here is the other.
Eric
PS – anyone still have their Kenneth Patchen poem memorized?
From The Journal of Albion Moonlight by Kenneth Patchen:Tom O'Bedlam's SongFrom the hag and hungry goblinThat into rags would rend ye,All the saints that stand by the naked manIn the Book of Moons defend ye.That of your five sound sensesYou never be forsakenNor wander from yourselves with TomAbroad to beg your bacon.Chorus:While I do sing:"Any food, any feeding,Feeding, drink or clothing.Come dame or maid, be not afraid.Poor Tom will injure no one.With a thought I took for maudlinAnd a cruise of cockle pottage,With a thing thus tall,Sky bless you all,I fell into this dotage.I slept not since the Conquest,Till then I scarcely waken,Till the roguish boy of loveMe found and stripped me naked.The moon's my constant mistressAnd the lonely owl my marrow,The flaming drake and nightcrow makeMe music to my sorrow.I know more than Apollo,For oft when he lies sleepingI see the stars at mortal warsAnd the wounded welkin weeping.The moon embrace her shepherdAnd the Queen of Love her warrior,While the first doth horn the star of morn,And the next the heavenly farrier.The gypsies Snap and PedroAre none of Tom's companionsThe punk I scorn and the cutpurse swornAnd the raging boy's bravado.[something missing here]With a Host of Furious FanciesWhereof I am commander,With a burning spear and a horse of air,To the wilderness I wander.By a knight of ghosts and shadows,I summoned am to tourney.Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end,Methinks it is no journey.On Aug 19, 2010, at 9:24 AM, Thomas, Eric wrote:Thanks Katey. There are two poems that remind me of Winedale. Little Gidding is one, here is the other.
Eric
PS – anyone still have their Kenneth Patchen poem memorized?
To Be of Use, Marge Piercy
The people I love the best
Jump into work head first
Without dallying in the shallows
And swim of with sure strokes
Almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
The black sleek heads of seals
Bouncing like half-submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves,
An ox to a heavy cart,
Who pull like water buffalo, with
Massive patience,
Who strain in the mud and the
Muck to move things forward,
Who do what has to be done,
Again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
In the task, who go into the
Fields to harvest
And work in a row and pass
The bags along,
Who are not parlor generals
And field deserters
But move in a common rhythm
When the food must come in
Or the fire put out.
The work of the world is
Common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands,
Crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
Has a shape that satisfies,
Clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are
Put in museums
But you know they were made
To be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
And a person for work that is real.
From: winedale-l-bounces@lists.wikimedia.org [mailto:winedale-l-bounces@lists.wikimedia.org] On Behalf Of katey gilligan
Sent: Thursday, August 19, 2010 12:52 AM
To: alums
Subject: [Winedale-l] Poetry Doc Read to Us in 1994, I Remember Now, Here's for YouLITTLE GIDDING
(No. 4 of 'Four Quartets')T.S. Eliot
V
What we call the beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from. And every phrase
And sentence that is right (where every word is at home,
Taking its place to support the others,
The word neither diffident nor ostentatious,
An easy commerce of the old and the new,
The common word exact without vulgarity,
The formal word precise but not pedantic,
The complete consort dancing together)
Every phrase and every sentence is an end and a beginning,
Every poem an epitaph. And any action
Is a step to the block, to the fire, down the sea's throat
Or to an illegible stone: and that is where we start.
We die with the dying:
See, they depart, and we go with them.
We are born with the dead:
See, they return, and bring us with them.
The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree
Are of equal duration. A people without history
Is not redeemed from time, for history is a pattern
Of timeless moments. So, while the light fails
On a winter's afternoon, in a secluded chapel
History is now and England.With the drawing of this Love and the voice of this
CallingWe shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.--
Katey Gilligan
Masters in Science
Technology Commercialization
Red McCombs School of Business
The University of Texas at Austin
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College of Liberal Arts, University of Texas at Austin
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