Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Thursday, May 31, 2018

An Evening in Apúlia That Began with Pessoa


My husband and I returned Sunday from a five-day trip to Braga, Portugal. We went for the Braga Romana Festival, which I'll be posting about soon, with pictures.  Here is a little "taster" until then. But today our last evening in Braga is fresh in my mind, because friends we've been privileged to know — Carla Pereira, her husband, Armando Coelho, and their daughter, Beatriz — made it magical.  
         
To begin with, I am a fan of Pessoa, the mysterious Portuguese poet whose poems were never discovered until after his death. He's considered one of the greatest poets of the 20th Century, and one of Portugal's two greatest poets. The fact that I'm a fan doesn't mean I've read a lot of his work: But I do have two books of his translated poems that I dip into from time to time. And when I do, there is something about his use of words, even translated, that etch the heart and linger on.
   
So the evening we were to go out to dinner, Carla invited us to their flat for snacks first, and gave us this marvelous present: A hand-crafted book of some of his poems. You can see what a marvel the book is: The cover is wood, as it the spine, all lovingly assembled into a masterpiece of workmanship. The poems are in Portuguese, alas, but I will make it my Portuguese language lesson to start translating them one by one — probably for the next 30 years! 😊 She also gave us a bottle of Dona Carla wine, which we are saving for a special occasion. (Maybe when my new book comes out in October)

Those were the first two surprises.

The third surprise was where we went for dinner — a small fishing village about 32 kilometers away from Braga. It's called Apúlia, which is also the name of a town in Italy, and it is thought that perhaps there is a connection, due to Roman-style original folk costumes that may go back to the Roman Empire. The name of the restaurant was A Cabana (The Beach Hut). More about that later, but first we walked along the beach, enjoying the fresh breeze, the susurro of waves, the peacefulness that always comes near the ocean.





             


Carla took the picture of me on the beach looking up at Rajan. The reason I like this picture so much is that a few minutes earlier, a man came along singing loudly and with high spirits. I think he was gypsy because of the melody of his song and the wonderful "warbling" effect that you often hear in gypsy music. He stopped and leaned on the rail above, looking out to sea, with his arms wide open toward the water. Rajan was beside him at that point and gave him a couple of coins, and, in Spanish he spoke at length, thanking Rajan, blessing him, blessing his wife (with a nod to me where I was looking up from the sand), and then he went on his way, singing. I had my camera and would have loved to take a picture, but it would have made him self-conscious. And it would have destroyed the moment. But it's an experience I will always remember. 

Before we got back in the car to go to A Cabana, we posed for two group photos. And then we went on to the restaurant which was another great experience.


The restaurant was one of several in a line, but it was absolutely packed. Obviously a popular place. Wonderful artifacts of the sea and of fishing. Waiters who loved to joke — and who were some of the fastest I'd ever seen! And the food was just delicious. We had grilled salmon, but it came with potatoes and vegetables, and the meal was served with a very tasty table wine in a carafe the water kept refilling. Everyone at every table seemed to be having a wonderful time. (WE certainly were!) 





Finally, it was time to go. But the evening wasn't over! You might call this surprise #4: Armando drove us from beach area to beach area as twilight fell. It was a beautiful night. The sky was that lovely blue that always seems so mystical. The moon wasn't visible from inside the car, but Venus was — a planet, but also known as the evening star and the morning star, and always shining brightly. That's the epitome of Portugal for me: always shining brightly. 

How about you? What is the most magical trip you can remember? What is the most magical evening? Does twilight affect you? Do you love to wander along the beach?

Saturday, November 26, 2016

Poetry and Guests


                                

Happy Post-Thanksgiving Day, everyone. I hope you all had a lovely day. 

Today (well yesterday and last week as well) I'm celebrating three things. 

But first: Celebrate the Small Things  is a blog hop co-hosted by Lexa Cain at: Lexa Cain,  L.G. Keltner @ Writing Off The Edge , and Tonja Drecker @ Tidbits Blog. (You can go to any of these sites to add your name to the links, if you want to participate. I recommend it, because it's always fun to see positive news that others are celebrating, and to share your own as well. )



What am I celebrating? 
1. Friends from Spain  David & Terri — are visiting us until the 1st of December. They are originally from England but live in Spain, and we met them several years ago on one of our trips and the friendship has continued. It's been great fun taking them to see various sites.

2. We had a great Thanksgiving with them and a wonderful "pre" Thanksgiving with my god-family. Lots of good eating and good company. 

3. One of my writing friends — Rosi Hollinbeck, a super writer and beta reader — has had one of her poems anthologized in a The Best of Today's Little Ditty, available HERE. Check it out.

What are you celebrating this week? How was your Thanksgiving? Do you normally have Turkey, or have you started different traditions? Are you a poetry fan? If so, what is your favorite kind of poem, humorous or reflective? 

Sunday, March 9, 2014

Abe Lincoln, the Poet

Since the sixteenth President of the U.S., Abraham Lincoln, lived and died during the Victorian Era in America, it seems fitting to include a post about him on Victorian Scribbles.
Young Lincoln,
by Charles Keck, Sculptor, 1945

Daguerrotype
by Alexander Gardner, 1863

I didn't realize Lincoln wrote poetry until I came across a small book, The Poems of Abraham Lincoln, published by Applewood Books, Inc., in 1991. "Small" is the definitive word: There are three poems in all, inspired by a 1844 trip to his childhood home in Indiana.              
(Both pictures here, by the way, are in the public domain.)


It shouldn't be surprising to learn Lincoln was attracted to poetry. He wrote his own speeches with such eloquence and imagery, it was clear he loved language. Still, it was touching to realize he turned to poetry to express matters close to his heart—a new slant on someone who has always ranked in my own heart as one of my most admired American "heroes".

The first poem, "My Childhood's Home," is a bittersweet poem about returning to the childhood home of the title and sadly realizing everyone is gone. Its closing lines are tinged with sadness:

     "I range the fields with pensive tread
          And pace the hollow rooms.
      And feel (companion of the dead)
           I'm living in the tombs."

The second, "But Here's an Object . . ," conveys deep distress over the life of a childhood schoolmate, Matthew Gentry. Matthew, as a child, tried to hurt himself, his mother, and his father; apparently he grew up mad. In the 1944 visit, Lincoln saw that Matthew was still in a terrible state. You can read the full poem, and some history of Matthew's condition HERE . The closing lines of this poem evoke the old cliche, "a fate worse than death," that some states of "madness" inflict—particularly in those days, when mental illness was so little understood and so poorly dealt with:

     "Oh death! Thou awe-inspiring prince,
           That keepst the world in fear;
     Why does thou tear more blest ones hence,
           And leave him ling'ring here?"

The third poem, "The Bear Hunt," is the only one of the three with a touch of humor. He describes in great detail, the chase and the hunt, with the dogs tracking the quarry. At the end, even though the bear has been killed by hunters, the dogs are fighting over the corpse, as if to take credit for the outcome. Lincoln's verdict?

     "Conceited whelp! We laugh at thee—
          Now mind, that not a few
     Of pompous, two-legged dogs there be,
          Conceited quite as you."

You can read all three of these poems in their entirety HERE .

So, now I wonder: Were any other U.S. presidents drawn to poetry?
What surprising things have you learned about Lincoln or any other person you consider a hero?


   




Wednesday, May 15, 2013

I DISCOVER TENNYSON: PART II



For the past month, while working on a rewrite of my middle grade historical mystery, I've been indulging my new found love of Tennyson's poetry. A great discovery for me is In Memoriam, a book-length elegy which is really a series of elegies in 131 poems, to his friend, Arthur Hallam, along with a prologue and an epilogue in verse.

Tennyson met Hallam at Trinity College in Cambridge and they became fast friends. When Hallam unexpectedly died of apoplexy on a trip to Europe with his father, the death deeply affected Tennyson's family. Hallam was engaged to Alfred's sister, Emily, and Alfred lost his closest friend. Devastated, Tennyson began writing the poems as a way to cope with his grief.

But the poems evolved into more than elegies to a lost life. Tennyson wrote them over a period of seventeen years. During that time, he was wrestling with scientific discoveries of the day—discoveries that presented challenges to one's Christian faith, something the Victorians took quite seriously. Edgar Finley Shannon, Jr., calls In Memoriam, "that monument to the religious questioning of the nineteenth century . . ."1.  T. S. Eliot called it a religious poem and wrote, "It is not religious because of the quality of its faith, but because of the quality of its doubt." 2

Through the successive elegies, Tennyson worked through questions of whether the soul persists after death, whether there can be a loving creator if the creations simply become buried under geological strata through the ages, whether evolution suggests man is higher on the evolutionary scale, whether the future will usher in a superior being to man as we know him now, and so on. Tennyson finally made his peace by recognizing the validity of scientific reality in Nature, and the validity of spiritual reality in God, deciding that they worked by different laws.

Because In Memoriam addressed concerns of the Victorian Age at so many levels—including the Victorian attitude toward mourning—it was hailed as a masterpiece when it was published in 1850. Soon after, Tennyson became England's new poet laureate. (Wordsworth had passed away, Queen Victoria was looking for a successor, and Prince Albert read In Memoriam and admired it.) 3. In later years, after the death of Prince Albert, Queen Victoria told Tennyson, "Next to the Bible in Memoriam is my comfort." 4


The success of In Memoriam brought financial security and enabled Tennyson to wed his long-time sweetheart, Emily Sellwood. 

As I've been reading through the poems, I was amazed at how many famous lines I recognized: 

"Tis better to have loved and lost/ than never to have loved at all."

"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky/ . . . Ring out the old, Ring in the new . . ."

"Our little systems have their day; / They have their day and cease to be . . ." 

"Theirs is not to reason why, / Theirs is but to do and die . . ."

"Nature, red in tooth and claw . . . "

Some of the above information has been taken from a fine biography of Tennyson at Poetry Foundation HERE, and some (including the four foot-noted quotes) has been taken from a book I would highly recommend:

Alfred, Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam
Authoritative Text, Criticism
Second Edition
Edited by Erik Gray, Harvard University
W. W. Norton & Company, 2004
1. p. 110
2. p. 138
3. p. xiii
4. p. xiii