April 2012
21 posts
The Net Menders
by Sylvia Plath
Halfway up from the little harbor of sardine boats, Halfway down from groves where the thin, bitter almond pips Fatten in green-pocked pods, the three net-menders sit out, Dressed in black, everybody in mourning for someone. They set their stout chairs back to the road and face the dark Dominoes of their doorways. Sun grains their crow-colors, Purples the fig in the leaf’s...
Wanderlust
Yesterday my great friend Katherine and her pal Jack took a last minute decision, left behind their revision, left uni, took a train to Gatwick, and bought tickets to Malaga. By 7pm there was a photo of them on facebook looking deliriously happy and sweaty on a beach lit by a very non-English sunset.
I am so jealous. I can’t seem to stay in one place for more than a month before that...
It’s time for everybody to read about the life of Haing S. Ngor. Some things are stranger (and sadder) than fiction.
“Schiller. Legend.
And yes, the whale is definitely the best bit! Prince of...”
– Vicky Parsons
“es freue sich, wer da atmet im rosigten licht. {let him rejoice who breathes up...”
– from The Diver, quoted by Sigmund Freud in Civilization and its Discontents
Church Bells →
Eric Valli
Today I have spent far too long when I should have been writing about Freud, mulling over the photographs of Eric Valli. How beautiful and difficult these ways of life are.
Happy Easter
About to sit down to a big family dinner together! Listen to this, you might like it, you can also download it for free.
January 2011
13 posts
Danish Dance Theatre
Yesterday, on the spur of the moment, I got a bargain student ticket to see the Danish Dance Theatre (£5 instead of £20 - win). I happened to get put in the best seat in the house, third row, middle seat - my eyes were level with the dancer’s navels basically, and they were only a few feet from me. I could hear every breath they made. They did three pieces; Enigma, CaDance, and...
black swan
Most terrifying film - at a couple of points I contemplated walking out of the theatre; it was just too much suspense. It’s an absolutely horrific portrayal of mental breakdown… and quite utterly beautiful.
Go here and then pluck up your courage and go see the film.
a Poem for your Sunday
{more of the wonderful work of Paul de Luna}
Variation on a Theme by Rilke
A certain day became a presence to me;
there it was, confronting me--a sky, air, light:
a being. And before it started to descend
from the height of noon, it leaned over
and struck my shoulder as if with
the flat of a sword, granting me
honor and a task. The day's blow
rang out, metallic--or it was I, a...
I heart Tennyson
{beautiful photographs by Paul de Luna who is inspiring me like mad and you will definitely be seeing more of… via Coco+Kelley}
So,The Lady of Shalott.
I had the best seminar ever on this poem, and on Mariana, yesterday. My word, Tennyson was a genius. It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? Tennyson. Red in tooth and claw? Also Tennyson. He is...
resolutions
Ever since New Year I’ve been trying to think of the right resolutions for me. I don’t want to have, as ever, the old ‘get thin’ although I am determined to get a bit fitter this term, mostly for the sake of my mood. No, I want something a bit more meaningful, that can become not just a resolution for this year but for the rest of my life as well. My sister told me one...
SANDWICH
from the cute blog tomywife:
I make this for very few people in my life, including you.
Pan toasted and buttered Italian Bread
Prosciutto, Turkey or Ham (your preference)
Avocado
Cheddar Cheese
Fried Egg
Er, YES PLEASE.
a first draft of a poem
In the style of Robert Frost, particularly his poems in North of Boston.
A couple of words of explanation/warning. This is autobiographical and describes a moment that was shocking for me because it was so rare. It is about my parents, who are ordinarily extraordinarily tolerant and loving toward each other. Also, I’m not yet completely happy with the poem, I find it sort of clunky and...
myelephantine-deactivated201104 asked: You recommended me. :)
Just wanted to say thank you and that I hope that you're doing well.
Hugs,
-C.
Just wanted to say thank you and that I hope that you're doing well.
Hugs,
-C.
The Waves of Breffny
by Eva Gore-Booth
The grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea, And there is traffic on it and many a horse and cart, But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart. A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o’er the hill, And there is glory in it; and terror on the wind: But...
December 2010
36 posts
Anonymous asked: Dear Fran,
I have a poetry related question that I thought you might be able to help with. See, I'm actually poorly right now and talking a lot of nonsense, and sometimes I say words that I would like to mean something but they already mean something else. For example... I would quite like the word "laser" to mean someone who is lazy but unfortunately it...
I have a poetry related question that I thought you might be able to help with. See, I'm actually poorly right now and talking a lot of nonsense, and sometimes I say words that I would like to mean something but they already mean something else. For example... I would quite like the word "laser" to mean someone who is lazy but unfortunately it...
[Sufjan Stevens | Chicago] + [Coldplay |...
Bluebird
by Charles Bukowski
there’s a bluebird in my heart that wants to get out but I’m too tough for him, I say, stay in there, I’m not going to let anybody see you.
Cirque d’Hiver
by Elizabeth Bishop
Across the floor flits the mechanical toy, fit for a king of several centuries back. A little circus horse with real white hair. His eyes are glossy black. He bears a little dancer on his back. She stands upon her toes and turns and turns. A slanting spray of artificial roses is stitched across her skirt and tinsel bodice. Above her head she poses...
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WatchAh… this is excellent. Iceland. Poetry. The sea.
Just look at these pretty books!
swansongs for poetry
This is a long poem. But. Well worth a bit of time/effort. Something to ponder as you prepare for your warm, shiny Christmas.
Twelve Days of Christmas
by Carol Ann Duffy
1 ON THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS, a buzzard on a branch. In Afghanistan, no partridge, pear tree; but my true love sent to me a card from home. I sat alone, crouched in yellow dust, and traced the grins of my kids with...
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