Poem for a Thursday: William Barnes

Today seemed to be unintentionally bird-themed. On my morning cycle to work I said hello to them as I went past, even singing Blackbirdsinging in the dead of night as I went. Then the morning radio program I listen to had a bird-themed feature. And then during our morning meeting I spotted Poems For Birds on the shelf, so how could I resist picking a poem from it?

William Barnes was an English Victorian poet from Dorset. As you can see, he wrote in dialect. This is challenging to read, but I love that it reflects his passion for language. The Blackbird sums up my experience of spring in England and I hope you will like it too. There’s also a Youtube recording of this poem if you’re interested in hearing the dialect. It is a very thick West Country accent, and though Dorset is further south than I am here in Gloucestershire, the accent around here is quite similar.

The Blackbird by William Barnes

O V all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o’ spring,—
Vor all the lark, a-swingèn high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An’ sparrows, clust’rèn roun’ the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough,—
The blackbird, whisslèn in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippèn win’s noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi’ sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leäne-zide hedges, thick an’ green;
An’ zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gaÿest zong.

‘Tis blithe, wi’ newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornèn’s ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulèn frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-barked woak-trees’ heads;
But there’s noo time, the whole däy long,
Lik’ evenèn wi’ the blackbird’s zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zettèn o’ the zun,
Then blushèn Jeäne do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An’ stay till all is dim an’ dark
Bezides the ashen tree’s white bark;
An’ all bezides the blackbird’s shrill
An’ runnèn evenèn-whissle’s still.

An’ there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi’ pryèn eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meäde
O’ grass-stalks in the high bough’s sheäde;
Or climb aloft, wi’ clingèn knees,
Vor crows’ aggs up in swaÿèn trees,
While frightened blackbirds down below
Did chatter o’ their little foe.
An’ zoo there’s noo pleäce lik’ the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird’s zong.

Poem for a Thursday: D.H. Lawrence

This is just a quick post; we celebrated Valentine’s Day by staying up to watch a movie (The Shape of Water) after putting Mabel to bed, so I am very tired!

This poem by D.H. Lawrence is one we included in our wedding ceremony. The sentiment behind it is just beautiful, and the last line is a stunner. (Also, I am a sucker for our wedding memories, so the picture I’ve chosen is from our Save the Date bookmark!)

Fidelity

Man and woman are like the earth, that brings forth flowers
in summer, and love, but underneath is rock.
Older than flowers, older than ferns, older than foraminiferae,
older than plasm altogether is the soul underneath.
And when, throughout all the wild chaos of love
slowly a gem forms, in the ancient, once-more-molten rocks
of two human hearts, two ancient rocks,
a man’s heart and a woman’s,
that is the crystal of peace, the slow hard jewel of trust,
the sapphire of fidelity.
The gem of mutual peace emerging from the wild chaos of love.


Poem for a Thursday: Alice Oswald

I’m back with another Poem for a Thursday. It is nice to have a reason to seek out poetry, I must say. And it is nice to be back here more regularly as well. Thanks to Jennifer for providing the inspiration; do go visit her blog if you haven’t yet!

This week’s poem is from British poet Alice Oswald. She is a contemporary poet I found a couple of years ago by picking up her most recent book, Falling Awake, in my local independent bookshop. I just skimmed it, but it was so stunning that I had to buy it. It is full of wonderful, evocative poems, but I chose this one because I think there is something magical about dew 🙂

“A rushed account of the dew”

I who can blink
to break the spell of daylight

and what a sliding screen between worlds
is a blink

I who can hear the last three seconds in my head
but the present is beyond me
              listen

in this tiny moment of reflexion
I want to work out what it’s like to descend
out of the dawn’s mind

and find a leaf and fasten the known to the unknown
with a liquid cufflink
              and then unfasten

to be brief

to be almost actual

oh pristine example
of claiming a place on the earth
only to cancel

What are you reading?