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8/3/08
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8/1/08
"Sheltered Garden" by H. D. for the first Poetry Friday of August
SHELTERED GARDEN
I have had enough.
I gasp for breath.
Every way ends, every road,
every foot-path leads at last
to the hill-crest—
then you retrace your steps,
or find the same slope on the other side,
precipitate.
I have had enough—
border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,
herbs, sweet-cress.
O for some sharp swish of a branch—
there is no scent of resin
in this place,
no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,
aromatic, astringent—
only border on border of scented pinks.
Have you seen fruit under cover
that wanted light—
pears wadded in cloth,
protected from the frost,
melons, almost ripe,
smothered in straw?
Why not let the pears cling
to the empty branch?
All your coaxing will only make
a bitter fruit—
let them cling, ripen of themselves,
test their own worth,
nipped, shrivelled by the frost,
to fall at last but fair
With a russet coat.
Or the melon—
let it bleach yellow
in the winter light,
even tart to the taste—
it is better to taste of frost—
the exquisite frost—
than of wadding and of dead grass.
For this beauty,
beauty without strength,
chokes out life.
I want wind to break,
scatter these pink-stalks,
snap off their spiced heads,
fling them about with dead leaves—
spread the paths with twigs,
limbs broken off,
trail great pine branches,
hurled from some far wood
right across the melon-patch,
break pear and quince—
leave half-trees, torn, twisted
but showing the fight was valiant.
O to blot out this garden
to forget, to find a new beauty
in some terrible
wind-tortured place.
H.D. (Hilda Doolittle--Sea Garden, 1916)
I am, as always happens this time of year, leaving in the dust (literally) the love I felt for my garden in May and June. In July, I try to make the relationship work, but by August it's clear that it is not going to. In September and October, we part as friends, spend the winter re-charging, and do it all over again the next year...
The Poetry Friday Roundup is here at The Well-Read Child today!
I have had enough.
I gasp for breath.
Every way ends, every road,
every foot-path leads at last
to the hill-crest—
then you retrace your steps,
or find the same slope on the other side,
precipitate.
I have had enough—
border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies,
herbs, sweet-cress.
O for some sharp swish of a branch—
there is no scent of resin
in this place,
no taste of bark, of coarse weeds,
aromatic, astringent—
only border on border of scented pinks.
Have you seen fruit under cover
that wanted light—
pears wadded in cloth,
protected from the frost,
melons, almost ripe,
smothered in straw?
Why not let the pears cling
to the empty branch?
All your coaxing will only make
a bitter fruit—
let them cling, ripen of themselves,
test their own worth,
nipped, shrivelled by the frost,
to fall at last but fair
With a russet coat.
Or the melon—
let it bleach yellow
in the winter light,
even tart to the taste—
it is better to taste of frost—
the exquisite frost—
than of wadding and of dead grass.
For this beauty,
beauty without strength,
chokes out life.
I want wind to break,
scatter these pink-stalks,
snap off their spiced heads,
fling them about with dead leaves—
spread the paths with twigs,
limbs broken off,
trail great pine branches,
hurled from some far wood
right across the melon-patch,
break pear and quince—
leave half-trees, torn, twisted
but showing the fight was valiant.
O to blot out this garden
to forget, to find a new beauty
in some terrible
wind-tortured place.
H.D. (Hilda Doolittle--Sea Garden, 1916)
I am, as always happens this time of year, leaving in the dust (literally) the love I felt for my garden in May and June. In July, I try to make the relationship work, but by August it's clear that it is not going to. In September and October, we part as friends, spend the winter re-charging, and do it all over again the next year...
The Poetry Friday Roundup is here at The Well-Read Child today!
Oh, the irony of it all
What the Disney Company says (via Fuse #8):
"We view publishing as a direct extension of the consumer's experience with our films as well as a source of ongoing content and storytelling, and our products must reflect and extend the authenticity of the films."
Authenticity? I so, so, so deeply loathe the un-authenticity of Disney's Winnie the Pooh.
"We view publishing as a direct extension of the consumer's experience with our films as well as a source of ongoing content and storytelling, and our products must reflect and extend the authenticity of the films."
Authenticity? I so, so, so deeply loathe the un-authenticity of Disney's Winnie the Pooh.
7/31/08
The Green Book, aka Shine, by Jill Paton Walsh
A long time ago, I read a request on a teacher's blog for recommendations of science fiction stories for the younger reader (which I just tried finding again, to no avail...). I didn't have anything to add at the time that hadn't already been mentioned, but I do now--The Green Book, later reissued as Shine, by Jill Paton Walsh, illustrated with pencil drawings by Lloyd Bloom (1981/1988, 74 pp, 8 year olds and up). If Ursula Le Guin were to write a science fiction story for young readers, it might be something like this, and since I think Le Guin is brilliant, this is high praise.The book begins thus: "Father said, "We can take very little with us." Only one book each.
Father, Joe, Sarah, and Pattie, and lots of other families, are leaving a dying earth on one of the last escape ships. They are headed for a far planet that they know almost nothing about, hoping it can sustain human life. Pattie is so young that she will not be able to remember the Earth. But being the youngest, she gets to name the new planet--"Shine," she calls it, a planet where all the plant life sparkles like glass.
How will they build with mineral laden wood they cannot saw? How will they survive, when their rabbits die from eating the glassy grass, and their wheat shines like diamonds? How will they build a community--what will be valued, and why? And then, when they meet other living beings, how will they co-exist?
One step they take in building a life together is to share their books. Joe's copy of Robinson Crusoe is not in great demand (there are multiple copies), nor is Sarah's copy of The Pony Club Rides Again. Many people would have swapped things for a chance to read Father's technology book, but he won't let it out of his sight--he clings to it as his passport toward becoming the new elite of their community. But it is Pattie's book, the "green book" of the title, that becomes the most important. Its pages are blank, and her older siblings had mocked her choice. But in the end, this is the book that will tell the new story the colonists are creating. It is no longer empty, but "full of writing, very large and round and shaky."
And Father started to read to the people of Shine. He turned "back and back in the green book to the very first page, and began to read: "Father said we could take very little with us..."
I find new planet exploration questions like this extremely interesting, and Walsh does a great job with them. In her 74 pages, Walsh makes every word count. It's very easy to imagine kids that haven't thought of these things before reading this book with wide eyes and engaged minds, and imagining and daydreaming after it over.
A more detailed post about Shine can be found here at the Inter-Galactic Playground (a very interesting blog whose author, sadly, seems to have decided to more or less give up on it).
Jill Paton Walsh has written some great books for kids-- particularly A Parcel of Patterns (1984) and A Chance Child (1978). More recently she has turned to writing continuations of Dorothy Sayer's Lord Peter series.
7/29/08
Charlotte Sometimes for Timeslip Tuesday
Welcome to Timeslip Tuesday. If you have a review of a Timeslip story you'd like to share, or anything else timeslip bookish, please leave me a link!
Today's Timeslip Tuesday book is the one that I consider such a Classic Example of the genre that I used it for my T.T. graphic (although with a different cover from the most recent edition at left)-- Charlotte Sometimes, by Penelope Farmer (1969, reprinted many times, a good one for ages 9-12 ish). I am not alone in thinking this- the book shows up in just about all the critical essays on timeslip stories I've read (2), and even when it first came out its quality was recognized--in a review written that year, Margery Fisher described Charlotte Sometimes as "…a haunting, convincing story which comes close to being a masterpiece of its kind." (Growing Point, November 1969, p 1408).In 1918, with WW I still being fought, Clare Moby and her little sister Emily go to boarding school for the first time. Forty years later, a girl named Charlotte Makepeace arrives at the same school, and sleeps in the same bed that Clare had used. Charlotte awakes after her first night to find herself in Claire's time, and so begins a dizzying flip flop through time as the two girls alternate days in each other's life. No one, except Emily, realizes they are two different girls, although all the frantic piano practicing Charlotte does is not enough to keep the music teacher from being baffled by her erratic performance. They communicate through Clare's journal, hidden in her time, and both are certain that the strange experience will end when Clare and Emily become day girls.
"Dear Charlotte, [wrote Clare]
Did Emily tell you about the bed? I think she might be right, though I did not tell her so. We should be moving to lodgings now quite soon. We must make quite sure I am in 1918, not you, the day we move. Emily would be so worried if you got caught then, and I in your time, and I would be so worried about her
Yours sincerely,
Clare"
But it is not Clare who is in 1918 when the girls are moved, but Charlotte. And away from the bed, the time travelling won't happen, and Charlotte begins to worry that she will be Clare forever, that she has replaced Emily for Emma, her own little sister, and most frighteningly of all, that she might be in danger of slipping even further back in time....
Charlotte Sometimes is unusual plot-wise. It is rare for two people to actually swap places in time, and to be able to communicate. This premise makes this a great book about identity--if people don't know you're not you, what constitutes "you" to begin with? The same reviewer I quoted above wrote, "…this is really a study in disintegration, the study of a girl finding an identity by losing it… ". Lots of characters going back in time wonder if they are losing their real self, but Charlotte actually has a "self" that she has to be in the past, one that comes with the emotional attachment of a little sister. She constantly struggles to hold onto bits of Charlotte that aren't Clare, but it is hard.
What makes this book a favorite of mine, however, is its exploration of what it means to be a sister (something in which I have a natural interest, being a middle sister myself). Emily both accepts and rejects Charlotte as a sister. She generally adopts a "one bossy sister is the same as another" point of view, with a strong sense that Charlotte should be there looking after her--
"Tears marked her face but she stopped crying the moment she saw Charlotte; became more indignant than frightened.
"Why ever did you let me go like that?" she asked. "I thought I'd never find you."
Yet Emily feels deep anguish, crying bitterly, when she thinks she hears Clare's voice, but finds Charlotte is still in her sister's place. And Charlotte, in her turn, worries that she is letting Emily take Emma's place in her own heart. Haunting and convincing, indeed.
Disclaimer: I am perhaps disposed to find this book interesting because I, of course, am a Charlotte, and my own little sister is an Emily. But lots of other people who aren't named Charlotte have liked it, so I feel free to recommend it with a clean conscience! There is also the added bonus of a quite detailed WW I background, and a bit of back story for the secondary charaters, both of which added interest for me.
Penelope Farmer wrote two earlier books about Charlotte and her own sister, Emma, which are very strange indeed (The Summer Birds and Emma in Winter, both of which involve flying by magic). So strange are these books that I find it easier to pretend that they are written about two altogether different people--this is not to say that they are bad, just really odd. And then there is the still stranger Castle of Bone...
p.s. This might also be the only timeslip story to have inspired a rock song (Charlotte Sometimes, by the Cure). There is also a relatively new arrival on the rock music scene calling herself Charlotte Sometimes, which kinda seems lame to me. Or is it really neat that she has picked up on the struggle for identity embedded in this book and made it her own?????
McKinley talking about McKillip
I am an ardent fan of Robin McKinely and Patricia McKillip, so it was a great treat today to read on Robin's blog her thoughts on Patricia's forthcoming book, The Bell at Sealey Head.
(and if anyone wonders where Timeslip Tuesday is, it's coming. It just slipped a bit, timewise).
(and if anyone wonders where Timeslip Tuesday is, it's coming. It just slipped a bit, timewise).
7/26/08
Reader's block and re-reading
Over at the Guardian book blog yesterday, there was an article about what writers do when they fall victim to the dreaded Reader's Block, that sad state of mind when you can't really think of anything you want to read (described in this earlier article).
My favorite answer was from novelist Joanne Harris, who's solution is "Re-reading an old favourite often works, particularly books you read as a child. I just re-read the first five Lorna Hill Sadler's Wells series, all bought in 1950s first editions, which gets me back to the primal enjoyment of reading."
That's my kind of answer! When I feel vaguely queasy at the thought of reading something new, I too re-read the tired and true. I feel inspired to re-read my Lorna Hills now, but I lent them a while ago to someone I hardly know, and I'm a little anxious about them....(the Wells series to which Harris refers is about girls training to be ballet dancers at Sadlers Wells, by the way. Hill wrote many other book as well, and here's more information about her and her books. The first comment I ever left for Little Willow was a recommedation of Hill's ballet books...but sadly they are the sort of thing you have to order from the UK).
A while ago I wondered if girls re-read for comfort more than boys. Now I am wondering if introverts re-read more than extroverts. The former feel most at ease in the company of old and dear friends, that later seek out the new and exciting, and want to make new friends...
My favorite answer was from novelist Joanne Harris, who's solution is "Re-reading an old favourite often works, particularly books you read as a child. I just re-read the first five Lorna Hill Sadler's Wells series, all bought in 1950s first editions, which gets me back to the primal enjoyment of reading."
That's my kind of answer! When I feel vaguely queasy at the thought of reading something new, I too re-read the tired and true. I feel inspired to re-read my Lorna Hills now, but I lent them a while ago to someone I hardly know, and I'm a little anxious about them....(the Wells series to which Harris refers is about girls training to be ballet dancers at Sadlers Wells, by the way. Hill wrote many other book as well, and here's more information about her and her books. The first comment I ever left for Little Willow was a recommedation of Hill's ballet books...but sadly they are the sort of thing you have to order from the UK).
A while ago I wondered if girls re-read for comfort more than boys. Now I am wondering if introverts re-read more than extroverts. The former feel most at ease in the company of old and dear friends, that later seek out the new and exciting, and want to make new friends...
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