Late love

What a week! First, I descaled, gutted, and beheaded a fresh-caught trout -- a present from a patient to my aunt/uncle. Ah, the countryside!

Second, I saw my lovely friend Alice again, who dragged me on a beautiful walk along the Thames -- five miles of it! There is a real plethora of swans in england -- they're everywhere.

Third, I  decided to apply for English graduate programs next year, and actually did something about it.

And finally, I rediscovered with joy the poet Jackie Kay, a few of whose poems can be listened to here:

    http://www.poetryarchive.org/poetryarchive/singlePoet.do?poetId=5682

and read in print (I'm one of those neurotic people who needs to see what I'm listening to) here:

    http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/jackie_kay

Here's one:

Late Love by Jackie Kay

How they strut about, people in love,
How tall they grow, pleased with themselves,
Their hair, glossy, their skin shining.
They don't remember who they have been.

How filmic they are just for this time.
How important they've become - secret, above
The order of things, the dreary mundane.
Every church bell ringing, a fresh sign.

How dull the lot that are not in love.
Their clothes shabby, their skin lustreless;
How clueless they are, hair a mess; how they trudge
Up and down the

Publish Post

streets in the rain,

Preview

remembering one kiss in a dark alley,
A touch in a changing room, if lucky, a lovely wait
For the phone to ring, maybe, baby.
The past with its rush of velvet, its secret hush

Already miles away, dimming now, in the late day.

Language and the great outdoors, with a Sunday roast for good measure

This weekend, I was introduced to a few of the pleasures of country life. A walk through the village of Stow on the Wold evokes adjectives that are the reserve of guide books: quaint, authentic, charming. With my typical American crassness, I insisted that everything was "so cute!" Doorways and arches of long ago collude to give me a sense that I am almost not quite vertically challenged... those sweet, malnourished English of the past!

I met a lovely old school-friend of my uncle's, whose name, Bob, reminded me of my favorite Jonah Winter poem as all men named Bob do, which provided me with a private (and difficult to explain) chuckle. After a pub lunch of chicken and mushroom pie, we embarked on a failed mission to visit a Jacobean house, during which time I was ruthlessly mocked for saying Juh-cobe-ian instead of Jack-oh-bian... argh the damn English think they own the bloody language...

Rather than visit the house, which mission was aborted for boring bureaucratic reasons, we trekked half-way across the countryside through a field of giant cows. Yes, yes, of course I was terrified. Having been chased by a crazed cow at the age of ten and recently read a book on natural selection, I was not eager to put myself at risk of a stampede. I mean, at least walk around the things! But, despite the frequent piercing looks from the cows around us, all went well (An aside that combines English propriety over the language with cows: I mentioned a "calf" I admired with no success and only bewildered looks until, having repeated myself three times, I said, "baby cow?" "Ohhhhh, a 'caw-f'. What the hell is a 'cah-f'?" Sigh. Further ruthless mockery ensued).

Finally, after tramping along what felt like an endlessly uphill public footpath, we arrived at a quietly spectacular Iron-age settlement (well, the much grown-over, tree-covered outline of its fortifications). It looked, in the 21st century, like a circular secret paddock complete with friendly horse, and had an air of being haunted by the prehistoric past.

Sunday, a roast (both lamb AND chicken!) was accompanied by three kinds of green vegetables and "roasties" (has anyone else ever noticed that the English like to cutesfy everything via shortening and long E addition? barbi for barbecue? telly for tv? reccie for reconnaissance? ok, that's a less good example but the principle holds. And they think they're so dignified...). "Lunch" went from 12:30 to 8! After the main meal came apple pie and custard followed by tea followed by brief stroll around the village followed by clotted cream and scones and more tea... Ye gods.

Below is a link to the Jonah Winter poem and a few photos from the weekend. Pay particular attention to my uncle's pants (that's trousers, not underwear) -- yes, they are indeed tucked in to his socks! Also of note is a photo of a painting we saw in a gallery window. Soft porn for English aristocrats, perhaps?



Sestina: Bob (http://rawyouth.blogspot.com/2005/03/sestina-bob.html)