In a couple weeks I'm going to participate in our homeschool group's
Poetry Out Loud contest. You memorize two of the poems found in their anthology and recite them in front of a representative of the organization. Then she decides who did the best and whoever wins goes on to the state competition. Last year I got second.
The first poem I'm doing is by Seamus Heaney, who actually translated the version of Beowulf I read for literature this year. It's called "Blackberry-Picking."
Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.
You ate that first one and its flesh was sweet
Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it
Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for
Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger
Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots
Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots.
Round hayfields, cornfields and potato-drills
We trekked and picked until the cans were full,
Until the tinkling bottom had been covered
With green ones, and on top big dark blobs burned
Like a plate of eyes. Our hands were peppered
With thorn pricks, our palms sticky as Bluebeard's.
We hoarded the fresh berries in the byre.
But when the bath was filled we found a fur,
A rat-grey fungus, glutting on our cache.
The juice was stinking too. Once off the bush
The fruit fermented, the sweet flesh would turn sour.
I always felt like crying. It wasn't fair
That all the lovely canfuls smelt of rot.
Each year I hoped they'd keep, knew they would not.
Isn't it sweet? I love the imagery in it.
My other poem is "Surprised By Joy" by William Wordsworth. (You may recognize this as the title of a book by C. S. Lewis--he took it from this poem.)
Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
It's got a very different tone. I like how he manages to get his sorrow across in a way that is melancholy but not desperate.
Now for the other things.
We had an awesome Christ the King Sunday with great music. I'm so excited for Advent! I'm already singing "Creator of the Stars of Night" in my head. Advent is such a lovely time. It's so cozy and anticipatory yet solemn.
Also, after a brief two-day respite from the snow, it's started up again. It was literally snowing the ENTIRE week last week. But then a lot of it melted over the weekend. We had temperatures of a scorching 36°! T-shirt weather, for sure.
My writing class and I are Skyping weekly during our very long break between semesters. Our teacher purposefully made our break long so we could have more time to write! Isn't she nice? Oh, and while I'm talking about her, check out this news story on her son:
http://www.ibtimes.com/blind-13-year-old-might-be-able-go-college-dance-thanks-google-glass-1726424 Pretty cool, eh?
Well, I think that's it for now. I've been knitting and crocheting a lot and soon I'll make a post about the projects I've done.
A bientot!
