So far we have only had one grey day here. The poem which I remember having to recite rather publicly as a small boy does not reflect the first 9 days this year. Plenty of time left though.
Erik’s pictures of Holland are beautiful so this poem is hardly appropriate there either…yet..
Marly’s on insects is also worth a visit. This is dedicated to them:
November
By T Hood
No sun – no moon!
No morn – no noon –
No dawn – no dusk – no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds!
-November!
It’s very lovely to have a Thomas Hood poem dedicated to the insects!
Isn’t this truncated (perhaps they did it to make it easier to memorize? or perhaps it exists in more than one version?)
He would write a poem about November! There’s a dark streak in Thomas Hood… But those of us who are November babies liked the month well enough, I suppose.
Interesting what erratic lengths the lines have (particularly in the full version.) He has governed it instead by parallelism and rhyme.
We’re getting snow but still plenty of blue sky and sun, so it’s un-November here as well. I think we’ve had about four snows, most leaving no trace. Supposed to get a bit more tonight, though.
Dear Marly, well done indeed, how awful that I could have made such an error. I was sure that that there was a “distance looking blue” and a “steeple” in it but such is my lack of confidence an faith in others I took it “as read” (or is it “as red”).
Snow, oh dear no, not that again. I imagine Montana to be in a hot Western scene with gunslingers and doggie sheriffs chasing cowboys and long skirted girls with high boots on etc. etc.
I am very sad to have to miss a meeting with Amanda. It is the week before my exhibition and like many artists I am very unprepared at the moment.
I shall be sending you all my best thoughts for your exhibition.
Ah, Thomas Hood. Didn’t he write that sad, sad poem on a Favorite Cat drowned in pursuit of gold fishes (the actual title is swimming away from me, but the poem did contain something about how all that glisters is not gold). Yes, I know it was supposed to be amusing; as a small girl with Palgraves on my lap–and a cat beside me–I was horrified.
Gray days here in northern California, but still a few bright leaves.