Colour The Day - Favourite Poems

[Lori]

I periodically crave Anais Nim's perspective. However, it occurs to me that brilliant as she is, I wonder if she would be a pain in the "arse" to have as a friend or housemate. Creativity such as this often breeds a brand of suffering/crazy. I already have to tie a string to my own toes so I don't float away...

[Moonchime]

Now I don't know if this really belongs here - I thought of creating a new thread in "Lazy Book Club" but then I thought that very few of us swim into that bay so I've decided to lay it gently on these sands in the hope of more mermaids swimming by.

This is an extract from "Rebecca" by Daphne Du Maurier which I recently read (albeit a little reluctantly at first).
The film of Rebecca was one of the first ones I ever saw as a child and the last few frames stayed with me into many a dark night. I knew the story so well I somehow thought it wasn't worth reading the book but now I know how wrong that was!
As I was reading this extract it brought to mind Agi's poem about leaving her old home and although it isn't quite the same sort of leaving, I felt she captured some of those elusive feelings Mz Dee did so well to articulate; that feeling of leaving something of our very selves behind.

Chapter 6

Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. Lost keys, unwritten labels, tissue paper lying on the floor. I hate it all. Even now, when I have done so much of it, when I live, as the saying goes in my boxes. Even today, when shutting shelves of a furnished villa, is a methodical matter of routine, I am aware of sadness, of a sense of loss. Here, I say, we have lived, we have been happy. This has been ours, however brief the time. Though only two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hairpin on a dressing- table, not an empty bottle of Aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood.

This house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. That was yesterday. Today we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different , changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the same again even stopping for lunch at a wayside inn, and going to a dark, unfamiliar room to wash my hands, the handle of the door unknown to me, the wallpaper peeling in strips, a funny little cracked mirror above the basin; for this moment, it is mine, it belongs to me. We know one another. This is the present. There is no past and no future. Here I am washing my hands, and the cracked mirror shows me to myself, suspended as it were, in time; this is me, this moment will not pass.

[Dee]

That’s a lovely bit of mindfulness described in the second half, cherishing the moment. Though I’m not so sure that every little moment like that would actually change us - in any significant way. Many moments just anchor us to the here and now if we let it and welcome it, by paying full attention we are immersing ourselves in the experience, kind of dissolving in it.

I was more drawn to the description in the first half of the quote, that resonates with me deeply.

Though only two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hairpin on a dressing- table, not an empty bottle of Aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood.

I like that this is about a short stay - only two nights - at a place. I totally get that. I always feel such a pang of sadness when I’m leaving a place, even after such a short time. I get over it quickly but nevertheless the feeling comes, every time, without fail. This little act of letting go of a happy experience that comes to its end is inevitably sad, right?

I’ve written a half finished song once about leaving a patch of flattened grass behind after a picnic and bit of cloud gazing… we literally left a mark in the grass that would eventually bounce back… but after we walked for a few hours and came back the same way and passed the patch, still visibly squished where we had our blanket… again I felt that pang of sadness. It’s all very weird.
I should find those lyrics!

Thanks for this, Kathy.

[Moonchime]

I was more drawn to the description in the first half of the quote, that resonates with me deeply.

I totally agree - it is the first part of the extract that is so powerful.

Though only two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hairpin on a dressing- table, not an empty bottle of Aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood.

It is unsettling isn't it when you feel the transitory nature of existence? You're so right saying that in happiness there is always that moment of sadness in letting go of the experience, or knowing that it will pass and that no matter how you try you cannot hang on; in every moment of gain there comes a sense of loss. The knowledge that all things pass is both liberating and tragic. Ah.

I’ve written a half finished song once about leaving a patch of flattened grass behind after a picnic and bit of cloud gazing… we literally left a mark in the grass that would eventually bounce back… but after we walked for a few hours and came back the same way and passed the patch, still visibly squished where we had our blanket… again I felt that pang of sadness. It’s all very weird.
I should find those lyrics!

I am captivated by that little story of the flattened grass - such a vivid image. Please find those lyrics sometime, it would be lovely to read how you've expressed those sentiments.
Be sure to tell me where you put them though.

[Dee]

Well, I might as well put it here for the sake of fluidity. It’s a first draft for a potential song with a chorus. From 2017. Needs plenty more work on it - but the essence is here:

Spoiler:

We were gonna walk for miles and miles on the coast
Climb hills for the view and cover some ground
But we fell down in the soft grass and listened to the waves
Traced shapes in the clouds then closed our eyes

This is a walk for the soul
That's what you called it
A walk for the soul

As we are lazing around here wrapped in summer gold
The sun is beating heat down like a bass drum
Mischievous little wind spirits tussle up our hair and sprinkle
Raindrops on our eyelids to wake us just for fun

This is a walk for the soul
That's what you call it
A walk for the soul

We can hear a young family playing on the beach
Children's laughter bubbling on the breeze
Shrieks of joy as they're dodging the waves
Echoes of long ago, a sudden pang of grief

This is a walk for the soul,
That's what you call it
A walk for the soul

And now we both feel it's time for us to move on
Get up, climb the next hill and cover some ground,
Yet it's so hard to leave this patch of grass that's been
Our bed, our nest, our sanctum in the green

On our walk for the soul
'Cause that's what you call it
A walk for the soul

And here it comes again that shiver of grief as the
Past claims the present, I'm looking back where we laid
It feels we're leaving something behind
More than just the imprint of our bodies in the grass

On our walk for the soul
That's what you call it
A walk for the soul
We're leaving something behind
On our walk for the soul
We're always leaving something behind

.....

[Moonchime]

What a sweet lyrical piece this is Mz Dee and how close are poetry and song? Well often one and the same methinks.

We were gonna walk for miles and miles on the coast
Climb hills for the view and cover some ground
But we fell down in the soft grass and listened to the waves
Traced shapes in the clouds then closed our eyes

I love the way the verse starts with that determined attitude of mind emphasised by the long line and repetition of the word "miles", but then it collapses into the gentleness of falling into the grass, the waves and the clouds.

As we are lazing around here wrapped in summer gold
The sun is beating heat down like a bass drum

These lines gave me a glorious visual image of a gorgeous summer day, lying in the grass with the baking heat of a midday sun streaming down and all being well with the world.

My favourite lines, however, are those that throw us back on ourselves and disturb the equilibrium:

Shrieks of joy as they're dodging the waves
Echoes of long ago, a sudden pang of grief

The mood changes and a touch of sadness enters, summoned unexpectedly by the sound of children; a memory that lay sleeping wakes and reminds us, just fleetingly, of something lost, of a part of ourselves left in a place we can never return to.

That bittersweet mood is fully explored in the last two verses and echoed throughout with the chorus repetition of "a walk for the soul."
This walk is not just a striding out to get the miles in - it's much more - something that feeds the spirit and nourishes the essence of our being, something that connects our past and our present, our love and our loss, and deepens our understanding of what it means to be human.

As I read that lovely chorus I'm trying to imagine how you would you sing that - it's such a poignant refrain.

We're leaving something behind
On our walk for the soul
We're always leaving something behind

Such a great ending!!!

Thank you Mz Dee - I look forward to hearing this sometime soonish?.
.....

[Dee]

Oh, Mz K, you’re such a darling taking time to muse about my little song-seed and wrap it in so much love. Now that I’ve dug it up and brushed off the cobwebs, I might get back to editing and finishing it. I wrote it to the song-writing prompt to create something a cappella. Will see.

Thank you for all your thoughts about the lyrics. I totally agree with you, about the fine line between lyrics and poetry. Which is why Bob Dylan was rightfully considered as a poet - as well as Leonard Cohen and many others.

The mood changes and a touch of sadness enters, summoned unexpectedly by the sound of children; a memory that lay sleeping wakes and reminds us, just fleetingly, of something lost, of a part of ourselves left in a place we can never return to

Very beautifully unravelled. Yes. It was the time when we acutely felt both of our children had reached adulthood and it was definitely the end of an era. We needed to redefine parenthood for ourselves and it was bittersweet watching young families on the journey we loved and remembered well but could no longer go back to. At the same time we felt the anticipation being at the beginning of a new chapter, of greater freedom. This walk (and its non-walk part) pretty much represented this state of mind.

I’m yet again reminded how important it is to capture some of these moments - and sometimes a poem/song can do that so effectively. Reading this takes me right back to that day, those feelings.

Thanks for taking the walk with us, Mz K!

[Dee]

Mz Moonchime has just reminded me of this poignant and sadly topical little poem… it’s putting my feelings in words painfully perfectly.

For Whom the Bell Tolls

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend's were.
Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.

~ John Donne

[Lori]

Thank you for posting this timely piece. Deeply sad and very applicable.

[Lori]

Now I don't know if this really belongs here - I thought of creating a new thread in "Lazy Book Club" but then I thought that very few of us swim into that bay so I've decided to lay it gently on these sands in the hope of more mermaids swimming by.

This is an extract from "Rebecca" by Daphne Du Maurier which I recently read (albeit a little reluctantly at first).
The film of Rebecca was one of the first ones I ever saw as a child and the last few frames stayed with me into many a dark night. I knew the story so well I somehow thought it wasn't worth reading the book but now I know how wrong that was!
As I was reading this extract it brought to mind Agi's poem about leaving her old home and although it isn't quite the same sort of leaving, I felt she captured some of those elusive feelings Mz Dee did so well to articulate; that feeling of leaving something of our very selves behind.

Chapter 6

Packing up. The nagging worry of departure. Lost keys, unwritten labels, tissue paper lying on the floor. I hate it all. Even now, when I have done so much of it, when I live, as the saying goes in my boxes. Even today, when shutting shelves of a furnished villa, is a methodical matter of routine, I am aware of sadness, of a sense of loss. Here, I say, we have lived, we have been happy. This has been ours, however brief the time. Though only two nights only have been spent beneath a roof, yet we leave something of ourselves behind. Nothing material, not a hairpin on a dressing- table, not an empty bottle of Aspirin tablets, not a handkerchief beneath a pillow, but something indefinable, a moment of our lives, a thought, a mood.

This house sheltered us, we spoke, we loved within those walls. That was yesterday. Today we pass on, we see it no more, and we are different , changed in some infinitesimal way. We can never be quite the same again even stopping for lunch at a wayside inn, and going to a dark, unfamiliar room to wash my hands, the handle of the door unknown to me, the wallpaper peeling in strips, a funny little cracked mirror above the basin; for this moment, it is mine, it belongs to me. We know one another. This is the present. There is no past and no future. Here I am washing my hands, and the cracked mirror shows me to myself, suspended as it were, in time; this is me, this moment will not pass.

This is a wonderful excerpt from Rebecca. I’ve loved the book since I was young and have seen every incarnation in movie form. I’ve been toying with reading it again and perhaps you’ve inspired me to do so, Mz. MC. Indeed, it does pair beautifully with Agi’s poem and brought it immediately to my mind as well.