DREAMLAND

WHB . . . Pen & Wash 1957

DREAMLAND

 

I am led to consider
where it is
that my dreams take me 

 

for when I dream
my world I find
has changed
become condensed
circumscribed by boundaries
which pulse with uncertainty
suppressing perspective
and thereby
concentrating my actions
in broken sequence
now vague somehow
contrary to what is natural
purposeful
yet without intent
and I remain
closeted in an oppressive world
one of vague
and indeterminate outcomes
part hopeful
part fearful
never resolved
always shattered by that rude awakening
which abruptly
without asking
returns my life to a real world
wherein
ill-defined ghosts
stumble into meaning

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Night Light

‘Liverpool from Wapping’ … John Atkinson Grimshaw

Reflections on the Nocturnal Paintings of John Atkinson Grimshaw

In the gloom of my world,

In the dark of my dreams,

I capture with rapture

Those nights of moonbeams.

In the glow of the gaslights

I wander a while.

There is joy in their promise

And warmth in their smile.

Twinkling with stardust

Lights dance and dive;

Raindrops add lustre,

The streets are alive.

Light catches and clutches

And I feel the glow

Of these dark starlit nights

On the paths that I know.

Bringing warmth to my soul

As we meet face to face;

It’s the world that I live in

And I savour its grace.

Lady in a garden at Moonlight’ … 1882 – John Atkinson Grimshaw

John Atkinson Grimshaw (6 September 1836 – 13 October 1893) was an English Victorian-era artist who has been called a “remarkable and imaginative painter” -best known for his nocturnal scenes of urban landscapes. He was born in Leeds, Yorkshire,  and lived most of his life in that county. Wikipedia

The Hills of my Childhood

On the N.Yorkshire Moors – Pen & Ink … WHB

The Hills of my Childhood

 

The hills of my childhood
Mountains to me
Remain in my memory
And still I can see

Their contours throbbing
Against the bright sky
Promising thrills
With every sigh.

I climbed, scrambled upwards
To grasp what they pledged
In heedless delight
My keenness knife-edged.

The summit had beckoned
Becoming my mission
My reason for living
My only ambition.

And as my heart pounded,
As upwards I raced,
It presaged my future,
The world that I faced.

To view from the summit
The expanse of my world
Was a glimpse of hereafter
Forever unfurled.

NEXT

”Quietus’ … WHB (1956)

 

When the Quietus comes
Then is the Night
The end of my Beginning
The start of The NEXT

That infinite Unknown
That never wished for Future
So far safely hidden

Forestalling the Pain
Though shrouding the Bliss
Of what has passed

By drawing Life’s Curtain
Its obscuring Haze
Over its ever-darkening Window

It becomes the Harbinger
Of that Unmapped Ocean
Horizon’s New Dawn

Only so am I granted
That indeterminate Vision
Of the meaning of Destiny
Of what lies NEXT

 

Time Out

In hope of re-charging my old batteries I shall be taking a short break  from blogging for the remainder of this week.
‘Roland’s Ragbag’ will renew its regular weekday postings from next Monday – 3rd September.

Beach Huts at Wells-next-the Sea, Norfolk – Wax Crayon – WHB … 2003

The Dawn

‘An English Dawn’ … WHB – 1991  ©

 

THE HAIKU

Nature’s steady hand
Its season’s sure permanence
Gives respite from doubt

THE POEM

As the dawn broke
In the pregnant East
And beams of burgeoning day
Stretched across the yellowed sky
The songbirds’ treetop threnody
Broke into my dream

Sleep giving way
And all too soon replaced
In that initial gentle awareness
Of life renewed once more
Its promise and its worries
Suddenly looming large
Within my newly unlocked consciousness
Potently recalling life’s commitments
Compelling acknowledgement
Of my obligations
And accompanied by the knowledge
Of decisions to be made
Promises to be met
Expectations to be fulfilled

Only the guarantee of Nature’s steady hand
Of each day’s new dawn,
Of the cycle of each recurring season
Promising a prospect of its permanence
Thus bestowing respite from our doubts

 

Scotland: The Fife Coast 3

 

[ Photo Gallery # 98 ]

The Fife Coast: 3

Kellie Castle, Cambo Gardens and Hew Lorimer

Kellie Castle is situated near Arncroach, about 5 kilometres north of Pittenweem in Fife on the Scottish East coast.

The castle is one of fairytale stone towers and stepped gables.  The oldest parts are 14th century, but much of the rest of was refurbished and added to in the late 19th century by the Lorimers, a famous artistic family.  Indoors can be found elaborate plaster ceilings and painted panelling, together with fine furniture designed by Sir Robert Lorimer, who spent much of his childhood at Kellie.

Not far away, near to St.Andrews, is the Cambo Walled Gardens.  This Victorian walled garden has been brought up to date with the introduction of lovely woodland walks leading beside a sparkling burn down to the nearby sea.

 

Kellie Castle, Fife

The Hew Lorimer Studio

Hew Lorimer

Sculpture by Hew Lorimer

Sculpture by Hew Lorimer

Sculpture in the castle grounds by Hew Lorimer

In Cambo Walled Gardens

In Cambo Walled Gardens

In Cambo Walled Gardens

‘Love’s Philosophy’ – Shelley

[  # 92 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

‘Paola & Francesca’ by John Dicksee

Love’s Philosophy  . . .  By Percy Bysshe Shelley

 

The fountains mingle with the river 

   And the rivers with the ocean, 

The winds of heaven mix for ever 

   With a sweet emotion; 

Nothing in the world is single; 

   All things by a law divine 

In one spirit meet and mingle. 

   Why not I with thine?— 

See the mountains kiss high heaven 

   And the waves clasp one another; 

No sister-flower would be forgiven 

   If it disdained its brother; 

And the sunlight clasps the earth 

   And the moonbeams kiss the sea: 

What is all this sweet work worth 

   If thou kiss not me? 

 

W.B.Yeats – ‘Leda and the Swan’

[  # 91 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

Detail from ‘The Swanmaster’ by Diana Thomson FRBS … sculpture at Staines-on-Thames, England. Photo WHB. ©

‘Leda and the Swan’ by W.B.Yeats

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?

The Irish poet, W.B.Yeats,  wrote ‘Leda and the Swan’ in 1923, the year in which he was awarded the Nobel prize for Literature.   Yeats, who had a great love of both folklore and mythology, chose to write his version of the story of Leda and the Swan as a Petrarchan sonnet.  It tells the story of Zeus, the Father of the Greek Gods, and his seduction in the form of a swan, of Leda, daughter of King Thestius.  One interpretation of the story as presented by Yeats, is to see its theme as a metaphor for British involvement in Ireland.  Alternatively, it can be read as a generalised representation of the way western civilisation has developed. His choice to write the poem as a sonnet can also be viewed as an ironic comment, contrasting what is a rape with a poetic form normally associated with love and romance.

 

Malaga – SPAIN

 [ Photo Gallery # 95 ]

Málaga is a port city on southern Spain’s Costa del Sol, known for its high-rise hotels and resorts jutting up from yellow-sand beaches.  The photographs below were taken by me on a visit to the city in 2006 . . .

( Click on any photograph to open an enlarged view; click again to move on through the remaining enlarged photographs )