I wasn't going to write anything today. I'm never sure whether I post too often and I am aware of driving everyone nuts with my constant reminders so, if you are one of those people, I apologise! I don't want anyone to feel that they have to read any of my ramblings.
The reason for this post is that I was listening to Jeremy Vine on Radio 2 and making a yoghurt cake (as you do on your day off) when he had a section about poetry and , in particular, about poetry that can move men to tears. Several listeners got in contact with him and many were not able to read their chosen poem out loud because they would become too distressed. The power of words, eh?
I have never been an avid reader. If a book doesn't grab me after the first few pages then there is no way that I would feel compelled to read on but I have always loved words and language. I have written many poems over the years that have served as a release valve for my emotions.
I remember writing a lot after the death of my parents and also after the deaths of several people that I have worked with and cared for. In fact, one of the ladies who I used to visit gave me a book on poetry that I have cherished. It is a collection of the 'best' poems and there are some absolute crackers in it.
There is one by Christina Rossetti which is so powerful. It's called 'Remember' and I'll post a copy of it at the end of this entry. Rossetti also wrote the words that the Christmas carol 'In The Bleak Mid Winter' is based on and that has always been my favourite carol. The words are so beautiful and that carol can reduce me to tears.
After listening to that piece on the radio, I was reminded of the verses and so on that I have written. I usually keep a rough copy of what I write and the good version goes to the person that I am sending it to. However, when I went upstairs in search of my literary creations I realised that I had no idea where I had put them.
Now, our house is quite compact and storage space is at a premium so there are only a few places where I can put things away for safekeeping but I can't find them anywhere at the moment which is really annoying.
However, during my brief search, I did find a whole stack of diaries from years gone by and I thought that perhaps I had stored the poems in the relevant year/diary. That would have been a very good idea but, frustratingly for me, they weren't there. What WAS there was a letter from my Mum that I had forgotten all about! So I sat on the bed and re-read her words. They were words of explanation, words of regret and words of truth. Once again, the power of the written word. I obviously kept that letter for a reason and I also kept with it the rough copy of my reply to her which was actually quite reasonable and calm for me. It did me good to read the letters again and it was lovely just to see Mum's handwriting. I could almost hear her saying the words to me. If only that were possible.
So, I expect the rest of the afternoon will involve me trawling through boxes and cupboards in search of my old scribblings and notes. I'm sure there are a million and one other things that I could or should be doing but they will have to wait for now. I actually find it very therapeutic to look back at old letters and photographs. I am aware that it's a sure sign of getting older!
I'll sign off for now with the promised poem. If you haven't read it before I do hope you approve and if you know the poem already I hope you enjoy reading it again. It's powerful.....
Remember
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
xxxxxxxxx
No comments:
Post a Comment