I’m still working myself into the summer routine, and doing pretty well, I think. Starting the programme in a heatwave may seem to be ambitious but if I can cope with it now then I have high hopes that I’ll be able to cope with it all the way through. Graham, bless him, doesn’t expect too much and is perfectly happy at the thought of needing to give the place a good bottoming at the end of September.
Yesterday I got through the laundry without collapse. I think, in the interests of economy, I shall aim to wear clothes through the summer that can be washed together. I had four loads to do, all of them half-loads, and that offends me.
Still working through “The Tudors”, though I watched only one episode yesterday–the one where Cardinal Wolsey is shown as taking his own life. Shaky history, that, but good drama.
Today it’s hot again. Not too much in the way of direct sun but hot even so. And if the thin hazy cloud breaks then we’ll get a jolly good roasting once more. I do love summer, even now. It breaks my heart to have to close the blinds and draw curtains against the heat of the day, from late morning to mid-afternoon, but the system works and, with the house fans and careful attention to fluid intake, I’m doing fine. No more working white under the sun for me, I’m afraid.
It’s as well to write poems of experience when one is young, I think. Later in life, the hair may grey but the poems live on:
Chains of blindness
Tell me who I am.
I am the one who moved, white under the sun,
to make the deep well weep,
returning its crystal tears
to the summer-salted earth.Tell me who I am.
I am the one who, moving into darkness,
sat alone in the shadowed room,
took a rough supper of oil rich bread
and held this ageless book to the light.Tell me who I am.
I am the one whose eyes,
tracing Sophocles’ care worn metre,
followed the lines through sightless mists
to map the destinies that tied
love blinded mother to self-blinded son.Tell me who I am.
I am the one who, emboldened by distance,
besought blind Oedipus
to join me in his chains,
to rework within my eyes the world
in shame and piercing pain
he ceased to see.Tell me who I am.
I am the one who, hiding in darkened wings,
heard the sobbing in the night
and breathed the hot horse leathers of
leader-seeking fighting men
moving perplexed in Thebes.Tell me who I am.
I am the one who sought destiny in shadows,
cast stones blindly to test my fate,
held wetted fingers to the air,
sought the lines of sorrow in which to dwell,
tasted the sadness I should sing.Tell me who I am.
London 1967
reworked Somerset 1997
Yup. Write ‘em, save ‘em, and then when the shadows fall they still burn bright.
some lovely images, stirring
In our house there are only ever four washes too: white, black/navy, pink/red and bluey/greeny/maybe browny, depending on how browny they might end up with the blacks
I find a certain about of carelessness is ok in a 40 degree delicates wash though – and you have a Miele!! What a lovely piece of machinery.
Very rich poetry, John.
I hear ya with the laundry. But we seem to do a load here and there throughout the week, so it doesn’t build up. Jim might (well – Jim is only allowed to do the towels…ha!) throw a load of towels in or the bedding. But I do all the clothes. Keeps it to a minimum.
Always impressed to see laundry and poetry in one post together as if it was the most natural thing in the world!
I don’t mind how many washes I do so long as everything is as near as it can be to non-iron – especially in this weather.
Lou used the word I was searching for: “stirring.” Wonderful the way you can put words together, John.
Oh that my thoughts would be as deep and I could write poetry. A gift you have John.
Laundry now for us isn’t so often but with the new washer weighing the load the water is not wasted.
Powerful and rich stuff, John. And too, you can wash it all together come what may……she says ducking.
Love your poetry, John. I wish I could write. Will you start going on walks again when the heat wave breaks?
With the newer dyes, I don’t bother too much about separating the laundry. One for light, one for dark. Works fine.
I like the poetry. Very evocative.
Watching Wimbledon. The heat looks really strong. Yonks ago I was in London during Wimbldon (didn’t go) and it was in the high 90s. Aieee.
Thank you for sharing your poem.
Plowing through, again, Edward Hirsch’s How to Read a Poem: and Fall in Love with Poetry. Still trying to form my ability to appreciate. Never too late?
I follow a very simple sorting procedure: If it’s in the laundry basket it goes in the washer.
When you do your volume of poetry — you ARE going to do that, right? — when you do, I want to see that poem in it. Great work, John.
As for laundry sorting, the color bleeds in very few things nowadays — and not everything needs to be washed in hot water. Besides, it’s so nice not to have to beat everything over rocks in an icy stream, isn’t it? (grin)
Thanks, all, for the friendly reception of, and kind words about the poem.
As to mixing laundry and poems… well, I know my priorities!
Grand Images your poem evokes! Yes, sir, you have your priorities well-stacked indeed.
The poem: truly stirring, John. I am in awe of your talent.
The laundry: bah. I hate laundry, and wish clothing were dispensed on a roll like cling film and tossed away at the end of the day. Maybe not environmentally a sound idea, but certainly more convenient.
WOW! That’s all I can say, John! Loved it!
John, Recently you referred to your youth-bound poetry as “pomes.” And now you hand us this pretty baby born in 1967? You own an insistent and tender soul, and always have. Much appreciated the opportunity to read this child of your imagination. Thank you.
I really enjoy the Tudors. I Netflixed all the available seasons! My laundry, lights and darks, handwashables and dry cleaning
John, I am awed and deeply moved by that poetry of yours. Most excellent!!! And more, please, please, please? That’s auch a lovely appetite whetter. I truly do want more. And sign me up for an autographed copy of the first press run, please?
I just know it, it’s a truly good poem, stirring and all. Even though I don’t understand all images, ikt’s sort of talking to me. And I’m really looking forward to your poem site, John… Having all your poems collected on one site, that’s really something to look forward too. And I also love the mixing of laundry and poems, that is I love your journal because you’re just doing this!
I didn’t notice that your new website is already up. John Bailey’s collected works…. Fantastic!!!