Source: Mary Oliver: The Artist’s Task
April 2016
Vale of GlamorganBeneath the earth’s skin the muscles stir, the bones awake,
She stretches ,yawns and breathes .
And all about her yearns to break out and sing the sun’s song to the trees.
March 2016
Vale of GlamorganNo time to turn at Beauty’s glance, And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can Enrich that smile her eyes began.
Close your eyes, listen;listen for the birds. Those birds who fled in colder times,are winging back for kinder climes.
https://www.facebook.com/610297982324876/videos/1123581634329839/?comment_id=1124384374249565&reply_comment_i
February 2016
Vale of GlamorganThe curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o’er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
http://bbc.in/1PKmTUa Snowbound with Jarvis Cocker.
January 2016
Vale of GlamorganNow fades the glimm’ring landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Gray’s ” Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard “
( excerpt )
Image: St Canna’s Church (Llangan) submitted by Sunny100
St Canna’s Church at Llangan, W.Glamorgan. Some 3 miles NW of Cowbridge, is the 12th century church of St Canna. In the churchyard just a little NW of the church stands a sculptured wheel-head cross, 1.3 metres in height – the carving dating from the 9th century, though the actual stone could be earlier. It stands under a 19th century shelter, similar to a lychgate but smaller in size.
St Canna’s Church at Llangan, W.Glamorgan. Some 3 miles NW of Cowbridge, is the 12th century church of St Canna. In the churchyard just a little NW of the church stands a sculptured wheel-head cross, 1.3 metres in height – the carving dating from the 9th century, though the actual stone could be earlier. It stands under a 19th century shelter, similar to a lychgate but smaller in size.
The cross-head dedicated to St Canna, has on it’s front-side, a crucifixtion scene with Christ on the cross and a person at either side. The right hand figure could be holding up a swab on a long pole (St John) or it could be St Longinus the centurion piercing the side of Christ with his lance, whilst on the left side a figure with a strange-shaped head appears to be crouching down. This figure could be the devil. The figure below Christ seems to be stretching out his arms in thanksgiving and holding a small cross in his hand. The reverse side of the cross bears a plain Greek cross.
The churchyard is circular indicating that the site is a pre-Christian one. St Canna was a Breton princess, daughter of Tudur Mawr, who came to Wales in the 6th century with her husband, St Sadwrn, and her son, St Crallo. They became active Christian missionaries, each founding their own church. Near the church is Ffynnon Ganna – St Canna’s Holy Well. There is another Llangan, in Dyfed.
December 2015
Vale of GlamorganWhen the days are the shortest, and the nights are the longest;And the year is the oldest and the Earth seems to topple and rest before it turns once more.
http://travels.toa.st/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Lavinia-Greenlaw-reads-Reading-Akhmatova.mp3
http://travels.toa.st/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Lavinia-Greenlaw-general-introduction.mp3LAVINIA GREENLAW POETRY READINGS
Where the Crow Flies — The Wonderland Files
November, November a time to read by candlelight while the logs burn
To hatch a crow, a black rainbow Bent in emptiness over emptiness But flying. ~ Ted Hughes I love crows. Crows are some of my closest confidants in this life. I don’t know why, but crows seem to intuitively and completely know me. They swoop into my life during times of turmoil, change, transformation. I consider them […]
Calendar year: Vale of Glamorgan
November, Vale of GlamorganNovember 2015
Lucy at llysworney ,November 2015
November was soft and gentle.The shorter evenings were welcomed with log fires and candles as the world curled up for another season of sleep and quiet dark rest.I hoped for snow once more . Once more no snow came, nor frost ,all storms were yet to come .
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening – Poem by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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