A happy sound; the peel of laughter from a child
A smile that reaches up into the eyes
A warm embrace to keep you warm
A look that say more that words ever could
I breathe deep and feel the air fill my chest and feed my lungs
My heart pumps and by blood flows through corridors of rushing cells
I sleep knowing that when I wake, I will have healed
Where lies the beating heart
Smooth and warm?
Beneath this skin and bone
Withered and brittle with age.
Flowers in the moonlight rise
Floating on a river of blood
Reach out to touch the gentle leaf
Breathe across the open lake
I spent some time today listening to readings of some of Robert Burns’ poetry and it’s got me thinking about the origin and development of language.
Poems published on bbc.co.uk in their original form require a statement that they contain strong language or scenes of a sexual nature.
Back in the 18th century would this have been considered strong language? The translation of some of the poems is totally innocent but when read today cause merriment and blushes. (Especially so when read by an English lass.)
I’m interested in your thoughts…
In April 2003 the BBC’s Big Read began the search for the nation’s best-loved novel. A recent blog meme has asked how many you’ve read and how many you want to read. I’ve reverted to the original list. Green have been read, italic orange are either on my selves to read or I’d like to read. Once I have finished them I may move on to the others.
After reading Chasing Cézanne I felt Peter Mayle was a good enough writer to follow up with A Good Year.
Previous visits to Provence have given me an affinity with the locations discussed in these books and some small understanding of the French/English/American interaction.
The writing in this book is gentle; smooth like a beautiful red wine, with humorous overtones. There was intrigue hiding within the pages but I expected more from this. There was no build up or crescendo; the plot simply teetered off to a quite end; soft and pleasing but a slight disappointment.
I’ll give it time before I decide whether this has put me off the writer.
Last year I was buying books for my mother-in-law to read whilst she was recovering from a stroke. As I perused the book shelves I saw Savage Garden by Mark Mills and was attracted by both the front and back cover. I’m not sure if I bought the book at the time (I must ask) but in the year since I have spied the book repeatedly on book shelves and in shop windows. It seemed that the book was calling to me, reminding me that it had piqued my interest all those months ago.
On a roam through Waterston’s last month I felt the pull again with a 3 for 2 offer on at the time, I felt at last that I should take the plunge and buy the book.
After such a long time I felt no need to start the book immediately. I’m sure there was some reason why the book was placed on the shelf until another time (probably the other 2 books in the offer) but a few weeks ago I finally picked it up, and I’m glad to have done so.
Within the first few pages I felt an attraction to the characters laid out before me. References to art, literature and history seem to lay a foundation on which multiple mysteries from differing times have been woven. Beautifully written, this book kept my interest throughout and as I lay the book down I felt satisfied.
I heard a quote in a TV program the other day, said by one of my favourite actors. It was a quote from Far from the Madding Crowd, a copy of which I have owned from some 15 years but have never read. There are so many books to read out there that it’s difficult to know how to choose which one to pick up next. Hearing such a quote seems as good a reason as any to me, so I pulled the book down from the shelf and began to read.
This is the first book of Thomas Hardy that I have read and one of the few ‘classic’ books that I have attempted (a situation I now intend to rectify). This meant that the language being used hindered my reading at the start of the book. Within the first five pages I have probably noted at least ten words that I was not quite sure of. This did not bode well for an easy read, but after the first chapter I found that my mind had become accustomed to the language and began to relish in the descriptive nature of Hardy’s writing. I loved how he described the wind blowing over and through the forest, as if both were alive and interacting with each other; the vivid way in which the characters were illustrated truly helped me visualise the personalities and their temperament.
I laughed at times and I cried at others. At one point I even shouted at one character in the book – out loud!
Descriptive, moving, humorous, beautiful. When I put this book down I didn’t wish to speak.
I’m not reading more at the moment; I’m simply reading a larger range of books. It is helping me broaden my language, my knowledge and my outlook.
I’ll write some reviews of the books I read and probably the reason behind my choice.
I don’t like to read book reviews before I approach a book as I am easily swayed and on some occasions wouldn’t pick up a book if I’d heard a discouraging assessment. That is one of the reasons why my reviews will be short, but also because they relate to my interaction with the book. Reading for me is quite a personal affair.
Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.