Splendour
12/05/2004 05:13 a.m.
Splendour in the Grass

What though the radiance
which was once so bright
Be now for ever taken from my sight
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not, rather find
Strength in what remains behind;
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be;
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of human suffering;
In the faith that looks through death,
In years that bring the philosophic mind.

-- William Wordsworth


After watching the old movie by the same title as the above poem, tonight, with my favorite actress the late Natalie Wood, I looked up the poem. It speaks hauntingly to me, after all the changes come and coming, in my life and that of close people to me, and by my age, I can truly relate to it.

I have my own take on it, and find it very soothing and wise, though sad. The movie incorporated it beautifully into the script. I was struck in my search through Wordsworth's works, at how prolific he was, as well as amazing in talent. Timeless, his messages.

I've also been reading a book by Anne Coleman that I am very absorbed with, an "I can't put it down" type of book, and I relate to her so closely. I suppose it's her skill to make the reader feel this way, and yet she uncannily looks at things much the way I did, when I look at my own diaries, and she takes me back to my own seven wonderful cottage summers in Quebec, in her I'll Tell You A Secret, A Memory of Seven Summers. Hers are spent in North Hatley, Quebec, in the Laurentians. Mine were at Sand Bay, Quebec, near Shawville (note of interest: I believe writer Joan Finnegan belongs to the family who ran our little cottage confectionery at the far side of the beachfront from our cottage) and that Joan may have been cottaging there when I was.

Coleman's story is about her cottage life just down the dirt road from Hugh Maclennan's. She delivers an evocative and often humorous, always tender, exciting and credible, but also sometimes disturbing, account of her young womanhood years, since fourteen, and her relationship with Canadian writer and professor MacLennan, to whom she dedicates the book. Within this context she makes witness to and commentary on issues such as women writers and how poorly they were recognized even in the 1950's, in our universities here, and several other social issues. Her canoe trips, nature descriptions, cottage and family moments, and the youthful voice of the narrator giving the story in the present as if it's still unfolding, (she is very skilled at sounding this young, and then more mature later in the book, and I'm sure she consulted back through years of her personal diaries to capture this).

Just my kind of story, my kind of way of "adopting" mentors and I can even relate to her bond with MacLennan, that broke through an age barrier of over thirty years, no problem.

Well, since I'm not sleeping and should be before church tomorrow and a full day, (I was hoping to go to one of my female leading haiku icons' Open House for a Third World Benefit in Bells Corners tomorrow, bake more cookies, after my faith ceremony at church, and do a ton of other things, like final prepping for a reading next week, final touches on homework, wrapping and buying...and should indeed be sleeping having danced away hours with friends last night until the wee hours, something I've not done in ages and the music and company cheered me immensely) I must head off to bed, and continue her story 'til I nod off after some heartfelt prayers.

I'm sure I'll be looking for more Coleman treats soon. If only there were time to do everything... but look what Wordsworth did

*excuse any typos please, it's very late.
I am currently Blue
I am listening to nothing