There’s Danger in the Woods

Posted on February 15, 2021 by merrildsmith

^{Frederick Golden Short, Spring Sunlight, New Forest}

Am I really on my way to Paris? My mind drifts and tumbles like the clouds outside the plane’s window.
I think back—when I met Paul (as he was called then) that first time in the woods. I hadn’t slept much the night before. I couldn’t stop thinking of the bombs and the flames—London burning; my family gone. I wanted the cool peace of the ancient forest that surrounded our training area. I heard his steps and turned quickly. My instructors would have been proud of my instinctual fighting stance.
“I saw you leave,” he said, “I was worried about you.”
I said, “Do you know Yeats? ‘I went out to the hazel wood because a fire was in my head.’”
He smiled, and as I looked into his grey-blue eyes, I knew I was smitten–and I knew it was dangerous.

Back to my Prosery spies, but no Hopper this time. This is for dVerse, where
Kim asks us to use this line from W.B. Yeats’ “Song of Wandering Aengus.”
‘I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head’.
I love this poem, and it is such a well-known line. I first incorporated it directly into the prose, but it just didn’t seem right. So, I hope this is not cheating, but this seemed much better to me. Also, in my head, I always hear this line sung because I knew Judy Collins’ song version before I knew the poem. Kim shares a Christy Moore’s version.

The Stranger’s Tale: Yeats Challenge, Day 25

Posted on November 25, 2017 by merrildsmith

This is for Jane’s A Month with Yeats, Day Twenty-Five.

Today’s quotation is from the “Song of Wandering Aengus.” Judy Collins sings a lovely version of this poem.

“And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream

And caught a little silver trout.”—W.B. Yeats

I met a man who told me tales

of wand’ring long on lonesome trails

through silvered groves of hazel wood

and seeing trout from where he stood

on the banks of a laughing stream

and how he fell into a dream.

He was old when he told me this,

of how he dreamt he had been kissed,

of how he’d never settled down

from fighting battles for the crown

of how he missed his darling’s lips

as he was gone upon his ships,

and how she chose another man

changing the life he thought he planned.

Now I am old, remember this,

the stranger’s tale of his lost kiss,

but when I dream, I dream of you

of wishes cast on waters blue

spindrift in the prismed light

flying high in the starlit night

I think of the man, his lesson taught–

thankful my wishes granted in love long sought

Secrets and Shadows: Musings and Shadorma

Posted on November 13, 2017 by merrildsmith

Monday Morning Musings:

“Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny: tyrants willing to be dethroned.”

James Joyce, Ulysses

“It’s a triumph of art and friendship over time. And it’s also very important, I think, to hang on to the things that mean something to you. And they transcend time.”

–Judy Collins, “Love, Friendship and Music: Stephen Stills and Judy Collins Collaborate on New Album,” All Things Considered with Michele Martin, November 11, 2017

“There is regret, almost remorse,
For Time long past.
‘Tis like a child’s belovèd corse
A father watches, till at last
Beauty is like remembrance, cast
From Time long past.”

–Percy Bysshe Shelley, “Time Long Past”

Secret lives

buried deep in walls

or within

chambered hearts,

echoing the beats, flowing,

waiting for release

The garage

old, unstable, and so

down it comes

over the years

it’s housed tools and junk,

a chipmunk or two, amidst the rakes

perhaps a snake.

We were told the wall at the back

was bumped out a bit to fit

a Model T–

But honestly, I don’t know,

and it’s all so long ago.

The roof was shingled many times

and covered with leaves, pollen, and snow

beside it children have played,

and a wandering doe has grazed.

The yard is littered

adorned with its pieces–

fragments of a secret life

forlorn in autumn’s fading light,

a building built to last,

but now

shadows cast, from time long past.

The weather now has turned much colder

as the year journeys to its end,

no more harkening back, it seems to say

though time winds round again

through falling leaves and winter snow

to springtime bud and summer flowers,

and in the buildings here on city streets

there’s blending of the old and new

where cobblestones meet asphalt streets

and on concrete pavements,

shadows cast, from time long past

We see a musical about phone sex and love

set in the 1990s,

just before

(it opens a door)

the Internet really became a thing

and here a young man and woman

don golden chastity rings,

and vow to remain chaste till wed.

But now with their upcoming marriage,

they realize they do not really know each other.

They learn in song

(Well, it’s a musical, so we go along.)

we all have secrets lives and secret selves–

shadows cast, from time long past

FullSizeRender 251

It’s a funny, enjoyable show

a quirky romantic comedy

if not profound

it covers some familiar ground,

but still we talk of how it’s set

in a changing time.

a time now past

when our children were young.

And as day becomes night,

in autumn’s fading light

We see a bride and groom

and should we assume

they have lives kept private and

shadows cast, from time long past?

In the car, we listen to NPR

hear an interview with Judy Collins and Stephen Stills,

old lovers, now still friends,

hanging on to important things

and illustrated with their songs

throughout time

things that last,

shadows cast, from time long past.

I think of my mom and dad

meeting in time long before technology

of cell phones and Internet

and they connected,

once they were young and in love

then they weren’t either

keeping secrets from each other

yet still, I think the love was always there

and she to him said a final goodbye

the night before he died

shadows cast over time, long past

We take my mom to a winery–

“Cross a wine tasting off your bucket list,”

I say.

Here we can sit at a table

order our selections

of white and red

served with cheese and bread

and the atmosphere is convivial,

the conversation, mostly trivial,

but as we move to pizza and more wine,

we’re feeling pretty fine,

we talk of Thanksgiving

and of ancestry

I tell her about my poetry,

she tells me things she remembers–

sitting in her grandfather’s lap

though she doesn’t remember much about him,

and after that he died,

from an injury to his skull,

difficult times from them all

immigrants from another land

speaking a language I don’t understand,

I learned there was a baby brother born

after her mother and her aunts

he died young, seldom spoken of.

In the conversation here

ghosts of ancestors now appear–

shadow cast, of time long past

Then to home

the weekend ended,

secrets shared

journeys taken,

sunshine and shadows, blended,

cast in a circle

through time and

space our souls wander

sharing love

fearing death

casting shadows of time past

long ago and now

We saw TouchTones at the Arden Theatre. We went to Auburn Road Vineyard.

I’ve begun and ended my musing with Shadorma for my somewhat sporadic participation in Eliot of Along the Interstice’s November Shadorma Challenge.

Suffering for Suffrage

Posted on June 7, 2016 by merrildsmith

Collection of pins, Library of Congress

As I walk to the polling place

I think of times not long gone by

Of those not welcomed in this space