Poets and Painters ...
We think of poets and painters seperately yet quite a few were multi-talented. The two names of William Blake and Dante Gabriel Rossetti should resonate with you even if you cannot immediately place their work. After the steam of the EU Referendum (aren't we all glad that is out the way?), I wanted to set out a stall on Britishness (note I didn't say Englishness) and our unique ability to absorb other cultures while still impressing the rest of the world with our own home-grown talent.
William Blake (1757-1827) is probably most recognized for his words to the resounding song 'Jerusalem'. We recognise it immediately: 'And did those feet in ancient times walk upon England's mountain green.' Yet few actually realise he was a hugely respected artist and was at one point considered '...one of the greatest artists Britain has ever produced.' Blake started his career as an engraver and was apprenticed to James Basire of Great Queen Street in London. Closely observing the Gothic work of many churches, I personally feel much of his artistic style was affected by the impressions he was working with. Blake later went on to become an art student at The Royal Academy where interestingly he did not take to the work and style of Plymouth's home grown artist, Joshua Reynolds. There was an interesting antagonism between them.
Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882) was British born and the son of an Italian scholar. He was born in London and although his friends called him Gabriel, he used his first name of Dante through preference. He painted in oils using water colour brushes which drew a great curiosity from his artistic observers. Nevertheless, aside from some unique paintings, his poetry has become classic in our tome of the very best.
In both men there is plenty for us to see - and see again. Both born in Britain yet one with links abroad and the other as British as a stick of rock. Note their work: There is a close correlation between painting and poetry. The mind of the artist is relaxed through a brush; the mind of the poet drifts like a conduit through the pen. Find and compare works by both Blake and Rossetti. There are many differences but similarities too.
Showing posts with label Devon poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Devon poetry. Show all posts
Monday, 1 August 2016
Sunday, 1 November 2015
The River Plym in Early November
I live close to the River Plym; an area of contrasts with the busy Embankment Road, railway line and yet calm, unbridled views over Saltram park. Occasionally when time permits (and usually at weekends), I take a very early walk close to the river to watch the sun rise. Now the night's are drawing in and the morning's have a tardy start of light, the moment to catch the sun coming up is later than I would like but on a morning such as we had today, it is beautiful. The weather was exceptional - just like high summer or Midsummer's Day. The hills looking up beyond Plympton were shaded in soft violets, mauves and apricots with a chiffon white mist rising in front of the boat house at Saltram Point. A wide range of birds from Oyster-Catchers, to Plovers to Warblers swept and swung over the high tide which gently lapped the shore. Rare species often gather here to the delight of Ornithologists.
At that point I was brought to mind of a typical November day. Grey, wet, windy, cold and dank. Yet today was none of these. My late father (Bernard Snell, who was born in November 1922) was a sun worshipper by nature and hated the winter. He could never bear the long dark cold days and often referred to November as 'Suicide Month'. He felt trudging out to work in the dark and wet, returning home in the same conditions and spending much of his time jammed in the hull of a ship (he was a Ships' Welder), meant day light and sunshine were hugely important to him. Additionally his awful experiences of being in Plymouth throughout the Blitz meant that darkness could mean death.
Below is an extract of Novembrists from the wonderful collection of poems by
Sean O'Brien called November.
Reactionary elements combining in the dark
To undermine the decent light of trade
With futile knowledge of the spirit's appetite
For somewhere in between this world
And its discarded shadows. O Novembrists!
At the year's death walking to no purpose
But to walk among the rutted leaves
And dripping hawthorns, in behind
The sleeping yards and the flooded lawns
And air-raid shelters piled with mattresses and comics,
Now I see it is my parents that I walk beside, ..........
If my father were alive today, he would have smiled at the irony.
Ruth
At that point I was brought to mind of a typical November day. Grey, wet, windy, cold and dank. Yet today was none of these. My late father (Bernard Snell, who was born in November 1922) was a sun worshipper by nature and hated the winter. He could never bear the long dark cold days and often referred to November as 'Suicide Month'. He felt trudging out to work in the dark and wet, returning home in the same conditions and spending much of his time jammed in the hull of a ship (he was a Ships' Welder), meant day light and sunshine were hugely important to him. Additionally his awful experiences of being in Plymouth throughout the Blitz meant that darkness could mean death.
Below is an extract of Novembrists from the wonderful collection of poems by
Sean O'Brien called November.
Reactionary elements combining in the dark
To undermine the decent light of trade
With futile knowledge of the spirit's appetite
For somewhere in between this world
And its discarded shadows. O Novembrists!
At the year's death walking to no purpose
But to walk among the rutted leaves
And dripping hawthorns, in behind
The sleeping yards and the flooded lawns
And air-raid shelters piled with mattresses and comics,
Now I see it is my parents that I walk beside, ..........
If my father were alive today, he would have smiled at the irony.
Ruth
Thursday, 4 September 2014
Inspeximus: Poetry from the Manors of The Roborough Hundred by Ruth Snell
Inspeximus: Poetry from the Manors of The Roborough Hundred by Ruth Snell. ISBN: 978-1-78132-302-1. Published by Silverwood Books of Bristol with a release date of 6 October 2014.
... Re-examines an area in south west Devon where the bustling community around Buckland Monachorum was once more heavily populated than any of the Plymouth manors. Moving from the Anglo-Saxon period to the Norman Conquest and beyond, the unusual genre of weaving poetry from manorial and local history seeks to peer into the past through a searching tangent of the imagination. Each manor had its own story to tell and was occupied and worked by colourful personalities.
Here in the early 21st century with so much destroyed by either war or development, a stop to pause and look by physically visiting former manorial sites and envisaging how people would have lived, offers a tangible breath of the past.
... Re-examines an area in south west Devon where the bustling community around Buckland Monachorum was once more heavily populated than any of the Plymouth manors. Moving from the Anglo-Saxon period to the Norman Conquest and beyond, the unusual genre of weaving poetry from manorial and local history seeks to peer into the past through a searching tangent of the imagination. Each manor had its own story to tell and was occupied and worked by colourful personalities.
Here in the early 21st century with so much destroyed by either war or development, a stop to pause and look by physically visiting former manorial sites and envisaging how people would have lived, offers a tangible breath of the past.
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