So we have reached the longest day. It doesn’t seem quite possible. Celia and I were talking about this yesterday: how can we be in mid summer when the usual rituals, the usual events that are our landmarks as we move through the months simply haven’t happened? I realise I am somehow waiting for them. So it’s surprising to see tomatoes and cucumbers forming on plants, surprising to find we have moved from the daffodils and bluebells to the hydrangeas and hollyhocks, surprising the days are going to start getting shorter from tomorrow.
The billboards thanking our key workers which we saw everywhere have changed too. There’s a really striking one about domestic violence saying abusers always work from home. Along the SouthBank there are pleas for cash as well alongside the poems to remind us of the poetry library and all the other wonders we cannot currently access, and which are now in jeopardy.
Support the SouthBank
Poetry diversion
reminding us of poetryA
Socially distanced space
I was shocked by a survey where people had said the least essential job was that of an artist. Art is not a luxury, art is something we need. Even in prehistory there were artists. Art has proved its necessity in lockdown as well as at other times in allowing us a mode of communication that says things differently from words. A world where artists are despised and unvalued is a poor world, a narrow world and a dull one. it’s a bit like where people describe the humanities subjects as easy subjects, according only the sciences and maths respect. If you honestly think doing a literature degree is just a question of reading books you haven’t thought about it very much, and you probably haven’t thought about the books you’ve read much either. I keep thinking about Middlemarch by George Elliot. Someone I worked with one said that if you haven’t read Middlemarch you haven’t lived. I think she was probably right. In the novel the threat of cholera is an ever present fear. It doesn’t stop people going out and about, falling in love, marrying, cooking meals, but it’s there. Rather like Covid 19 which we are having to learn to live with.
Human beings have told each other stories to help understand the world since long before writing was invented. The best stories help us understand who we are, to set our times in the context of history, to ask questions about the whats whys and wherefores, and maybe push us towards possible futures.
I am going to the boat tomorrow so shall probably miss the socially distanced, open air, poetry reading my book group has planned for Thursday evening. Maybe I’ll read one to the ducks.
Stay safe, keep well.
Have a good time at the boat don’t forget the sun cream and hat…it’s going to be a hot week!
Just enjoy Isobel!
Thanks Pix.
I hope you do read some poems to the ducks – I’m sure it would be very therapeutic! I have a lovely photo somewhere of Robert Wyatt, sitting in his wheelchair, playing his trumpet to a white horse, who is looking over the fence with great curiosity. Natural harmony, I guess.
Depends on how many people are around I guess. It might have to be to MasterB, the cows or the Konik ponies in nearby Burwell Fen.
St Francis preached to the birds so I suspect the ducks and coots will welcome poetry. And it will be very good for you as well. Every literature person I know has told me I need to read Middlemarch. Now might finally be the time.
The twin of Middlemarch was based on Coventry, so you have in some ways already made a start…
As we sit reading poetry in Walworth I shall enjoy the thought of you sharing some with the ducks at the marina!
So far I have only seen fish. And a kestrel!