The ripe and the unripe-” (* The Favourite Fruit by Eleanor Farjeon)
Or, perhaps, I should leave that scenario alone, clouded as it is with doubt, and attribute my love of apples to the irresistible Beauty of its feng shui,
A Beauty
which brings harmony and peace to hearth and home
*”Some
to dress
the table…”
and rosy good health, too; according to the ancient wisdom of Dae Jang Geum
who, in Episode 52 of The Jewel in the Palace, insists that apples be placed next to the King, because the aroma of apples will improve his well-being.
And, though I am no King, I can attest to the loveliness of falling asleep with the sweet scent of apples next to one’s pillow.
An apple a day keeps the doctor away.
So, when the hint of a flush colours the leaf,
Autumn in the air
feast on *”the ruddy apple of the sun” in all its variety, complexity
In a recent post, I featured Leonard Cohen’s Anthem. The opening lines of the song call on us to “Ring the bells that still can ring….” I find these words exceedingly poignant because the only “ringing” bells we have left to ring are at St Paul’s ,in the Christchurch suburb of Papanui.
St Paul’s Papanui
Our city’s main peal of 13 bells used to be in our old Christ Church Cathedral.
Our once upon a time Cathedral
In the earthquake of 22nd February 2011, the bells came tumbling down, along with much of the rest of the Cathedral. As far as I know, all 13 of the bells are currently back, where they were cast, at the John Taylor Bell Foundry in Loughborough, Leicestershire, undergoing extensive and expensive repairs.
When they will be heard again, in Christchurch, is anybody’s guess, considering the length of time it takes to rebuild a city, but it is conceivable that I will not hear these bells again in my lifetime. Fortunately, there are sensible people who thought to record the Cathedral Bells when they were still ours to hear. But, sadly, even a recording is not quite the same as the real deal.
At St Paul’s there is a peal of 8 bells and there is a history of bell ringing at this church that dates to 1880. These bells, and the wooden structure of St Paul’s, came through the earthquakes relatively unscathed, but some earthquake repairs were required and the church was closed for a while as a result.
All the work has been completed now and St Paul’s is looking fresh and revitalised.
Front View
Bell Tower
Rear View
And the bells continue to ring out, strong and true, on Wednesdays and Sundays. It’s a good feeling, knowing that this church building, that has been on this site since 1877, has life and strength in it to last for many years to come; thanks to careful workmanship and the beauty and resilience of the kauri wood from which it was built.
For some of our citizens, who were anti-campanology, in a NIMBY sort of way, the lack of bells in the city must be a blessed relief. But, for me, an erstwhile British subject and child of the Colonies, reared on the sounds of London’s bells, as formulated in that old nursery rhyme, “Oranges and Lemons”, a city is incomplete without the ringing of bells.
Ring the Bells of London Town
Some of my readers may remember the silence of the bells in the United Kingdom for the duration of the Second World War; they may remember that such silence leaves a hollow, a void in our sensory space, that is, somehow, deafening.
So, here I sit, trying to ‘ring the bells that still can ring’
Here I sit..perhaps with” rings on my fingers and bells on my toes”
My newspaper tells me that, today, 15 October, is Virgil’s birthday. He was born in 70 BC. To quote from http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/virgil “Publius Vergilius Maro was a classical Roman poet, best known for three major works—the Bucolics (or Eclogues), the Georgics, and the Aeneid—although several minor poems are also attributed to him. The son of a farmer in northern Italy, Virgil came to be regarded as one of Rome’s greatest poets; his Aeneid as Rome’s national epic.”
My poetry book “Poem for the Day”, edited by Nicholas Albery, tells me that, today, 15 October, is the day that English poet Robert Herrick died in 1674. Robert Herrick was well-versed ( yes well-versed !) in the ancient authors, and like Virgil, many of his poems are pastoral or bucolic. He also believed that he would “triumph over “Times trans-shifting” and live beyond death through his verses”http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/robert-herrick
This morning, I found the lily of the valley, like ‘erring lace’, here
and there, threaded through the flowers and greenery along the garden
path.
Lily of the Valley is another of my favourite plants.
It was my maternal grandmother’s favourite flower, and the Lily of the
Valley in my garden was given to me by her eldest daughter, my aunt.
Like erring lace
I look forward to its appearance, every year, in early October, and ,more often than not, it arrives in time to help me celebrate the October birthdays of my aunt and my grandmother 🙂 Clever little plants!
Another poet, sometimes pastoral, is Eleanor Farjeon, most widely known for her poem/hymn, A Morning Song, Morning Has Broken.
In 1965, the year of Eleanor Farjeon’s death, a friend of my paternal grandmother gave me Farjeon’s “The Children’s Bells”, ( first published in 1957 ). It is a book of verse for children but contains this small poem, titled Sweet Robin Herrick (born 20 August 1591). Although some of Herrick’s poems have a wantonness that might be considered inappropriate for a child, Eleanor Farjeon obviously thought him too important a poet to leave out from a child’s literary education!
This day Robin Herrick
Was born in Cheapside,
His father he laughed
And his mother she cried,
So to sweet Robin Herrick
‘Twas given to spy The tear in the marigold’s Laughing eye.”
I have no marigolds at this time of year, so the best I can do, to perpetuate this enduring and wonderful poetic lineage, is to show some photos of the wayward, wanton disorderly poesie of my garden
A wild civility
A lawn about the shoulder thrown
A sweet disorder
A fine distraction
Like erring lace
Floral Notes: Lily of the Valley symbolises the return of happiness. It is the national flower of Finland and the flower of May in the Northern Hemisphere. And its delicate scent makes it a lovely addition to a small floral bouquet on my kitchen window sill. (It was also in Kate Middleton’s wedding bouquet 🙂 )
A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A careless shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part. – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19791#sthash.zCCuwSq6.dpuf
A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A careless shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part. – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19791#sthash.zCCuwSq6.dpuf
A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: A Lawne about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring Lace, which here and there Enthralls the Crimson Stomacher: A Cuffe neglectfull, and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly: A winning wave (deserving Note) In the tempestuous petticote: A careless shooe-string, in whose tye I see a wilde civility: Doe more bewitch me, then when Art Is too precise in every part. – See more at: http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/19791#sthash.zCCuwSq6.dpuf