October | silkannthreades

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

One of Herrick’s poems which lives on is Delight in Disorder

A sweet disorder in the dress

Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

A lawn* about the shoulders thrown

Into a fine distraction:

An erring lace which here and there

Enthralls the crimson stomacher:

A cuff neglectful, and thereby

Ribbons to flow confusedly:

A winning wave, deserving note,

In the tempestuous petticoat:

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility:

Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part.

(* a lawn is a light scarf)

I think this poem is delightful. It reminds me, for the lace and the

petticoats, rather than any disorder, of my favourite portrait paintings by Ingres.

It also takes me to the abundant and gorgeous

disarray of my garden.

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 🙂 )

Fairy Bells

in a sweet bouquet

A sweet disorder in the dresse Kindles in cloathes a wantonnesse: – 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