Jump to content


  • Posts

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Posts posted by megustaleer


    The radiance of the star that leans on me

    Was shining years ago. The light that now

    Glitters up there my eyes may never see,

    And so the time lag teases me with how


    Love that loves now may not reach me until

    Its first desire is spent. The star's impulse

    Must wait for eyes to claim it beautiful

    And love arrived may find us somewhere else.


    Delay - Elizabeth Jennings

  2. 1 hour ago, Madeleine said:

    I think the film might be Another Country, which they were both in, and sounds right timewise, based on the Alan Bennett play.

    No Another Country is about the Cambridge spy Guy Burgess.


    There was a film made of A Month in The Country, but it is no surprise that it was news to Hux, as according to Wikipedia 



    The film has been neglected since its 1987 cinema release and it was only in 2004 that an original 35 mm film print was discovered, due to the intervention of a fan....

    ... In June 2016, the BFI released the film on a (Dual Format Edition) Blu-ray and DVD in the UK.[26]


    There is a half hour video called Colin Firth's Disappeared Film, A Work Of Art, Saved And Restored After 30 Years,  available on YouTube, of Colin Firth talking about the restoration.


  3. On 28/09/2017 at 19:09, cherrypie said:

    t a couple of details that did not appear in the book were added to the ending thus affecting the viewers thinking a little.  I suspect that the film makers did not want to leave the viewer hanging in quite the same way as the author did. .

    Much as Hitchcock did for Rebecca.

    Now, having both read the book and seen the film several times, I can never remember which ending belongs to the book and which to the film.

  4. 2002

    English Passengers - Matthew Knowle

    Girl at The Lion D’Or (Re-read)  - Sebastian Faulks

    Miss Garnett’s Angel - Sally Vickers

    The Lost Heart of Asia (Trav) - Colin Thubron

    Bound Feet & Western Dress (Bio) - Pang -Mei Natasha Chang

    God Knows - Joseph Heller

    Aunt Margaret’s Lover (Re-read) - Mavis Cheek

    The Heart-Shaped Bullet (Bio) - Kathryn Flett

    Prime Suspect - Lynda La plante

    Eddie’s Bastard - William Kowalski

    Clear Light of Day - Anita Desai

    These is My Words (Bio) - Nancy Turner

    Atonement - Ian McEwan

    Changes of Address - Lee Langley

    Anil’s Ghost - Michael Ondaatje

    Reading Groups (NF)- Jenny Hartley

    Dear Friend and Gardener (E)  - Beth Chatto & Christopher Lloyd

    Song of Solomon - Toni Morrison

    Bad Blood (B) - Lorna Sage

    ’Tis - Frank McCourt

    Rebecca’s Tale - Sally Beaumont

    The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie - Muriel Spark

    Girl With A Pearl Earring - Tracy Chevalier

    Interpreter of Maladies (SS) - Jhumpa Lahiri

    Death In Summer - William Trevor

    Friend if My Youth(SS) - Alice Munro

    The Blackwater lightship - Colm Toibin

  5. “To make this condiment, your poet begs

    The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs;

    Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,

    Smoothness and softness to the salad give.

    Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl,

    And, half-suspected, animate the whole.

    Of mordant mustard add a single spoon,

    Distrust the condiment that bites so soon;

    But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault,

    To add a double quantity of salt.

    Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca brown,

    And twice with vineger procured from town;

    And, lastly, o’er the flavored compound toss

    A magic soupçon of anchovy sauce.

    Oh, green and glorious! Oh, herbaceous treat!

    ‘Twould tempt the dying anchorite to eat:

    Back to the world he’d turn his fleeting soul,

    And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl!

    Serenely full, the epicure would say,

    “Fate cannot harm me, I have dined to-day.”



    Salad Recipe -Sydney Smith




    Even now I wish that you had been there

    Sitting beside me on the riverbank:

    The cob and his pen sailing in rhythm

    Until their small heads met and the final

    Heraldic moment dissolved in ripples.


    This was a marriage and a baptism,

    A holding of breath, nearly a drowning,

    Wings spread wide for balance where he trod,

    Her feathers full of water and her neck

    Under the water like a bar of light.



    Swans Mating - Michael Longley. 

  7. 2001

    Life Isn’t All Ha Ha Hee Hee - Meera Syall

    Spanish Lessons (Bio) - Derek Lambert

    Borderland (Hist) - Anna Reid

    A Positively Final Appearance (Bio) - Alec Guinness

    Bing Dead - Jim Crace

    As It Is In Heaven - Niall Williams

    White Teeth - Zadie Smith

    Bodily Harm - Margaret Atwood

    Haroun and The Sea of Stories (Ch) - Salman Rushdie

    The Women’s Room (Re-read) - Marilyn French

    The Conversations at Curlow Creek - David Malouf

    The Orchard on Fire - Shena Macka

    Blackberry Wine - Joanne Harris

    The Last Resort - Alison Lurie

    Once in a House on Fire (Bio)- Andrea Ashwell

    In The Heart of The Garden - Helene Wiggin

    The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov

    Wide Sargasso Sea - Jean Rhys

    Gift From The Sea (Essays) - Anne Morrow Lindbergh

    Brideshead Revisited (Re-read) - Evelyn Waugh

    To The Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf

    Honeymoon in Purdah (Trav) - Alison Wearing

    The Pilot’s Wife - Anita Shreve

  8. Some men never think of it.
    You did. You'd come along
    And say you'd nearly bought me flowers
    But something had gone wrong.

    The shop was closed. Or you had doubts -
    The sort that minds like ours 
    Dream up incessantly. You thought
    I might not want your flowers.

    It made me smile and hug you then.
    Now I can only smile. 
    But, look, the flowers you nearly brought
    Have lasted all this while.

    Flowers - Wendy Cope 


    Birth and death, twin-sister and twin-brother,

    Night and day, on all things that draw breath,

    Reign, while time keeps friends with one another

    Birth and death.


    Each brow-bound with flowers diverse of wreath,

    Heaven they hail as father, earth as mother,

    Faithful found above them and beneath.


    Smiles may lighten tears, and tears may smother

    Smiles, for all that joy or sorrow saith:

    Joy nor sorrow knows not from each other

    Birth and death.


    Birth and Death - a  roundel by Algernon Charles Swinburne


    All this is flashy rhetoric about loving you —

    I never had a selfless thought since I was born.

    I am mercenary and self-seeking through and through;

    I want God, you, all friends merely to serve my turn.


    Peace, re-assurance, pleasure are the goals I seek;

    I cannot crawl one inch outside my proper skin;

    I talk of love — a scholar's parrot may talk Greek,

    But self-imprisoned, always end where I begin.


    Only that you now have taught me (but how late!) my lack,

    I see the chasm; and everything you are was making

    My heart into a bridge by which I might get back

    From exile and grow man. And now the bridge is breaking.

    For this I bless you as the ruin falls. The pains

    You give me are more precious than all other gains.



    As the Ruin Falls  -C. S. Lewis

  11. The Elm Tree; A Dream in the Woods. by Thomas Hood


    ’Twas in a shady Avenue,

    Where lofty Elms abound —

    And from a Tree

    There came to me

    A sad and solemn sound,

    That sometimes murmur’d overhead,

    And sometimes underground.


    Amongst the leaves it seem’d to sigh,

    Amid the boughs to moan;

    It mutter’d in the stem, and then

    The roots took up the tone;

    As if beneath the dewy grass

    The dead began to groan.


    No breeze there was to stir the leaves;

    No bolts that tempests launch,

    To rend the trunk or rugged bark;

    No gale to bend the branch;

    No quake of earth to heave roots,

    That stood so stiff and staunch.


    No bird was preening up aloft,

    To rustle with its wing;

    No squirrel, in its sport or fear.

    From bough to bough to spring.

    The solid bole

    Had ne’er a hole

    To hide a living thing!


    No scooping hollow cell to lodge

    A furtive beast or fowl,

    The martin, bat,

    Or forest cat

    That nightly loves to prowl,

    Nor ivy nooks so apt to shroud

    The moping, snoring owl.


    But still the sound was in my ear,

    A sad and solemn sound,

    That sometimes murmur’d overhead,

    And sometimes underground —

    ’Twas in a shady Avenue

    Where lofty Elms abound.


     The first six stanzas of the 79 stanza poem The Elm Tree; A Dream in the Woods  by Thomas Hood

    The complete poem can be found here, and on other sites online

  12. Of all the trees in England,

    Her sweet three corners in,

    Only the Ash, the bonnie Ash

    Burns fierce while it is green.

    Of all the trees in England,

    From sea to sea again,

    The Willow loveliest stoops her boughs

    Beneath the driving rain.

    Of all the trees in England,

    Past frankincense and myrrh,

    There's none for smell, of bloom and smoke,

    Like Lime and Juniper.

    Of all the trees in England,

    Oak, Elder, Elm and Thorn,

    The Yew alone burns lamps of peace

    For them that lie forlorn.


    Trees - Walter de la Mare

  13. Mark but this flea, and mark in this,   

    How little that which thou deniest me is;   

    It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

    And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;   

    Thou know’st that this cannot be said

    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,

        Yet this enjoys before it woo,

        And pampered swells with one blood made of two,

        And this, alas, is more than we would do.


    Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,

    Where we almost, nay more than married are.   

    This flea is you and I, and this

    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;   

    Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,   

    And cloistered in these living walls of jet.

        Though use make you apt to kill me,

        Let not to that, self-murder added be,

        And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.



    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since

    Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?   

    Wherein could this flea guilty be,

    Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?   

    Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou   

    Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;

        ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:

        Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,

        Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.


    The Flea - John Donne

  14. If you wake at midnight, and hear a horse's feet,
    Don't go drawing back the blind, or looking in the street;
    Them that ask no questions isn't told a lie.
    Watch the wall, my darling, while the Gentlemen go by!

    Five and twenty ponies,
    Trotting through the dark —
    Brandy for the Parson,
    Baccy for the Clerk;
    Laces for a lady, letters for a spy,
    And watch the wall, my darling, 
    While the Gentlemen go by!

    Running round the woodlump if you chance to find
    Little barrels, roped and tarred, all full of brandy-wine,
    Don't you shout to come and look, nor use 'em for your play.
    Put the brishwood back again — and they'll be gone next day!

    If you see the stable-door setting open wide;
    If you see a tired horse lying down inside;
    If your mother mends a coat cut about and tore;
    If the lining's wet and warm — don't you ask no more!

    If you meet King George's men, dressed in blue and red,
    You be careful what you say, and mindful what is said.
    If they call you "pretty maid," and chuck you 'neath the chin,
    Don't you tell where no one is, nor yet where no one's been!

    Knocks and footsteps round the house — whistles after dark —
    You've no call for running out till the house-dogs bark.
    Trusty's here, and Pincher's here, and see how dumb they lie —
    They don't fret to follow when the Gentlemen go by!

    If you do as you've been told, 'likely there's a chance,
    You'll be given a dainty doll, all the way from France,
    With a cap of Valenciennes, and a velvet hood —
    A present from the Gentlemen, along o' being good!

    Five and twenty ponies,
    Trotting through the dark —
    Brandy for the Parson,
    'Baccy for the Clerk;
    Them that asks no questions isn't told a lie —
    Watch the wall, my darling, 
    While the Gentlemen go by!
    A Smuggler's Song - Rudyard Kipling


  15. A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, 

    He rode between the barley-sheaves, 

    The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, 

    And flamed upon the brazen greaves 

           Of bold Sir Lancelot. 

    A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 

    To a lady in his shield, 

    That sparkled on the yellow field, 

           Beside remote Shalott. 


    The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, 

    Like to some branch of stars we see 

    Hung in the golden Galaxy. 

    The bridle bells rang merrily 

           As he rode down to Camelot: 

    And from his blazon'd baldric slung 

    A mighty silver bugle hung, 

    And as he rode his armour rung, 

           Beside remote Shalott. 


    All in the blue unclouded weather 

    Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, 

    The helmet and the helmet-feather 

    Burn'd like one burning flame together, 

           As he rode down to Camelot. 

    As often thro' the purple night, 

    Below the starry clusters bright, 

    Some bearded meteor, trailing light, 

           Moves over still Shalott. 


    His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; 

    On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; 

    From underneath his helmet flow'd 

    His coal-black curls as on he rode, 

           As he rode down to Camelot. 

    From the bank and from the river 

    He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 

    "Tirra lirra," by the river 

           Sang Sir Lancelot. 


    She left the web, she left the loom, 

    She made three paces thro' the room, 

    She saw the water-lily bloom, 

    She saw the helmet and the plume, 

           She look'd down to Camelot. 

    Out flew the web and floated wide; 

    The mirror crack'd from side to side; 

    "The curse is come upon me," cried 

           The Lady of Shalott. 


    The Lady of Shalott , part III - Alfred Lord Tennyson

  16. 5 hours ago, jfp said:

    Where ever did you get your bizarre variant from? I confess to not having read beyond your first paragraph in order to find out...

    It all reads as though it has been mangled by a translation app.



    Three lovely notes he whistled, too soft to be heard

    If others sang; but others never sang

    In the great beech-wood all that May and June.

    No one saw him: I alone could hear him

    Though many listened. Was it but four years

    Ago? or five? He never came again.


    Oftenest when I heard him I was alone,

    Nor could I ever make another hear.

    La-la-la! he called, seeming far-off—

    As if a cock crowed past the edge of the world,

    As if the bird or I were in a dream.

    Yet that he travelled through the trees and sometimes

    Neared me, was plain, though somehow distant still

    He sounded. All the proof is—I told men

    What I had heard.


                                       I never knew a voice,

    Man, beast, or bird, better than this. I told

    The naturalists; but neither had they heard

    Anything like the notes that did so haunt me,

    I had them clear by heart and have them still.

    Four years, or five, have made no difference. Then

    As now that La-la-la! was bodiless sweet:

    Sad more than joyful it was, if I must say

    That it was one or other, but if sad

    'Twas sad only with joy too, too far off

    For me to taste it. But I cannot tell

    If truly never anything but fair

    The days were when he sang, as now they seem.

    This surely I know, that I who listened then,

    Happy sometimes, sometimes suffering

    A heavy body and a heavy heart,

    Now straightway, if I think of it, become

    Light as that bird wandering beyond my shore.


    The Unknown Bird - Edward Thomas


    “Drink,” said the lady, sad and slow -

    World’s love behoveth thee to know”.

    He looked to her, commanding so.


    Her brow was troubled, but her eye

    Struck clear to his soul. For all reply

    He drank the water suddenly, —


    Then, with a deathly sickness, passed

    Beside the fourth pool and the last,

    Where weights of shadow were down-cast


    From Yew and cypress, and from trails

    Of hemlock clasping the trunk-scales,

    And flung across the intervals


    From yew to yew. Who dareth stoop

    Where those moist branches overdroop,

    Into his heart the chill strikes up;


    He hears a silent, gliding coil—

    The snakes breathe hard against the soil—

    His foot slips in their slimy oil;


    And toads seem crawling on his hand,

    And clinging bats, but dimly scanned,

    Right in his face their wings expand.


    A paleness took the poet’s cheek:

    “Must I drink here?” he questioned meek

    The lady’s will, with utterance weak.


    ”Ay, ay” she said. “it so must be”

    (and this time she spake cheerfully)

    “Behoves thee know World’s cruelty.”


    From A Vision of Poets, vol1 - Elizabeth Barret Browning

  19. 4 hours ago, lunababymoonchild said:

     I learnt a fair bit of Doric whilst living in Aberdeen 

    You'll have a better idea than me, then, of what the poems actually mean. Puddock I knew, and I guessed that seggs were sedges. Unfortunately Google had other ideas of what it meant, but it was while searching for something more fitting that I came across John M. Cale's poem. I enjoyed both, and the journey that "translating" them took me on!

  • Create New...