No.12

Music is a moral law. It gives soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and charm and gaiety to life and to everything. (Plato)

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Music has always been a popular subject for painters and they have depicted everything from angels playing harps to music lessons on the piano.

Many of those paintings are well-known, but I’ve chosen seven which may be unfamiliar to most people.

A Melody, by John William Godward 1861-1922


Francesca, by Edward Charles Hallé 1846-1914


Hush! by James Jacques-Joseph Tissot 1836-1902


Music, Heavenly maid, by Sir Edward John Poynter 1836-1919


The Rehearsal, by Edmund Blair Leighton 1852-1922


Music, by Antoine-Auguste-Ernest Hebert 1817-1908


When apples were golden and songs were sweet, but summer had passed away, by John Melhuish Strudwick 1849-1935.

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The New Year is a good time for new ideas, new plans and new beginnings. I’ve been re-thinking my blogs and am making some changes.

With the exception of Christmas and New Year week-ends, A Touch of Culture will continue on Fridays, Quiet Corner on Mondays, and Wise Men Say daily.
80 plus will become an occasional blog appearing every so often on Thursdays.
The Pre-Raphaelite site will come to an end next week, when 80 paintings will have been collected.
And a new weekly blog The Poetry Path will start on Wednesday 5th January. You can have a look at that website now at -
http://thepoetrypath.blogspot.com

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BEST WISHES TO EVERYONE FOR CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW YEAR

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No.11

POETRY WITH A SMILE

Many people have unhappy memories of poetry at school and I can understand their reluctance to have anything to do with the subject.

That’s a pity, for there are a great many poems with interesting themes, easily understood and enjoyable to read.

I’ve chosen five short humorous poems plus a limerick, and I’m sure they’ll raise a smile or two.

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All in the Downs, by Tom Hood (The Younger) 1835-1874

I would I had something to do - or to think!
Or something to read, or to write!
I am rapidly verging on Lunacy’s brink,
Or I shall be dead before night.

In my ears has been ringing and droning all day,
Without ever a stop or a change,
That poem of Tennyson’s - heart-cheering lay! -
Of the Moated Monotonous Grange!

The stripes in the carpet and paper alike
I have counted, and counted all through.
And now I’ve a fervid ambition to strike
Out some path of wild pleasure that’s new.

They say if a number you count, and re-count,
That the time imperceptibly goes: -
Ah, I wish - how I wish! - I’d ne’er learnt the amount
Of my aggregate fingers and toes.

“Enjoyment is fleeting,” the proverbs all say,
“Even that, which it feeds upon, fails.”
I’ve arrived at the truth of the saying today,
By devouring the whole of my nails.

I have numbered the minutes, so heavy and slow,
Till of that dissipation I tire.
And as for exciting amusements - you know
One can’t ALWAYS be stirring the fire!

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The Twins, by Henry Sambrooke Leigh 1837-1883

In form and feature, face and limb,
I grew so like my brother,
That folks got taking me for him,
And each for one another.
It puzzled all our kith and kin,
It reached an awful pitch;
For one of us was born a twin,
Yet not a soul knew which.

One day (to make the matter worse)
Before our names were fixed,
As we were being washed by nurse
We got completely mixed;
And thus, you see, by Fate’s decree
(Or rather nurse’s whim)
My brother John got christened ME,
And I got christened HIM.

This fatal likeness even dogged
My footsteps when at school,
And I was always getting flogged
For John turned out a fool.
I put this question hopelessly
To everyone I knew -
What WOULD you do, if you were me,
To prove that you were YOU?

Our close resemblance turned the tide
Of my domestic life;
For somehow my intended bride
Became my brother’s wife.
In short, year after year the same
Absurd mistakes went on;
And when I died - the neighbours came
And buried brother John.

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Sorrows of Werther, by Thomas Makepiece Thackeray 1811-1863

Werther had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.

Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And, for all the wealth of Indies,
Would do nothing for to hurt her.

So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.

Charlotte, having seen his body,
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.

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Outside the Window, by Thomas Hardy 1840-1928

“My stick!” he says, and turns in the lane
To the house just left, whence a vixen voice
Comes out with the firelight through the pane,
And he sees within that the girl of his choice
Stands rating her mother with eyes aglare
For something said while he was there.

“At last I behold her soul undraped!”
Thinks the man who had loved her more than himself;
“My God! - ‘Tis but narrowly I have escaped,
My precious porcelain proves it delf.”
His face has reddened like one ashamed,
And he steals off, leaving his stick unclaimed.

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Anonymous

The boy stood in the supper-room
Whence all but he had fled;
He’d eaten seven pots of jam
And he was gorged with bread.

“Oh, one more crust before I bust!”
He cried in accents wild;
He licked the plates, he sucked the spoons -
He was a vulgar child.

There came a burst of thunder-sound -
The boy - oh! Where was he?
Ask of the maid who mopped him up,
The bread-crumbs and the tea!

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A Limerick by Archibald Marshall 1866-1934

There was a young man of Devizes
Whose ears were of different sizes;
The one that was small
Was no use at all,
But the other won several prizes.

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Next Friday: "Music Makers" - a series of paintings with a common theme

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No.10

Johann Sebastian Bach 1685-1750

The German family Bach made an outstanding contribution to classical music over a period of 200 years. More than 50 of them were musicians and a fair number were composers.

The greatest of them all was Johann Sebastian - whose compositions included sacred and secular works for choir and orchestra and a huge number of pieces for solo instruments. He played organ, harpsichord and violin.

He fathered 20 children, 7 by his first wife and 13 by his second wife. Only 10 of the children survived into adulthood. 4 of them became famous composers - Wilhelm Friedemann, Carl Philipp Emanuel, Johann Christoph Friedrich and Johann Christian.

Many of the instrumental pieces written by Johann Sebastian Bach have become familiar today through a number of different ways - films, TV commercials and more recently ringtones.

They’ve been arranged for all sorts of instruments and ensembles, and I’ve selected a few unusual videos to show here.

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1) Badinerie from Suite in B minor, played by a mixed group from Santiago, Chile


2) Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring, by Kyong H. Lee - harmonica (double track recording)


3) Presto from the Italian Concerto, the Jacques Loussier Trio


4) Air on the G String, Katsuhiro Sasaki - glass harp


5) Fugue for Organ in G minor, the Swingle Singers


6) This one I’m sure Bach himself would be delighted to watch!


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For more about Bach, visit -
http://classicalmusic.about.com/od/classicalcomposers/p/bach.htm

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Next Friday - Poetry CAN be fun!

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No.9

CHARLES DICKENS (1812-1870) is still one of the most popular authors of the 19th century.

When still a child, he had to work as a drudge in a London blacking factory, while his father was in a debtors’ prison. For a few years he was a lawyer’s clerk and then a newspaper reporter.

Most of his novels appeared first of all as serials. Their appeal was largely due to the memorable characters he created, but underneath the humour there often lay the darker theme of social evils in Victorian times.

This is a short excerpt from David Copperfield, the book which contains many autobiographical incidents and characters.

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I AM SENT AWAY FROM HOME

We might have gone about half a mile, and my pocket-handkerchief
was quite wet through, when the carrier stopped short. Looking out
to ascertain for what, I saw to MY amazement Peggotty burst from
a hedge and climb into the cart. She took me in both her arms, and
squeezed me to her stays until the pressure on my nose was
extremely painful, though I never thought of that till afterwards
when I found it very tender. Not a single word did Peggotty speak.
Releasing one of her arms, she put it down in her pocket to the
elbow, and brought out some paper bags of cakes which she crammed into my pockets, and a purse which she put into my hand, but not one word did she say. After another and a final squeeze with both arms, she got down from the cart and ran away; and, my belief is, and has always been, without a solitary button on her gown. I picked up one of several that were rolling about, and treasured it as a keepsake for a long time.

The carrier looked at me, as if to inquire if she were coming back.
I shook my head, and said I thought not.

Having by this time cried as much as I possibly could, I began to
think it was of no use crying any more, especially as neither
Roderick Random nor that Captain in the Royal British Navy had
ever cried, that I could remember, in trying situations. The
carrier, seeing me in this resolution, proposed that my pocket-
handkerchief should be spread upon the horse's back to dry. I
thanked him, and assented; and particularly small it looked, under
those circumstances.

I had now leisure to examine the purse. It was a stiff leather
purse with a snap, and had three bright shillings in it, which
Peggotty had evidently polished up with whitening for my greater
delight. But its most precious contents were two half-crowns
folded together in a bit of paper on which was written in my
mother's hand, “For Davy, with my love.”

I was so overcome by this, that I asked the carrier to be so good as to reach me my pocket-handkerchief again; but he said he thought I had better do without it, and I thought I really had, so I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and stopped myself.

For good, too; though, in consequence of my previous emotions, I
was still occasionally seized with a stormy sob.

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After we had jogged on for some little time, I asked the carrier if he was going all the way.

“All the way where?” inquired the carrier.

“There,” I said.

“Where's there?” inquired the carrier.

“Near London,” I said.

“Why that horse,” said the carrier, jerking the rein to point him
out, “would be deader than pork afore he got over half the ground.”

“Are you only going to Yarmouth then?” I asked.

“That's about it,” said the carrier. “And there I shall take you
to the stage-cutch, and the stage-cutch that'll take you to -
wherever it is.”

As this was a great deal for the carrier (whose name was Mr.
Barkis) to say - he being, as I observed in a former chapter, of a
phlegmatic temperament, and not at all conversational - I offered
him a cake as a mark of attention, which he ate at one gulp,
exactly like an elephant, and which made no more impression on his
big face than it would have done on an elephant's.

“Did SHE make 'em, now?” said Mr. Barkis, always leaning forward,
in his slouching way, on the footboard of the cart with an arm on
each knee.

“Peggotty, do you mean, sir?”

“Ah!” said Mr. Barkis. “Her.”

“Yes. She makes all our pastry, and does all our cooking.”

“Do she though?” said Mr. Barkis.

He made up his mouth as if to whistle, but he didn't whistle. He
sat looking at the horse's ears, as if he saw something new there;
and sat so, for a considerable time.

By and by, he said: “No sweethearts, I b'lieve?”

“Sweetmeats did you say, Mr. Barkis?” For I thought he wanted
something else to eat, and had pointedly alluded to that
description of refreshment.

“Hearts,” said Mr. Barkis. “Sweet hearts; no person walks with
her!”

“With Peggotty?”

“Ah!” he said. “Her.”

“Oh, no. She never had a sweetheart.”

“Didn't she, though!” said Mr. Barkis.

Again he made up his mouth to whistle, and again he didn't whistle,
but sat looking at the horse's ears.

“So she makes,” said Mr. Barkis, after a long interval of
reflection, “all the apple parsties, and doos all the cooking, do
she?”

I replied that such was the fact.

“Well. I'll tell you what,” said Mr. Barkis. “P'raps you might be
writin' to her?”

“I shall certainly write to her,” I rejoined.

“Ah!” he said, slowly turning his eyes towards me. “Well! If you
was writin' to her, p'raps you'd recollect to say that Barkis was
willin', would you?”

“That Barkis is willing,” I repeated innocently. “Is that all the
message?”

“Ye-es,” he said, considering. “Ye-es. Barkis is willin'.”

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Charles Dickens is buried in Poets Corner of Westminster Abbey. The inscription on his tomb reads: “He was a sympathiser to the poor, the suffering, and the oppressed, and by his death one of England’s greatest writers is lost to the world.”

The complete David Copperfield can be read online at -
http://www.bartleby.com/307/

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Next Friday on A TOUCH OF CULTURE - What HAVE they done to Johann Sebastian?

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Friday 19th November

No.8

THE PRE-RAPHAELITES

In 1848 three young British artists rebelled against the academic style of painting and founded the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood.

The eldest of the trio was William Holman Hunt who was just 21 and the others were John Everett Millais and Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

What they proposed was a return to the style of the Italian painters who had lived prior to Raphael. They wanted to find again the simple naturalism of artists like Fra Angelico and Botticelli.

So, avoiding the dark shadows which were typical of their contemporaries, they used bright colours on white backgrounds.

The Brotherhood was later joined by a number of other artists who produced a huge number of paintings varying in subject matter and in style.

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Here are three paintings by William Holman Hunt - Amaryllis, The Shadow of Death, Isabella and the Pot of Basil

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Three paintings by John Everett Millais - Vanessa, The Vale of Rest, The North West Passage

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Three paintings by Dante Gabriel Rossetti - A Vision of Fiametta, Found, La Bella Mano

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A second series of Pre-Raphaelite paintings begins on Tuesday 23rd November at - http://myownselection.blogspot.com/

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Friday November 12th

No.7

A VISIT TO KYOTO

Kyoto is said to be one of the best preserved cities in Japan. Situated on the island of Honsu, it was the capital till 1868 when the honour was passed to Tokyo.

With a population of nearly 1.5 million, it has become famous for its many palaces, gardens, fine architecture, and temples and shrines. In order to preserve these sites, Kyoto was spared from air raids in World War II. In 1994 it was made a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

Of special interest are the Kyoto Imperial Palace and the Sento Imperial Palace which for hundreds of years were the homes of the Emperors.

There is a huge number of very beautiful religious buildings including 1600 Buddhist Temples and 400 Shinto Shrines. The photos which I show here can give just a glimpse of the splendour of those structures.

1) This is the Bentendo at Daigo-ji, a Shingon Buddhist Temple founded in 874. A bentendo is a temple dedicated to Benzaiten the Goddess of water, purity, eloquence, luck, protection, wealth and good fortune.

2) The Pagoda at Daigo-ji is the oldest building there, dating from 951.

3) Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion, is a 1397 Zen Buddhist temple. The top two floors are covered in gold leaf.

4) The Kiyomizu-dera temple is a wooden structure built on the side of a mountain. It has its origins in 798, but the present building is dated 1633. The Japanese have a saying “to jump off the stage at Kiyomizu” - the English equivalent is “to take the plunge.” It appears that at one time certain brave (or foolish) people would jump from the stage there, a 13m jump, and those who survived would have their wish granted.

5) This is the Kondo or main hall at Daigo-ji.

Those photographs are shown under the CREATIVE COMMONS ATTRIBUTION-SHARE ALIKE license, with special thanks to the photographers Ally Waterman for No.2 and David Monniaux for No.4

To conclude, this video of colourful views of Japanese gardens has been devised by eqc01942.



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No.6

Yehudi Menuhin 1916-1999 violinist, conductor, teacher

Born in New York, he was to become one of the greatest violinists of the 20th century.

His sisters became famous too - Hephzibah was a concert pianist and civil rights worker, and Yalta was a painter, pianist and poet.

The music school he founded in Stoke d’Abernon in Surrey, England in 1962 became world-famous.

In 1965 he was given an honorary knighthood and this was upgraded in 1985 to a KBE when he became a British citizen.

As an act of reconciliation, he was the first Jewish musician to perform in Germany after the war, when in 1947 he appeared with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra.

His pupils included Nigel Kennedy and Nicola Benedetti.

In 1992 he was made an ambassador for UNESCO, and the following year he was given a seat in the House of Lords as Baron Menuhin of Stoke d’Abernon.

It’s interesting how he got his name. When his parents were looking for rented accommodation in New York, one place had impressed them. Having shown them round, the landlady then told them that the people who lived around there were so nice, and that she would never of course take in Jews. The Menuhins at once left and found other accommodation. When their son was born, his mother announced that his name would be Yehudi - which means Jew!

When in 1991 he was awarded the Wolf Prize for “achievements in the interest of mankind and the friendly relations amongst peoples”, his acceptance speech in the Israeli Knesset included the following condemnation of the occupation of the West Bank.
“This wasteful governing by fear, by contempt for the basic dignities of life, this steady asphyxiation of a dependent people, should be the very last means to be adopted by those who themselves know too well the awful significance, the unforgettable suffering of such an existence. It is unworthy of my great people, the Jews, who have striven to abode by a code of moral rectitude for some 5,000 years, who can create and achieve a society for themselves such as we see around us, but can yet deny the sharing of its great qualities and benefits to those dwelling amongst them.”

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Finally four short videos show something of his talent . . . .

It’s likely that this piece - a rondo by Spohr - was recorded when he was about 9 or 10 years old.

Uploaded by “Speedbid744”


This is from 1947, Moto Perpetuo by Paganini with Adolph Baller at the piano. Uploaded by “adamwas“



Adolph Baller is again the accompanist here. The music is “Salut d’Amour by Edward Elgar. Uploaded by “PurelyEssential”



This video is part of the wonderful occasion when Yehudi Menuhin and Stephane Grappelli met on the Michael Parkinson show. Uploaded by “fostexD160”

No.5

                                                    A Children’s Poem by Jack Prelutsky

                                                       It’s Hallowe’en! It’s Hallowe’en!
                                                       The moon is full and bright,
                                                       And we shall see what can’t been seen
                                                       On any other night.

                                                       Skeletons and ghosts and ghouls,
                                                       Grinning goblins fighting duels,
                                                       Werewolves rising from their tombs,
                                                       Witches on their magic brooms.

                                                       In masks and gowns we haunt the street
                                                       And knock on doors for trick or treat.
                                                       Tonight we are the king and queen,
                                                       For yes, tonight is Hallowe’en.

The origins of Hallowe’en go back to pre-Christian times when the festival of Samhain (pronounced sahween) marked the end of the year’s “lighter half” and the start of its “darker half.” The Celtic year began on a day corresponding to our 1^st November. This they considered was the beginning of winter, a time when all livestock was made secure and their crops harvested and stored. It was certainly for them the most important occasion in the year.

The Celts believed that at Samhain the border between this world and “the Otherworld” became vague, allowing spirits - some of them evil - to come among them. The evil ones could be chased away by donning costumes and masks, while the good ones - spirits of their ancestors were welcomed into their homes.
Bonfires played an important part in the rituals, and fires in the houses were put out and then re-lit from the bonfire.

A common feature of pre-Christian religion seems to have been the erection of rows of standing stones, similar to the one at Stonehenge in England. This is a photo of those at Callanish on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides.

Some years ago Jean and I visited the site during a holiday in Lewis. When our coach arrived at the stones, the driver spoke to us before we alighted and told us that sometimes people had experienced strange sensations there. He asked us to place the palms of our hand on the window, and this we did.
“Can you feel the pane?” he asked.

There are 13 of those stones in a circle, their height varying from 3ft 3inches to 16ft 6inches. Approaching from the north, there’s a long avenue of smaller stones, and there are shorter rows of stones from the east, west and south. The tallest one in the circle stands at the entrance to a burial cairn where human remains were discovered.

Pottery found indicates that the circle was constructed around 2200 BC but it’s thought that buildings of some kind occupied the site before 3,000 BC. Like the more famous Stonehenge, there are various theories about the purpose of the stones.

It has been suggested that the Callanish stones were built as a calendar system based on the position of the moon. Another theory says that the avenue on the north side points to the setting of the midsummer full moon. Some kind of religious purpose is most likely.

There’s a legend on the island that giants once lived there, and that, when they refused to be converted by St. Kieran, they were turned into stone as a punishment.
Another says that at dawn on midsummer morning, a shining figure walks down the north avenue, heralded by the call of a cuckoo.

Once during a famine a white fairy cow came out of the sea and settled in the centre of the circle. She allowed herself to be milked and the villagers were permitted one pailful. However, a witch came and tried to get two pailfuls. She was refused and returned with a sieve and milked the cow dry!

Returning to Hallowe’en, this is a night around which a great many superstitions have grown, and here are just a few of them.

Candles figure quite a bit here. It’s thought that, if a candle goes out suddenly for no obvious reason, there’s a ghost present; if you gaze into a candle flame, you can see into the future; a candle inside a jack o’lantern will keep evil spirits away; candles lit on Hallowe’en should always be new ones.
It’s bad luck to allow your fire to burn out at Hallowe’en. It should be rekindled from the fire in a priest’s house.
If you’re out that night and hear footsteps behind you, don’t look back. It may be Death and you mustn’t catch his eye.
If a girl carries a lamp to a spring of water, she will see a reflection of her future husband.
Anyone born that night can see and talk to spirits.
And surely this must be the craziest of the lot. If you put your clothes on inside out and walk backwards, you’ll see a witch!!!

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Finally, an old Scottish prayer for Hallowe’en -
Frae ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night - the Good Lord protect us aw.

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Thanks to  http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/  for the Cartoon Image


***A Touch of Culture***A Touch ofCulture***A Touch of Culture***

No.4

LOOKING AT SOME PAINTINGS BY SCOTTISH ARTISTS

I found it very difficult to make a choice. Scottish artists have produced so many great paintings, and what you will see here are just a few of my own favourites.

The first one “The Skating Minister” is probably the best known work I’m showing. The artist Henry Raeburn 1756-1823, born in Edinburgh, started off as an apprentice goldsmith, began painting portrait miniatures and then worked in oils in which he was self-taught.

“The Expectant Wee Things” is an engraving by William Miller after John Faed 1819-1902. His brothers Thomas and James Faed were also painters of some note.

This is “Bank Holiday” by William Strang 1859-1921. This artist was born in Dumbarton and studied at the Slade School of Art in London. He was very skilful at etching and created a series of illustrations for Pilgrim’s Progress, The Ancient Mariner, Rudyard Kipling stories, etc.

This engraving by James Caldwell after Gavin Hamilton 1723-1798 is a splendid tableau “Coriolanus Act V Scene 3.”  Hamilton studied in Rome and much of his work was based on Greek and Roman subjects.

This next picture “Afternoon” is by Francis Cadell 1883-1937 who was a left-handed painter. When he was a student, the president of the Royal Scottish Academy told him that no left-handed artist had ever become great. “But sir,” answered Cadell, "didn’t Michelangelo paint with his left hand?” The president turned and left without saying anything. Another student asked him how he knew that. Cadell replied, “I didn’t know, but neither did the president!”

“A Highland Funeral” by James Guthrie 1859-1930. This artist who was mostly self-taught was highly regarded for his portraits.

David Wilkie 1785-1841, when a young man, used to frequent markets and fairs, any place people gathered, and always had his sketch book with him. Later in life he did a great deal of travelling abroad. He was godfather to the son of a friend and the little boy grew up to become a famous novelist - Wilkie Collins. This painting is called “Reading the Will.”

Finally, this is another one by John Faed.  “Tam O’Shanter and the Witches” is based on the well-known poem by Robert Burns.

I am still having problems with the presentation of this blog, but I'm hoping they can be solved before the next posting which should be on Friday 29th October.

***A Touch of Culture***A Touch of Culture***A Touch of Culture***

I HATE COMPUTERS!!!!!

I've been struggling all this week with this blog! My other blogs are working all right, but "A Touch of Culture" has defeated me!

WATCH THIS SPACE - You may read that I've been carted off by men in white coats. . . .

No.3

                      Thomas Hardy 1840-1928 painted by William Strang

I didn’t intimate in advance what this week’s subject would be, for I thought that you might say “Oh no! Not Poetry!” and not bother to look in. However, now that you’re here, you might as well see what I’ve prepared. I’m sure you’ll like it.

Thomas Hardy was born in a little village near Dorchester in Dorset, England. It was the novels he wrote that made him famous and most people will be familiar with those titles - Tess of the d’Urbervilles, Far from the Madding Crowd, The Return of the Native, The Mayor of Casterbridge, Jude the Obscure, etc. The plots in most of his stories take place in the fictional county of Wessex.

However, for A Touch of Culture this week I want to give just a few examples of his poetry. He always declared that poetry was his first love, and it’s now reckoned that he was one of the greatest poets of the 19^th century.

I rate very highly the four contrasting poems I’ve chosen. I suggest you read them a few times. It’s also a good idea to read them aloud and enjoy the sound of the words.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

AH, ARE YOU DIGGING ON MY GRAVE?

”Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My Loved one? - planting rue?”
- “No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
It cannot hurt her now, he said,
That I should not be true.”

“Then who is digging on my grave?
My nearest dearest kin?”
“Ah, no: they sit and think, What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death’s gin.”

“But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? - prodding sly?”
- “Nay, when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.”


“Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say, since I have not guessed!”
- “O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog, who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?”

“Ah, yes! YOU dig upon my grave. . .
Why flashed it not on me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog’s fidelity!”

“Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry but I quite forgot
It was your resting-place.”

AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR

These market-dames, mid-aged, with lips thin-drawn,
And tissues sere,
Are they the ones we loved in years agone,
And courted here?

Are these the muslined pink young things to whom
We vowed and swore
In nooks on summer Sundays by the Froom,
Or Budmouth shore?

Do they remember those gay tunes we trod
Clasped on the green;
Aye; trod till moonlight set on the beaten sod
A satin sheen?

They must forget, forget! They cannot know
What once they were,
Or memory would transfigure them, and show
Them always fair. 

THE LITTLE OLD TABLE

Creak, little wood thing, creak,
When I touch you with elbow or knee;
That is the way you speak
Of one who gave you to me!

You, little table, she brought -
Brought me with her own hand,
As she looked at me with a thought
That I did not understand.

- Whoever owns it anon,
And hears it, will never know
What a history hangs upon
This creak from long ago.
 
AT THE RAILWAY STATION, UPWAY

"There is not much that I can do,
For I've no money that's quite my own!"
Spoke up the pitying child -
A little boy with a violin
At the station before the train came in, -
"But I can play my fiddle to you,
And a nice one 'tis, and good in tone!"

The man in the handcuffs smiled;
The constable looked, and he smiled, too,
As the fiddle began to twang;
And the man in the handcuffs suddenly sang
Uproariously:
"This life so free
Is the thing for me!"

And the constable smiled, and said no word,
As if unconscious of what he heard;
And so they went on till the train came in -
The convict, and boy with the violin.
 
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

For more information about Thomas Hardy including the mystery about what happened to his heart, visit - http://www.britainexpress.com/History/bio/hardy.htm

**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**

No.2

balletomane  n - an ardent admirer of the ballet

Yes, that’s a word you don’t come across very often, and you probably don’t know many balletomanes!

Nevertheless, if my blog is going to live up to its name, then ballet must be included in its subject matter.

This kind of entertainment has its origins in the 17th and early 18th centuries in France, especially at the court of Louis IV. Indeed, Louis himself loved dancing and often took part in the performances. However, it seems that dance spectaculars of one kind or another had been a feature of life in royal courts much earlier in both France and Italy.

Because of its beginnings, the language of the ballet has always been French e.g. corps de ballet, pas de deux, grand jeté etc. This contrasts with music where the terms have always been Italian.

From all the many ballet clips available, I’ve selected four. My choice was based simply on the fact that I like them - and they’re short.


First, this is Rudolf Nureyev in “Swan Lake”, music by Tchaikovsky.



A scene from “Les Sylphides” by the Kirov Ballet, music by Chopin.



Tchaikovsky again in this excerpt from “The Sleeping Beauty.”



Finally, William Tuckett and the Royal Ballet in “La Fille mal gardeé” by Ferdinand Hérold.



It’s just possible you’re thinking to yourself - “I could do that!” Well, think no further! Here’s just the thing for you - this website will teach you ballet, and as far as I could see, there’s no age limit !!!
I’ll let you know how I get on!

http://www.discoverahobby.com/learnballet.htm

***A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture***

No.1

Welcome to my new blog. This week the subject is art.


What makes a good picture?  Not an easy question to answer.              
                                                   
Is it the subject matter? Or the colours? The light and shade?
        
I read an article lately in which someone said that a good picture is one that you just can’t take your eyes off. Something you see that strikes your soul to the very depths, that opens your eyes and your mind to the beauty of it.                                              

Well, that might be a bit over the top for many folk.

Here are five paintings by the American artist William Merritt Chase 1849-1916.

Chase studied for five years in Munich and returned to teach art in New York. In 1896 he founded his own school of art and is said to have been the finest art teacher in America of that period.

Have a look at his pictures, using full screen. Do any of them have the “wow” factor?

Still Life with Fruit

                                                               

A Long Island Lake

                              

Going to see Grandma

Modern Magdalen

Peonies

So what makes a good picture?

I can’t tell you - but I would suggest that if YOU like it, it’s good! And don’t let anyone tell you different.

This website is worth visiting -
Olga’s Gallery, an online art museum at www.abcgallery.com

Next Friday - We go to the theatre.


***A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture**A Touch of Culture***