Almost the end of January and we have not had snow since New Year’s day which probably means it will be back in February, or even March as it did in 2023. Meanwhile the few small clumps of snowdrops in my woodland garden are just emerging which prompted Tuesday’s poem “Call of the Spring” and in the same vein, I was persuaded to purchase this pot of hyacinths in the bud from my local supermarket’s knockdown sale.
It’s also the last Thursday of the month, a day named after the Germanic god of thunder, but on this morning’s dog walk, it was cold and bright with not a thunder cloud to be seen.
And being Thursday it’s my day for some prose. All week I’ve joined with the Poetry prompts but though I rarely resort to strict meter and rhyme, it is good to be relieved of the general metrical structure once in a while.
Besides prose can be just as lyrical as poetry though we seem to have peaked with this style after the Victorian and Edwardian writers, Galsworthy, Trollope, spring to mind but so does A.G. Bradley whom no one ever hears of much today though Amazon is selling his writings. And when I left London and discarded many books on the basis that my future living space could not accommodate any excess, I hung on to Bradleys “The Rivers and Streams of England” 1909 for the sheer enjoyment of his prose and detailed analysis of our waterways.
Purchased in a second hand bookshop, this hardback is also beautifully illustrated by Sutton Palmer’s watercolours and I love this one especially entitled “First view of the river Thames, Kew Gardens”. It shows the walk through the oak plantation and one that Martin and I would always begin our visits there with, though we never happened upon it at bluebell time.
Before blogs, I suppose diaries were the nurturing grounds for writers but I always found those blank pages to be an admonishment for one who had so few events to write about. In our history there are many renowned diarists but also lesser known ones who would happily scribble away about what they did and saw local to them. I could even have have followed the example of a humble antecedent from Bere Regis in Dorset with his “Gould Family Notebooks“, now housed at the County Record Office,
I have however purchased and begun a scrapbook journal to keep a bit of a record of my toe-dipping into the world of abstract painting with mixed media. The cover was so aptly redolent of the contents and it came with 3 dividers which I’ve allocated to paints, collage and gelli prints. Broadly speaking, the latter involves coating a gelatinous blob structure with paints or inks to produce both positive and negative monoprints.
And with my artistic eye in training I was rather captivated by the colours and textures of this. In reality its utterly prosaic being a leafy reflection in a rain filled garden bucket. An emergent toad took a liking to it too, the year before, prior to finding his way to the lower pond for some ardent courtship.
If nothing else writing makes us more conscious and attentive to our language and the use of the word ‘prosaic’ though deriving from prose and sounding quite literary means nothing less than “without interest, imagination, and excitement”. I’m hoping my prose is a little better than that though a harsh critic might think it apposite for my current attempts at art. But we should always banish the unkind inner critic lest everything we try would merely wither in the bud and so I’ll be sharing a few of my early attempts at art tomorrow.
Thursday Thoughts: From the mundane to the profound as long as its prose
PoetryPix 