Desert Island Discs is a BBC programme that contributes regularly to the soundscape in my life. More often than not the interview and the choices of record, extra book and luxury item prompt plenty of follow-up things to talk about. The intimacy of discussing a life in terms of music choices is a perfect format and, in my opinion, Kirsty Young is a skilful presenter. On Saturday 15th September, driving along, we caught up with the podcast version featuring writer Malorie Blackman and, for whatever elusive reasons on that particular day, it caused within me a boundless burst of joy and inspiration. Thank you, Malorie.
“We” on that occasion was Sally and her sister, Juliet, and we were about to walk one of our favourite walks, from Helmsley to Rievaulx Abbey and back again…. chatting, putting the world to rights, racking up steps to stay fit. And looking forward to a delicious banquet back at Juliet’s home – in this case, rich, tasty homemade moussaka. A desert island day, shelving the barrage of concerns to “stand beneath the boughs” – a gorgeous walk, nature all around, echoes of history, and feelings of pure relaxation. Streaming through my brain on days like Saturday 15th September is a poem I learned by heart at primary school – a sentimental poem, possibly, but containing truth – one by the “SuperTramp” poet, William Henry Davies:
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No comments:
Post a Comment