Today always prompts reflection. It’s my Mum’s birthday – 23rd March – born in 1926. My memories of Annie Elizabeth Veronica Johnson (née Penn) usually centre on her devotion to me and my siblings, her sense of humour and her generous spirit of curiosity. My regular mind’s-eye-image of her is sitting on the rug in front of the fire, leaning on the cushion of an armchair, reading a historical novel or family saga. I always think it’s fitting that her birthday arrives soon after the official arrival of Spring with sunlight increasing, buds beginning to burst, lambs taking their first jerky steps around the Yorkshire fields and an atmosphere of rebirth, renewal, resurrection and regrowth. Happy Birthday, Mum!
Sally’s birthday is less than a week before my Mum’s birthday. Having safely returned from the Trans-Siberian express with remarkable memories, I imagine this year felt extra-comforting to receive cards, flowers, books, toiletries and promises of future “experiences” involving chocolate and wine. Spring promises sun, promises the explosion of nature, promises more walks in the countryside. Winter is behind for a time. Spring feels to be earlier this year than last. To conclude I’ve copied below a Gerard Manley Hopkins sonnet about Spring, not an easy poem but a great one if you let the sounds enter your soul. He’s a peculiar poet with his sprung rhythm and exclamatory phrases that bounce into your brain without being grammatically attached to anything else. Time to spring into Spring.
Nothing is so beautiful as Spring –
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush’s eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.
What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth’s sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. – Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid’s child, thy choice and worthy the winning.
No comments:
Post a Comment