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Denny Bradbury Books

Denny Bradbury Books

Tag Archives: Poetry

Snow in winter? Surely not!

30 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by dennybradburybooks in Denny's Diary, Poetry

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Poetry, Renga

Waiting for the much vaunted snow yesterday – really a few swirling flakes which disappeared like snow in harvest as the rain set in – I thought of the Japanese idea of Renga, collaborative poetry with a lot of discipline. Being a lone poet and not having much poetic discipline I decided to have a go anyway, here is my attempt –
5/7/5 7/7

Waiting for snow storm
bright sky heralds laden clouds
moon seeing all weeps

flurries start then blizzard swirls
all is still except snowflakes

Enjoy the winter if you can, the earth is just sleeping, soon she will awake and spring will work her magic once more, we will be patient.

Very best wishes – Denny Bradbury

Hwang Jini

10 Thursday Apr 2014

Posted by dennybradburybooks in Poetry

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Hwang Jini, literature, nature, Poetry

When sijo poetry first appeared in the late 14th century, it was regarded as many as unique to Korea, as it was originally written in Korean. As such, many early sijo poems have had to be translated.

Hwang Jini is widely regarded as one of the leading Sijo poets, and her work in the 16th century focused on love and longing.
Alas, what have I done? didn’t I know how I would yearn?
Had I but bid him stay, How could he have gone?
But stubborn, I sent him away, and now such longing learn!

A common theme in Jini’s work is wanting someone who is absent, and wishing for their return. In the poem above, Hwang Jini is clearly pining for her lost love, How could he have gone? She doesn’t feel like he could return, I sent him away, and now such longing learn. However, in the poem below, while she is pining for a lover, she believes he could return.

Oh that I might capture the essence of this deep midwinter night
And fold it softly into the waft of a spring-moon quilt,
Then fondly uncoil it the night my beloved returns.

Hwang here hopes to capture the essence of this night in the sensual poem above as she waits for her lover to return, as she folds it softly, before she’ll fondly uncoil it the night her beloved comes back.

Like Hwang, Denny’s Bradbury sijo poem also looks at love.

What I have is mine but I share with you
All the apples and grapes and oranges too
Water is the world’s song

Denny clearly gives everything she has to her beloved too. Like Hwang shares the essence of that night with her partner, Denny shares all that she has. Both women use objects to describe their love, with Denny using fruit to represent love, and Hwang using a quilt, with the obvious sexual connotations that come with using an object from the bedroom to symbolise love.

Denny’s contemporary poem, however, could also be seen as a love letter to the world. There is no particular person that this is clearly addressed to. Water is the world’s song suggests a more general love, that Denny here wants to bring across her caring nature, and her generosity and an all-giving love, compared to the Hwang’s sijo, which is referring to a more sexual love.

Julian of Norwich

10 Thursday Oct 2013

Posted by dennybradburybooks in Denny's Diary, Poetry

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Mother Julian of Norwich, Poetry

It came to me out of the blue.  I was idly wandering through the fields when I felt that I had to write about Julian of Norwich.  Her writing has long been both an inspiration and a puzzle to me. Her commitment and her intellect are both dazzling.  This is by way of an entreaty to understand.

The Call

Mother Julian! Mother Julian!

I don’t know your name, the one that your mother would call

As you wandered away from your home in the grip of your holy enthral

As you sat looking out at the blue

of the sky be it daytime or night were you always convinced of your goal

did you instinctively know what is right, was yours always a pure childish soul?

Did God’s voice on the wind or the tide

gently slide in with delight and rock you with thoughts so divine

you said, “Now I’m for an Anchorite I know the course that is mine”.

Was it simple for you, did you doubt

were you ever tempted to sin? When children bullied and fought

were you there on the edge looking in, thinking violence will all come to nought?

I hope that you gave up some gritty

childhood pleasures and joys that you threw sticks and muddied the water

and you cried over old broken toys, wishing to stay evermore as a daughter

freezing time that was precious and good

but then you discovered your Father in churches so simple and plain

that you walked away from your family a much greater one for to gain.

How proud and how sad was your mother

when you donned the linen pure, that mark of your face in her memory

full of light and conviction so sure, Holy work the one truth in your story

Do I envy you the faith that was riven

so deep in your brilliant mind? Shall I ever be even so true

to a tenth of what you left behind? Only God knows, but maybe I do!

Denny Bradbury©2013

Emily Dickinson

17 Monday Dec 2012

Posted by dennybradburybooks in Poetry

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Emily Dickinson, Poetry, There Is Another Sky

Emily Elizabeth Dickinson was a 19th century American poet.

She once defined poetry “If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only way I know it. Is there any other way?” (Letter342a, 1870)
The Letters of Emily Dickinson, ed. Thomas H. Johnson and Theodora Ward (Cambridge, Mass.: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1958).

Emily was born on December 10th 1830 to a prominent family in Amherst, Massachusetts with a brother Austin and sister Lavinia.  Their lineage can be traced back to the Puritan Great Migration two hundred years earlier who travelled to the New World from Europe.

Emily was considered to be a very able student studying the classics.  However the subject of death seemed to haunt her throughout the years:  the death of her second cousin Sophia Holland early in her life appeared to have had a deep impact on Emily.

Leonard Humphrey was a principal at her college who assisted in her thirst for literary knowledge and was thought to be more than a mere acquaintance who passed away at the age of 25.

Emily cared for her mother who, after suffering from a slowly deteriorating illness, died shortly after the passing of her father.

The death of her dog after so many years of companionship, and her favourite niece just three years before her own passing showed a constant stream of sadness.

There is also a thought she struggled with religion – brought up under the acceptance of God but to later turn away from the routine communal worship to that of her own private contemplation; preferring also to dress in white rather than the traditional dark colours.

By 1860 Emily was effectively a recluse.  Yet it was this seclusion that allowed Emily the opportunity to enjoy her reading and refine her own literary works.

She wrote thousands of poems yet fewer than a dozen were published during her lifetime.  Those pieces which were printed were often ‘edited’ to suit the tone and traditions of the age.

It was not until after her death in 1886 when Emily’s younger sister, Lavinia, came across all her works.

“There Is Another Sky”
There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields –
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come!

There are many interpretations to this poem – some say it highlights her sexual desire for her brother, Austin – he had married Susan Gilbert, also perceived to be an unrequited love of Emily’s.

Others suggest the poem is her hope that Austin will see her through to a better place in heaven.  Or simply with all the death and sadness she faced, her brother was always there for her.  It is perhaps a message of hope.

Emily Dickinson died on May 15th 1886.

Now is the winter of our discontent…..

02 Sunday Dec 2012

Posted by dennybradburybooks in Misc

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Denny Bradbury, Percy Shelley, Poetry, Shakespeare, winter

https://i0.wp.com/cdn.morguefile.com/imageData/public/files/j/johninportland/preview/fldr_2011_01_07/file3031294416087.jpgAs I write this, looking outside my window on a cold, crisp morning, my mind wanders to a Shakespeare Sonnet:

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin’d choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

There is a golden sun illuminating the clear, blue sky.  Clouds are forming, just a few in number at present.

The trees have lost their leaves, but the sunshine glimmers off the dew on the grass.  Quite beautiful.

The cold in itself offers its own beauty – a freshness, an alertness.  Seasons change; our interpretations of life around us changes.

What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.
(John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley: In Search of America)

For many, winter is a lonely time.  Percy Shelley in Ode to the West Wind reflects the hope of many:

If winter comes, can spring be far behind?

When you read through ‘De-versify’, the latest collection of poems from Denny Bradbury, you discover a variety of works.  One such piece highlights the link many people feel between the chill, the bleakness and their own internal sadness.

Reading the opening lines to Winter Soul you come across visual descriptions, setting the scene of the day:

Crisp clear air of deepest winter

Sky streaked so with pastel hue

Yet when you move on another two lines, the truth of the poem is brough to the fore:

Dig into my soul with icy finger

Make my heart with leaden blue

If we look back to 1781 we come across poet Robert Burns.  Here we see his interpretation of winter and it’s meaning, taken from his poem Winter: A Dirge:

“The sweeping blast, the sky o’ercast,”
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!

Loneliness and sadness are emotions frequently associated with the cold, bleak winter months – cold and bleak are words used to describe weather as well as characters.

Often, as we saw with Percy Shelley, hope is an emotion which guides people through the wintry days and nights.  A.A. Milne describes quite beautifully the moment when Spring has arrived in When We Were Very Young:

“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbor:
“Winter is dead.”

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