|"I love to see the old heath's withered brake / Mingle its crimpled leaves with furze and ling...."
|"...and coy bumbarrels.../ flit down the hedgerows in the frozen plain...."
Happy Poetry Friday and Happy Holidays to you all. I'm posting a traditional winter poem today, John Clare's "Emmonsail's Heath in Winter." Clare was an English poet who wrote in the first half of the 1800's - his personal story is a sad one, but his love of the English countryside is uplifting. This particular poem touches on everything winter does to us, I think - makes us think of age, of slowing down, of shrubs and twigs and icy weather, but also of life amid the bare branches (the bouncing, chattering and flitting of birds) and the desire to "start again." In the meantime, the poem plays with words I don't hear any other place but in Clare's work - furze, ling, cloven roves, fieldfares and bumbarrels (bumbarrels!) Hope you enjoy it ~ and that your winter is a happy one.
The Poetry Friday round-up is being hosted today by the always interesting and delightful Diane Mayr over at Random Noodling. Head over there to see what other people have posted. And if you've ever had trouble understanding the way fiction works, or why you like certain novels, check out my last post over at Books Around the Table before heading out.