Spring Pools

Spring Pools

These pools that, though in forests still reflect

The total sky almost without defect,

And like the flowers beside them, chill and shiver,

Will like the flowers beside them soon be gone,

And yet, not out by any brook or river,

But up by roots to bring dark foliage on.

The trees that have it in their pent up buds

To darken nature and be summer woods -

Let them think twice before they use their powers

To blot out and drink up and sweep away

These flowery waters and these watery flowers

From snow that melted only yesterday.

- Robert Frost -

Spring will be here by the time most of you read this, my friends.  Sunshine, flowers, picnics in the park.  I can feel it and my heart is glad.

She walks in beauty

Well known, and one of my favourites.

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudness climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meets in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.

And on that cheek and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent.

-Byron-

As if I didn't hate ACA enough.

I've not gotten into the whole Matthew Newton fiasco of late.  I am shattered for his family, and for his girlfriend/fiance at what they've been through.  But I confess to being really sad to see him self destructing.  And one of the reasons I stayed out of it was a belief (not an excuse) that some kind of mental illness (and in my mind, bipolar seemed rather likely) was involved.

Not an excuse for beating the women he loved.  I hope he has been charged(I don't know terribly much, has he been?) but I think that on top of that, he needs help.  Medical, psychiatric help.

But can I say - if I were Matthew?  I'd be gutted that my parents chose to go onto a prime time tabloid 'news' program to air my dirty laundry.  To throw around words like "bipolar", "suicide watch" and 'psychosis" and talk about his repeated threats to kill himself.

If they believed that to be the case (and I believe they are telling the truth, at least), then I would hope they tried to get him help earlier than this.  Who knows.

But what on earth convinced them that this was helpful? That airing this publicly would help? Aren't they risking him now estranging himself from what appears to be a loving, supportive family? 

It's what I'd do if my father spoke publicly about my illness.  How heartbreaking this story is for all involved.

I hope his girlfriend (ex?) is ok.  I hope Matthew is getting help. I hope someone can get through to him that he needs actual, honest-to-goodness help (the hard kind, not a 30 day stay in an expensive resort rehab facility).

But mostly, I hope the people close to him take a step back and shut the hell up!


What do you think? If it were you, how would you feel about your parents talking about this?  Do you think it's helpful to his 'case', an attempt to garner public sympathy for him? 

Imagery

I fell in love with this poem (despite an ending that shattered me) when I was about 10, watching Anne of Green Gables.

The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding - riding - riding
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a french-cocked hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet and breeches of brown doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle;
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the land lords black eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the old dark inn-yard, a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened, his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter,
Dumb as a dog he listened and he heard the robber say -

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moon-light,
Watch for me by the moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight though hell should bar the way".

He rose up in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! his face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.


He did not come in the dawning, he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching-
Marching - Marching -
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say—
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!

Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;

Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him—with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood

Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.


  Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding—
Riding—riding—
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;

He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair. 
-Alfred Noyes-

I've always been in love with the imagery Noyes used in this poem - it is one of my first real experiences with poetic narrative.  It was from this poem that I became conscious of how poems could be just as powerful as fictional prose at painting a picture, and it is undoubtedly where I first tried my hand at creating my own.

Here is the YouTube video of Anne's performance of The Highwayman in Anne of Green Gables..

You say you love..

Not an enormous amount of blogging here of late - truth be told, my nose has been stuck in a book.  Well, 5 books, actually over the past 10 days. I seem to be going through a voracious reading phase, taking my books simply everywhere with me.

I've also been thinking a lot about poetry of late. I remember when I was young, my later years of primary school (so I guess I would have been9-11), we studied quite a bit of the Australian Poets, old bush ballads etc.  My parents were both huge fans of Australian Poetry (Mum loved Banjo, Dad loved Lawson - I was team Lawson).  I memorised (for school, but sometimes just because I loved it) so many poems - pages long.  I wish I'd kept up with it. 

I steered away from poetry as I got older - mostly because I am absolutely incapable of writing it.  It was the only thing in English at school that I didn't excel at.  And it frustrated me, I found it mortifying.  Because I was good at writing prose, couldn't get enough of reading or writing, my teachers (and my parents) had such high expectations when it came to all aspects of English.  So the fact that skill evaded me so entirely made me shy away, claiming not to be a fan of poetry.


It wasn't true though.  I love poetry. I love it's rhythm, just a few lines and could feel myself settle in to it's cadence. I love the emotion poured into words, the power of carefully chosen words grouped together. 

And truthfully, I'm a sucker for the romantics. I love words of love and passion and even heartache.  I wish I could write it, but alas, 20 years on, it still eludes me.

So, in an effort to reconnect with poetry, just for love, not because I 'have' to, I'm going to share some poetry on my blog over the coming days or weeks.  None of it will be mine, and much of it may be familiar to you already.  I'll choose pieces for no other reason than that I think they are beautiful.

Did you have a favourite poem as a child? Do you remember it now?

You Say You Love

You say you love; but with a voice,

Chaster than a nun's, who singeth

The soft Vespers to herself

While the chime-bell ringeth-

O love me truly!

You say you love, but with a smile

Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,

And kept his weeks of Ember

O love me truly!

You say you love - but then your lips

Coral tinted teach no blisses.

More than coral in the sea -

They never pout for kisses -

O love me truly!

You say you love; but then your hand

No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,

It's like a statue's dead -

While mine to passion burneth -

O love me truly!

O breathe a word or two of fire!

Smile, as if those words should burn be

Squeeze as lovers should, O kiss

And in thy heart inburn me!

O love me truly!

-John Keats-

The one where I just steal things.

I'm stealing Pink Patent Mary Janes' Friday Flowers today - because I need to look at something beautiful.

I know I've posted these before, but I love the soft delicacy of these purple hydreangas.

And also stealing Melissa's Colours of Friday (which she hasn't done this week, because she's out at the Music Muster).  And because I'm theiving anyway, I'm even picking my own colour!

I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that I'm very drawn to purple, so that's where I'm at today. :-)

I would love to stand in a field of tulips like these:

After the stress of the past couple of weeks, we're going to have to go get dressed up and drink something purple and fruity.

Though tonight, I think a hot chocolate might be more up my alley.

Have you ever seen the Aurora Borealis?  It is one of my dreams.

Show me some purple love.

By the way, Pamela.  I'll see your Louis and trade you for this Balenciaga..

Breaking through the clouds

She got her results back a couple of hours ago.  It is not cancer. 

I am embarrassed to confess, I fell apart, right at the finish line.  Have held it together for 2 weeks, then at the exact time of her Drs appointment, my stomach was in knots and my heart was in my throat.  I was physically ill.  I felt as nervous as I imagine I would if it were me. 

Which wasn't as bad as my reaction when I found out the wonderful news.  My relief was such that I cried for an hour.  Not the reaction I had anticipated.  A little pathetic, but there you have it. 

She is fine.  So incredibly relieved, as is, of course, her family. This is not the news anyone was expecting. Certainly the vibe from the professionals was a somber one.


No matter now.  There are cheers and hugs and love - the relief and joy palpable.  Thank you for your thoughts. 
 
Check your breasts, my friends.  Please. (Joel has offered if anyone needs a second pair of hands).  ;-)

This is a Flog Yo Blog post.  Go over to Lori's and join in. 

Grey

The skies are completely grey today - not a speck of blue to be seen.  It is cold and I can't see the sun. I'm glad.  I dont' want to see the sun. It wouldn't be fitting, wouldn't suit the fear nudging at the periphery of my mind. 

I try to push it back.  I honestly do.  I haven't wanted to give it voice, certainly haven't wanted to let it take over.  I'm trying to stay detatched, for her sake.  She doesn't want to talk about it.

But it's here now, and I can't deny - there is fear. It's not taking over - that won't help her.  But it's there.  She has her test tomorrow, she will find out a day later.  Being afraid will not help, in fact, she'll hate it.  She is so determined not to talk about it,  not to worry before she must. At least, outwardly, where anyone can see. 

And I understand that.  I understand she needs us all to hold it together, that if we give voice to it, make it more real than it is, it will be too much for her to stay as brave as she is.  And the last thing we want to do is drown her in our own emotional flood - not while she is seemingly keeping her own head above water.  Somehow.

Is it wrong to be scared? Even just a little? I'm a talker.  A planner.  I believe knowledge is power and that forewarned is forearmed.  I confess to being a worrier (and I accept this isn't a good thing) and that I like to plan for any outcomes.  It's how I cope. 

But it's completely at odds with how she copes. And of course, she trumps me here - it is her body, her breast.  Her life. But when she's such an incredibly important part of my life, it is hard to remain as detatched as she would like.  Her smile and voice and laugh, they are forever a part of my soul now.  Her warm arms wrapped around me, her cheek against mine - it's like a tonic for my heart.  Her happiness - absolutely integral to mine.

For now - we wait. We function and we pretend that this is ok - that we're not afraid that one of us might be really sick. We pretend that we're not worried about her physical and emotional health - because that's what she wants. 

It's not ok though.  I want it to be ok to say "I love you.  I hope like hell that everything is fine and this is what you hope it is.  And that even if it's not - it's early. You'll be ok, whatever happens in the next 48 hours.  But I'm allowed to be scared because I love you so much that the thought of anything happening to you grips me and for a moment, takes my breath away.  It's ok to be scared for you - it's my job.  If I didn't love you so much, this wouldn't be an issue. 


Let us love you.  Accept it (from afar for now), accept that you are worth every bit of fear in our hearts. I'm glad you'll have someone with you tomorrow - she is of course, the perfect person.  But like it or not, in spirit you know you'll have us too."

And in the meantime, the grey seems fitting. The cold is appropriate. As long as there is uncertainty, there will be grey.

I pray that on Friday the sun shines and we're all celebrating your good news.  I hope that years from now - this is us.

Why?

I'm finding it difficult right now to care that Tiger Woods and his wife have divorced.  I'm finding it difficult to care that Lady Gaga has more followers on Twitter than Britney Spears(how did that make the news?).  I'm even finding it hard to care about which way Bob Katter will vote and whether the NBN is an important factor.

I know that some of these things are important.  I know that they matter to a lot of people. 

But do you ever feel like it's just all so trivial? Politics even, so much backstabbing, lobbying, smoke and mirrors, so little actual action. So little good actually accomplished.

I was talking to a girlfriend of mine today about some of the things in the world that break my heart.  My frustration with the West's determination to engage in a seemingly unwinnable battle in the middle east, pretending this has nothing to do with oil or their fear of Islam or personal vendettas.  Their willingness to spend close to a decade hunting down a man who orchestrated the deaths of 2000 of their own people, claiming a moral highground, but their refusal to treat other lives as valuable.

And I came home, and found these articles.  I wept - real tears of sorrow and frustration.

Rwandan and Congolese rebels gang-raped nearly 200 women and some baby boys over four days within miles of a U.N. peacekeepers' base in an eastern Congo mining district, an American aid worker and a Congolese doctor said Monday.


Will F. Cragin of the International Medical Corps said aid and U.N. workers knew rebels had occupied Luvungi town and surrounding villages in eastern Congo the day after the attack began on July 30.

More than three weeks later, the U.N. peacekeeping mission in Congo has issued no statement about the atrocities and said Monday it still is investigating.

Cragin told The Associated Press by telephone that his organization was only able to get into the town, which he said is about 10 miles (16 kilometers) from a U.N. military camp, after rebels ended their brutal spree of raping and looting and withdrew of their own accord on Aug. 4.

At U.N. headquarters in New York, spokesman Martin Nesirky said Monday that a U.N. Joint Human Rights team verified allegations of the rape of at least 154 women by combatants from the Rwandan rebel FDLR group and Congolese Mai-Mai rebels in the village of Bunangiri. He said the victims are receiving medical and psycho-social care.

Nesirky said the U.N. peacekeeping mission has a military company operating base in Kibua, some 30 kilometers (about 19 miles) east of the village, but he said FDLR attackers blocked the road and prevented villagers from reaching the nearest communication point.

Civil society leader Charles Masudi Kisa said there were only about 25 peacekeepers and that they did what they could against some 200 to 400 rebels who occupied the town of about 2,200 people and five nearby villages.

"When the peacekeepers approached a village, the rebels would run into the forest, but then the Blue Helmets had to move on to another area, and the rebels would just return," Masudi said.

There was no fighting and no deaths, Cragin said, just "lots of pillaging and the systematic raping of women."

Four young boys also were raped, said Dr. Kasimbo Charles Kacha, the district medical chief. Masudi said they were babies aged one month, six months, a year and 18 months.

"Many women said they were raped in their homes in front of their children and husbands, and many said they were raped repeatedly by three to six men," Cragin said. Others were dragged into the nearby forest.

International and local health workers have treated 179 women but the number raped could be much higher as terrified civilians still are hiding, he said.

"We keep going back and identifying more and more cases," he said. "Many of the women are returning from the forest naked, with no clothes."

He said that by the time they got help it was too late to administer medication against AIDS and contraception to all but three of the survivors.
Spokeswoman Stefania Trassari said her U.N. Organization for the Coordination of Humanitarian Aid was monitoring the situation but that access for humanitarian workers remains "very limited due to insecurity."

Luvungi is a farming center on the main road between Goma, the eastern provincial capital, and the major mining town of Walikale.

Kacha said on one day during the rebel occupation Indian peacekeepers had provided a military escort against the rebels to a large commercial truck traveling from Kemba to Luvungi, which is near a cassiterite mine and about 88 miles (140 kilometers) south of Goma.

U.N. mission spokesman Madnodje Mounoubai promised to get military comment on the assumption that the peacekeepers were protecting commercial goods but not civilians, which is their primary mandate.

Survivors said their attackers were from the FDLR that includes perpetrators of the Rwandan genocide who fled across the border to Congo in 1994 and have been terrorizing the population in eastern Congo ever since, according to Cragin. The Rwandans were accompanied by Mai-Mai rebels, he said, quoting survivors.

Masudi, the civil society leader, said the rebels arrived after Congolese army troops without explanation redeployed from Luvungi and its surroundings to Walikale. He said this happened after some soldiers deserted and joined rebels in the forest.

Rape as a weapon of war has become shockingly commonplace in eastern Congo, where at least 8,300 rapes were reported last year, according to the United Nations. It is believed that many more rapes go unreported.

Congo's army and U.N. peacekeepers have been unable to defeat the many rebel groups responsible for the long drawn-out conflict in eastern Congo, which is fueled by the area's massive mineral reserves. Gold, cassiterite and coltan are some of the minerals mined in the area near Luvungi, with soldiers and rebels competing for control of lucrative mines that give them little incentive to end the fighting.

"The minerals are our curse with the FDLR looting on one side and the soldiers looting on the other," said Masudi.
The Congolese government this year has demanded the withdrawal of the $1.35 billion-a-year U.N. mission, the largest peacekeeping force in the world with more than 20,000 soldiers, saying it has failed in its primary mandate to protect civilians.

Mission officials have said that the peacekeeping army is too small to police this sprawling nation the size of Western Europe, and that its peacekeepers are handicapped by rebels using civilians as shields and operating in rugged terrain where they are difficult to pursue.

The mission also has a difficult mandate of supporting the Congolese army, whose troops often also are accused of raping and pillaging.

Associated Press Writer Edith M. Lederer contributed to this report from the United Nations

Now, I know this isn't new.  In fact, it's not even the first time I've blogged about it.  But for heaven's sake - women are being brutally attacked - babies actually raped.  By countless armed men.  Why aren't we more upset? Why isn't the world's media not raising hell over this? How can when Lindsay Lohan gets out of rehab really sell more papers than this?

The US has just pledged 17 million dollars to fight against the systematic rape of women in the DRC.  17 million.  How much do they spend on the war in Iraq? The hunt for Bin Laden?  UN Peacekeepers are actually being pulled OUT of the Congo.  These women are being left alone.

At this point, this story is not on the front page of the BBC, CNN or most Australian Newspapers. Tiger Woods' divorce is.  Matt Newton's latest stint in rehab is. What are we thinking?

Why is a British or American or Australian woman's life worth more than hers?

The power of pretty

"One can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things."
                                                                                         Anne Shirley

I dream that when the boys are a little older (and less inclined to touch and break), I will be able to fulfill my girlish desires and fill my home with beautiful accents.

Mmm..not sure how he made it here, but he's certainly pretty enough. 

I hope you've had a great weekend.  Have a wonderful Monday.