OK - technically Spring is still a few days off, but it's pushing 70 outside and I've decided to celebrate the annual soul-thaw by starting a blog. Which, considering the high standards set by TOWWAS, Z. Dog and E.C. i.a., does present a daunting challenge...
By way of introduction, I offer you a poem I wrote several years ago while rehearsing for the annual Washington Christmas Revels show. The show was set in the England of Henry II and we were encouraged to develop our characters by writing faux-historical pieces about ourselves and our relationships with each other. Mostly, these took the form of letters from one high-born person to another. My character was a baseborn farmer who I am sure couldn't write. But he could sing, and dictated the following poem to his wife, who had become literate during her marriage to a soldier (later killed in battle). Will Roote speaks for me very well. And don't tell me iambic pentameter didn't catch on until several hundred years later. I was there, bub!
All base were we born and close to Earthe
Whiche feeds and shelteres us with Thatch and Fyre
The feel of Earthe and Metalle and of Woode
To our rough Handes sings Music to the Heart
And simple Knowledge that our God and King
Are Fortresses ‘gainst those who wish us Ill
It is enough. But to my Land do all
The lusty Men and Wymmen komme
Rejoicing in the Weale of King and Realm
To sing and dance and revel in the Mirth
That merry Companye quickens in our Heartes
And often have I knowne there such Delights
That I would not change places with the King
Or any Lord or Lady of the Realm
My Place is with the Orchards and the Vines
In Sunne and Winde and Water and in Song
To sing full free my Soule into the Earthe
Where I can see the Seeds in dying
Come to Birthe again and teach us all
The wondrous Truth – by Deathe to be reborn
So I Will Roote do komme before ye all
With Gladwyn and our Kinder of the Earthe
To sweare I am in Love with Life
In Roote and Stem and Leaf and Froote
And Song and Dance and Revelry – and Deathe
Our Bodyes die that we be born again
So let us to the Yuletide Revels come
Full dancing with a Fyre in our Soules
That sings all glory to our God
And King and Court and each to each of us
Who are base or high born in equal part
The magick Mystry of this magick Time
Take each of us into each others Heart
And sing Alleluya Alleluya
And know it is enough – more than enough
To heal the wounds that tear our Land apart
By Will Roote as writ down by his good Wyfe Gladwyn
On this second Year of Henrys Reign before
the Christemas Court
May God have Mercy on our Soules and God save the King
That said, I'm delighted to join the blogosphere!
Going to the Kennedy Center tonight to hear Julia Fischer, an enormously gifted young German violinist. The DVD of her performance of Le Quattro Stagioni simply took my breath away!
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