All Hallows Night

October 24, 2016

peeking

Two things I did on Hallows Night:-
Made my house April-clear;
Left open wide my door
To the ghosts of the year.
Then one came in. Across the room

It stood up long and fair –
The ghost that was myself –
And gave me stare for stare.

Lizette Woodworth Reese

a would-be poet…

October 24, 2016

an-enchanted-forest-by-aprilelizabeth

So a would-be poet begins to learn that poetry is more various than he imagined and that he can like and dislike different poems for different reasons. His Censor, however, has still not yet been born. Before he can give birth to him, he has to pretend to be somebody else; he has to get a literary transference upon some poet in particular.

If poetry were in great public demand so that there were overworked professional poets, I can imagine a system under which an established poet would take on a small number of apprentices who would begin by changing his blotting paper, advance to typing his manuscripts and end up by ghostwriting poems for him which he was too busy to start or finish. The apprentices might really learn something for, knowing that he would get the blame as well as the credit for their work, the Master would be extremely choosy about his apprentices and do his best to teach them all he knew. In fact, of course, a would-be poet serves his apprenticeship in a library. This has its advantages. Though the Master The Dyer’s Hand is deaf and dumb and gives neither instruction nor criticism, the apprentice can choose any Master he likes, living or dead, the Master is available at any hour of the day or night, lessons are all for free, and his passionate admiration of his Master will ensure that he work hard to please him.

W H Auden
The Dyer’s Hand
Making, Knowing and Judging

write the truth…

October 24, 2016

book

The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a long scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand; you must see your left hand erasing it.

Margaret Atwood
The Blind Assassin

Samhain essentials….

October 24, 2016

cone-of-power

Not long now…

October 24, 2016

samhain

It’s today again…

October 24, 2016

a-monday