Blog powered by TypePad

Links:

February 02, 2008

Third Annual Brigid in Cyberspace Poetry Day

One of my favorite cyberspace traditions, posting poetry in honor of Brigid, the Celtic Goddess of Poetry, smith craft and healing. Here are my contributions in Feb 07 and Feb 06. (Darn, I can't link Feb 06. The poems were The World is Too much With Us by William Wordsworth and El Dorado by Edgar Allen Poe, practically the only poem I can still recite. )

And this year's offerings, the first by Anonymous from 1885:

A Stocking in Rhyme
To knit a stocking, needles four,
Cast on the needles and no more;
Each needled stitches eight and twenty,
Then one for seam stitch will be plenty.
Four twenty rounds your stitch must be
Two plain, two purl alternately,
Except the seam stitch which you do
Once purl, once plain, the whole way through.
A finger plain you next must knit,
Ere you begin to narrow it;
But if you like the stocking long,
Two fingers' length will not be wrong.
And then the narrowings to make,
Two stitches you together take
Each side the seam; then eight rounds plain,
Before you narrow it again.
Ten narrowings you'll surely find
Will shape the stocking to your mind;
Then twenty rounds knit plain must be,
And stitches sixty-five you'll see.
These just in half you must divide,
With thirty-two on either side;
But on one needle there must be
Seam stitch in middle, thirty-three.
One half on needles two you place,
And leave alone a little space;
The other with the seam in middle,
To manage right is now my riddle.
Backward and forward you must knit,
And always purl the backward bit;
But seam stitch, purl and plain, you know,
And slip the first stitch every row.
When thirty rows you thus have done,
Each side the seam knit two in one
Each third row, until sure you feel
That forty rows are in your heel.
You then begin the hell to close;
For this, choose one of the plain rows;
Knit plain to seam, then two in one,
One plain stitch more must still be done.
Then turn your work, purl as before
The seam stitch – two in one, one more;
Then turn again, knit till you see
Where first you turned, a gap will be.
Across it knit together two,
And don't forget one plain to do;
Then turn again, purl as before,
And sew till there's a gap no more.
The seam stitch you no longer mind,
That, with the hell, I s left behind.
When all the heel is quite closed in,
To knit a plain row you begin,
And at the end you turn no more,
But round and round knit as before.
For this, on a side needle take
The loops the first slip-stitches make;
With your heel needle – knit them plain,
To meet the old front half again.
This on one needle knit should be,
And then you'll have a needle free
To take up loops the other side,
And knit round plain, and to divide
The back parts evenly in two;
Off the heel needle some are due;
Be careful that you count the same.
On each back needle, knit round plain;
But as the foot is much too wide,
Take two together at each side,
On the back needle where they meet
The front to make a seam quite neat.
Each time between knit one plain round,
Till stitches sixty- four are found;
And the front needle does not lack
As many as on both the back.
You next knit fifty-six rounds plain,
But do not narrow it again;
'Twill then be long enough, and so
Begin to narrow for the toe.
Your long front row knit plainly through,
But at its end knit stitches two;
Together and together catch
Two first in the next row to match;
Then to the other side knit plain
Half round, and do the same again;
That is, two last together catch,
Two first in the front row to match.
At first knit four plain rounds between,
Then two, ten one, until 'tis seen
You've knit enough to close the toe;
And then decrease in every row,
Until to stitches eight you're brought,
Then break the thread off – not too short –
And as these stitches eight you do,
Each time your end of thread pull through;
Then draw up all to close it tight,
And with a darning needle bright,
Your end of thread securely run,
And then, hurrah! The stocking's done!

By Anonymous

A poem both dismal and hopeful (love those Russian poets):

When Life Is But A Round Of Crushing Care

When life is but a round of crushing care
And, a great heap of stones, lies heavy on us,
There suddenly, God knows how, why, upon us
A joyous mood descends... Of balmy air
A breath comes from the past and, o'er us drifting,
Invades the heart, its fearful burden lifting.

At times with autumn's coming is it so,
When empty lie the fields, when bare the groves are,
And paler turn the skies - and of a sudden, over
The darkened earth a damp wind starts to blow.
A fallen leaf it chases with elation
And to our hearts of spring brings a sensation.

by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev 

August 07, 2007

Poetry For No Reason

Marina Ivanova Tsvetaeva / December 12, 1923

You who loved me with the falseness
Of truth - and the truth of lies.
You who loved me-beyond
Anything!-Over the edge!
You who loved me beyond
Time-Right hand, wave!
You love me no more:
The truth in five words.

I love that poem.

Found surfing around:Programmable Robots - WHAT year? exerpt: Yet the trail doesn't stop there. It led me even further back past the automata of the Byzantine court and ancient Rome to ancient Alexandria. It was here that Hero, one of the greatest Greek engineers, constructed a programmable robot that pre-dates da Vinci's by 1500 years. Its control system turns out to be unique; more like knitting than a computer circuit. Nevertheless, there is clear evidence linking Hero's design to the programming languages used in, say, Honda's latest humanoid robot Asimo.

Ha. Knitting is everywhere, which, considering its mathematical properties, isn't all that surprising.

Joan at The FairyGodknitter is having a comment contest, the deadline being August 13th, her birthday. Go comment!

I'd show knitting pictures and progress but there isn't any. Well any discernable progress. Queueing my projects I've noticed that my WIP's are.....old. Old-old. They've had birthdays old. I've got to stop starting new projects and frogging them with wild abandon. 

Books_by_color_2 I hopscotched around on the book reviews of the books read last month and missed my absolute favorite:

The Secret Lives of People In Love by Simon Van Booy. Short stories written with evocative charm. I love his turn of phrase and his imagery. Stories with sentences like [and here I just opened the book to a random page because every page has something as beautiful as this is] "I cannot walk farther because something sweeps through me - something so sad it renders the world broken and perfect all in the same feeling." I was always aware that I was reading, his choice of words conjures up visions outside the story, but at the same time, I was also being told a story. No matter how small the story, a grief struck young man and his father, they just.....reverberate. I can't think of a better word.

I read the library's copy of the book, then bought my own copy. (I found this book through Bookfool's review. Thanks, Bookfool!)

.......[skipping books I've already talked about].....  Sacred Cows by Karen Olson. I enjoyed the angle of Annie being a journalist investigating and her relationships. Her cop boyfriend and the Boy From High School was a little awkward, but I suppose it would be. I take it either journalists are still the hard drinkers they were in The Old Days or Annie needs rehab. I picked up Secondhand Smoke (the second in the series) at the library last night. (Reviewed & Recommended by Musings of a Bookish Kitty)

Urban Shaman by C E Murphy, (Chris of Stumbling Over Chaos read & reviewed) Another hardboiled dame. Joanne Walker (or is she?) has a near death experience and her world will never be the same. (Which is cheating a bit because things were going a little haywire before that - spotting a damsel in distress from an airplane? Yup. She did.) Kind of a tough girl version of Charles de Lint. She's a police mechanic but circumstances force her into wearing the badge for real and battling Herne the Hunter and the Wild Hunt of Celtic lore. Another book where I liked both the heroine and the people around her (you know, along with the storyline and the plot).

Time's Children by Rebecca Ore. I'd probably like this book a lot better if it didn't forcibly remind me of Kage Baker's Mendoza series. Clearly there are differences, but that those controlling the time travel inherited the time travel mechanism from the veiled future is the same premise. Although I'll see. I'm only about a quarter of the way through it.

Submissions are due August 10th for the Book Carnival - The theme this month is Surviving the Dog Days of Summer: Books That Take Your Mind Off the Heat.

February 02, 2007

2nd Annual St Brigid Bloggers Poetry

Root Down is hosting  the tradition that Reya started last year. It  was lovely. There was poetry everywhere online. Here are the specs:

WHAT: A Bloggers (Silent) Poetry Reading
WHEN: Anytime February 2, 2007
WHERE: Your blog
WHY: To celebrate the Feast of Brigid, aka Groundhog Day
HOW: Select a poem you like - by a favorite poet or one of your own - to post February 2nd.

RSVP: If you plan to publish, feel free to leave a comment and link on this post. Last year Reya put out the call and there was more poetry in cyberspace than she could keep track of. So, link to whoever you hear about this from and a mighty web of poetry will be spun.


Feel free to pass this invitation on to any and all bloggers.

And my contribution:

                                    Believing In Iron

                                                          by Yusef Komunyakaa

The hills my brothers & I created
Never balanced, & it took years

To discover how the world worked.

We could look at a tree of blackbirds
& tell you how many were there,
But with the scrap dealer
Our math was always off.
Weeks of lifting & grunting
Never added up to much,
But we couldn't stop

Believing in iron.
Abandoned trucks & cars
Were held to the ground
By thick, nostalgic fingers of vines
Strong as a dozen sharecroppers.
We'd return with our wheelbarrow
Groaning under a new load,
Yet tiger lilies lived better
In their languid, August domain.
Among paper & Coke bottles
Foundry smoke erased sunsets,
& we couldn't believe iron

Left men bent so close to the earth

As if the ore under their breath
Weighed down the gray sky.
Sometimes I dreamt how our hills
Washed into a sea of metal,
How it all became an anchor
For a warship or bomber
Out over trees with blooms
Too red to look at.Blog_pix_273_1

And there must be knitting content:

Winding Wool

by Robert Service

She'd bring to me a skein of wool 

And beg me to hold out my hands; 

so on my pipe I cease to pull 

And watch her twine the shining strands

Into a ball so snug and neat, 

Perchance a pair of socks to knit

To comfort my unworthy feet, 

Or pullover my girth to fit. 

As to the winding I would sway, 

A poem in my head would sing,

And I would watch in dreamy way

The bright yarn swiftly slendering.

The best I liked were coloured strands

I let my pensive pipe grow cool . . .

Two active and two passive hands,

So busy winding shining wool. 

Alas! Two of those hands are cold,

And in these days of wrath and wrong,

I am so wearyful and old, 

I wonder if I've lived too long.

So in my loneliness I sit 

And dream of sweet domestic rule . . .

When gentle women used to knit,

And men were happy winding wool.