Charentaise Patrimonie

Tags

Charente, harvest, Patrimonie

This gallery contains 5 photos.

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In the Dairy, Larder and Pantry

Tags

Cornwall, dairy, Lanhydrock, larder, pantry, upstairs/downstairs

This gallery contains 4 photos.

  Photos copyright: candiacomesclean.wordpress.com

Mevagissey, Cornwall

Tags

Cornwall, fishing, Mevagissey

Last week….

All photos copyright candiacomesclean.wordpress.com

Our Daily Bread

Tags

bread oven, Lanhydrock

All the Fun of the Fair

Tags

acrylics, carousel, fairground

Learning to Play

Tags

Christ Church Meadow, cricket

Phaeton

Tags

Jane Austen, phaeton, transportation

If, dear Jane Austen reader (s) you have ever wondered what a phaeton

looked like, eh voila!

The Forgiveness Window

Tags

betrayer, crucifixion, discernment, Dorset Museum, forgiveness, glass engraving, Judas, Laurence Whistler, Moreton Church, salvation, thirteenth disciple, thirty pieces silver

More or less, a re-blog, but an apt one.

 

A contribution to the debate as to the ultimate salvation of the

betrayer.

Laurence Whistler created an engraved pane for

Moreton Church, Dorset, UK, in addition to other replacements

for glass destroyed in wartime.

It was rejected and was stored at Dorchester Museum for years,

until after Whistler’s death.  Now it is in position, in spite of its

challenging depiction.

(Judas tree)

Whistler himself had written to The Independent in 1994, from Watlington

in Oxfordshire, after experiencing the rejection of his offer of this 13th pane.

It would only have been visible from the exterior of the church.  It showed

Judas being pulled into Heaven by the rope around his neck.  Some people

are as resistant as that to salvation, I suppose.  Anyway, he commented

that three minutes of agonising strangulation was not to be compared to

the extended suffering of crucifixion.

 

THE FORGIVENESS WINDOW

 

This was to have been a thirteenth blind pane,

seen only from the outside of the church:

replacement for its bombshell-slivered glass.

Judas, the betrayer, hangs from a tree.

His grasp relaxes and thirty pieces

of silver metamorphose into a

c

a

t

a

r

a

c

t

of flowers.

Discernment can come from outside the Church.

Inside some, coin-lidded, opt for cataracts.

Most see through glass darkly; few face to face.

There are several images of the pane which you can access

through Google etc.  Until I visit again and take my own photo,

I cannot reproduce them as they have copyright on them.

Unique Nobility

Tags

Demeter, dichotomy, Fennel, Free Will, Golden Age, liberty/licence, Mecone, nobility, Pandora, Persephone, pomegranate, Prometheus Unbound, Shelley, tax havens, Titans

A poem to celebrate the bi-centenary of ‘Prometheus

Unbound’ by PB Shelley:

 

 

We always want slightly more than our share,

whether it’s food, or perceived liberty

and we, like Prometheus, play tricks,

but gods fore-know what is our little game.

 

Everyone wants to live in Mecone,

in a Golden Age of wealth, abundance,

with a personal cornucopia;

or to be on the same standing as gods –

expressing a modicum of Free Will;

able to question who has sovereignty.

 

The problem with challenging Order is,

it often involves (slight) deceit.

Liberty!  Desirable; dangerous!

 

There is shame in personal ownership:

else, why do we hide sparks in fennel stalks,

or in off-shore tax havens, for that matter?

The flames of liberty need to be fed.

They will consume us, as they are consumed.

 

Demeter found there was a compromise.

Persephone, you lied.  You were not forced

to eat pomegranate seed.  You screamed rape.

Pandora, with a thief’s temperament,

you actually had the soul of a bitch.

 

Is it better to reign in Hell, or serve

in Heaven?  Prometheus, your attempt

just raises the age-old dichotomy:

liberty / licence.  Where is the balance?

Some can subsist on sacrificial smoke;

Titans and men require sustenance:

labour, nourishment and nobility.

 

Head of Steam

Tags

Beeching, Cumbria, Federation of the World, iron mining, Lake District, Lakeside and Haverthwaite, Peter Rabbit, Pleiades, plutonium, railways, steelmaking, technological change, The Plough, turbines, Wordsworth

(Lakeside and Haverthwaite railway station

Photo: mattbuck 7/7/2013 Wikipedia)

Once that head of steam was up, rails were laid

and Wordsworth’s wooed wilderness converged upon,

prelude to trucks toting plutonium,

criss-crossing the land; scouring surfaces

as deeply as glacial striation.

Then Beeching came and railed against the lines.

Coal, iron mining ceased; steelmaking shot.

Peter Rabbit quaking in his burrow,

anticipates fracking with timid twitch.

Turbines wave their arms quixotically

at those on muddied foot and cycle paths,

attempting to revolutionise health.

The golden keys open every barred door.

Geology is sacrificed to greed;

the hills afforested with money trees;

the night sky, filled with commerce, blinds poets

to The Plough, Pleiades, meteor showers.

We cannot hear the curlew’s stony cry

and now The Federation of the World

will never float the European flag,

but, ruled by those profit-hungry traders,

will talk us through its groovy projections;

will take us on economic projections;

leave us in a mistaken metaphor,

in a siding, instead of skimming on

to an optimistic mainline station.

Science no longer moves slowly, slowly.

Evolution morphs to revolution.

Wordsworth, proud of his skill to reach a point

rowed, unswerving to his destination,

dipping his oars into a silent lake,

before the ringing grooves of change arrived,

with consequent unknown modes of being,

bringing a blank desertion and darkness

to a landscape loved by the choicest minds.