Mankind Cannot Bear Too Many Dreams (1)

At last it is Spring. Not that there is any ‘at last’ about it, as these days (‘at my age’) Spring seems to arrive the day after the day after New Year’s Day. Life hurries along. Which is another good reason for recording things- the January days of waking up in the dark, going to bed in the dark; then Candlemas, the festival of light, which takes place halfway between the shortest day and the spring equinox, on February the 2nd. And then the vernal equinox, when the sun crosses the equator, which happened this year at 3.06 UTC March 20th. UTC is Coordinated Universal Time, the successor to Greenwich Mean Time (GMT).

And now here we are, March 27th, 2024, sunrise 5.43 am, sunset 6.27 pm. 12 hours 44 minutes of light.

Spring, the sweete  spring, is the yeres pleasant King,
Then bloomes eche thing, then maydes daunce in a ring,
Cold doeth not sting, the pretty birds doe sing,
Cuckow, jugge, jugge, pu we, to witta woo.

Thomas Nashe 1567-1601

Thomas Nashe wrote prose, poems, pamphlets and plays. He collaborated with both Christopher Marlowe and Ben Jonson, and possibly helped with (wrote part of/wrote most of?) Shakespeare’s Henry VI Part One. (Though God forbid that I should speculate or comment in any way on the controversy about who wrote the plays attributed to Shakespeare!)

I don’t see any maids dancing in a ring, but birdsong and blooms are still with us. It was quiet in January, but the birds came back, and now there is a marvellous racket every morning when they all start shouting for their breakfast, or whatever it is they shout about.

There's nothing quite like the beginning of Spring.
It brings to an end the wearisome waiting,
Almost the same as becoming sixteen
With a spring in your step as life truly begins.

More proximate though the bound in your pulse
As you gaze at the sunset over Dungeness-
Its pale light shimmers the sea, the gulls
Seem to dance, their silhouettes soar and plunge-

Than the image over which you fussed
As you moved away, further- o much much
Further than Dungeness! further than love 
Could carry you or reach you- 'twas ever thus

At sweet sixteen, sweet spring, the enchanted light
That holds in suspense the sea, youth's first flight,
Hope, all things that grow, bring the white
Cherry blossom, equinox, the days, the magical nights.

There's nothing like spring but last spring, and the next.
The sun completes its setting, the sea repents,
Becomes familiar again; lusty lads and wenches
Drink on the beach, look out for the bounty of shipwrecks.

I called that 'Spring Song' when I wrote it (not sure when- 2017-18 perhaps) but the question then arises 'Can you sing it?' (What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and walk out on me?)

And why this new title- Mankind Cannot Bear Too Many Dreams? It refers- of course- to Eliot’s ‘mankind cannot bear too much reality’, and by ‘dreams’ I mean, or at least I think I mean, both the dreams you have while you are sleeping, and dreams in the sense of aspirations, desires.

I am not the master of my dreams
I cannot be the master of my dreams...

More to follow; perhaps.

The Year of Not Sleeping (9)

Spring begins next week, so this might be the last post under this title. Time for something new. This is how The Year of Not Sleeping came about-until not so long ago, were I to wake up at 6am, I would roll over and try and get more sleep. The next stage was NOT rolling over, but GETTING UP – why not? There’s nothing wrong with rising at 6. But…6 became 5.30, then 5, then 4am; what’s more, these days I can fall asleep and wake up an hour and a half later. I’m not dying of sleep deprivation or anything as dramatic, but it has been a bit of a thing, bed becoming less of a safe, comfortable, restful place. There is also something about waking up in the dark, and that is why the advent of Spring changes things. Sunrise this morning was 6.15; by May it will be 5.30, June 4.45. This makes a difference.

Enough of that. Last night, I was at our beloved Poets’ Corner (Poets’ Corner Folkestone) for another evening of open-mic poetry. As always, there was great variety- from old codgers like me, to a young woman who was reading on stage for the first time. We love it- hearing new voices, hearing what they have to say- and we (the three of us who run Poets’ Corner, and our audiences) are good at making everyone comfortable, no matter how nervous they might be. Something to be proud of, I think.

This is one of the pieces I read. I recently read a wonderful book called The Unwomanly Face of War, by Svetlana Alexievich. It is an oral history of Russian women who fought in the Second World War (the ‘Great Patriotic War’ to Russians). I made a note of a phrase used by one of the women- “I don’t know whether you would be interested in my life, but I would like to tell it to somebody”- and this was my inspiration for the following-

Since you ask, I’ll tell you about my life.
I can’t see why you’d be interested,
But I would like to tell it to someone,
Even if it’s like listening for the toll
Of a bell that has the clapper missing.
Still, every life has something about it, yes?

We grew up in this house, yes we did!
Me, my mother, father, brother, sister
And, later on, when Grandad died, my Nan.
After a while, they found her a place in a care home.
It was Mummy who felt the strain, alone
With her mother-in-law’s harsh tongue all day.

Daddy didn’t know the half of it,
Out at work all day, the rest of us at school.
Looking back, she must have had a breakdown,
My poor mother, never once letting on.
She was a bitter woman, my Nan, and
I was young and couldn’t understand

How someone could let her life turn out like that.
I went away, not that I had any
High-flying ideas of myself; I wasn’t
A bit like you, educated and smart;
But I thought I could be a nurse- that is
Before I got a husband, children, house.

And it was good for me. I studied hard,
Worked hard, and there was always lots of fun.
Parties, parties! always there were parties!
And I had money of my own, enough.
Of course I went home, but I was young,
Young and adult at once; and they were becoming old.

Something also that happened, happens to
Everyone I suppose, I fell in love.
We were together for two years two months.
I learned a lot of things- being a nurse,
You know, you learn a lot of things from books
But more, much more, from experience.

So, Love teaches that nothing lasts forever.
A broken heart is something everyone
Should experience- you are young but probably
You know- it makes you appreciate-
Because you’re hurt- the good things about love-
I don’t know how to say it- the right words.

Mummy was sick by then and I came home.
There were no more parties or love affairs-
No opportunities! And time went by.
So here I am, same house but empty now.
I try to look on the bright side- at least
I have no kids who’ll put me in a home.

What do I do? What I like most of all
Is to put my chair outside on a nice day,
Sit here watching the world go by.
I flirt with the postman when he comes- there!
Now you know my secrets! But he is young.
We have a laugh- how can he understand?

Well, my dear, it was kind of you to listen.
It’s not the sort of thing you’re looking for-
I know you won’t use it and that’s all right-
An old woman rambling- who wants to hear?
It’s done me good though and I thank you.
Tell me your name again- ah yes, I remember now.