Friday, December 31, 2010

Charlotte Mew

Has anyone ever heard of this poet? I never had until I ran across one of her poems on the blog "First Known When Lost." Charlotte Mew (1869-1928) was an English poet, published and admired in her day. Hugh Walpole, the Poet Laureate Robert Bridges, Lady Ottoline Morrell, and Virginia Woolf all praised her poetry. In 1923, on the recommendation of John Masefield, Walter de la Mare and Thomas Hardy, she was awarded an annual Civil List pension. Thomas Hardy said that Mew was "far and away the best living woman poet."

And there might be a clue to the reason why she has been forgotten. Hardy apparently found it necessary to use the adjective "woman" to describe her work. Did that carry the same connotation then as "chick lit" carries now?  Here is an example of her poetry taken from Charlotte Mew Collected Poems and Selected Prose. Ed. Val Warner. New York: Routledge, 2003.  You decide:

In the Fields

Lord, when I look at lovely things which pass,
  Under old trees the shadows of young leaves
Dancing to please the wind along the grass,
  Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;
Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this?
  And if there is
Will the strange heart of any everlasting thing
  Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?
They come at evening with the home-flying rooks and the scent of hay,
  Over the fields. They come in Spring.

Thursday, December 30, 2010

Virginia Woolf and Montaigne

I find Woolf's writing philosophy similar to that of Montaigne. She, of course, is famous for the writing style termed "stream of consciousness" which she used in most of her novels. He, I think, writes in a similar way but rather than place the reader in the minds of various characters as Woolf does, Montaigne's "character" is himself.

In her essay on Montaigne, Woolf calls him "this great master of the art of life." She writes that Montaigne's essays are "an attempt to communicate a soul" and that he is one of the few writers who succeeded in "drawing [himself] with a pen." In fact, she feels that he is the only one who gave an entire picture of himself, including his vagaries, imperfections and confusions--those things we often try to hide from others behind our social masks.

Both writers are aware of the fact, as Woolf says, that "this soul, or life within us, by no means agrees with the life outside us."  Thus Woolf gives us characters in 3-D: We see them from the outside perspective of others as well as from their own interior thoughts, moment by moment. We know them intimiately and often feel  empathy--we have known and experienced life in such a similar way. In his essays, Montaigne, master of the art of life, gives his readers the same vicarious experience.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Montaigne...Wine

I mentioned in my first post that I'm reading Sarah Bakewell's biography of Montaigne, How to Live.  I've discovered that the Chateau Montaigne was damaged by fire in 1885 but was restored "to the same design." The Tower that became Montaigne's library where he wrote his Essays was undamaged by the fire. There he had his collection of books on five rows of curving shelves.  He also had the roof beams painted with classical quotations. (You can still see these today.)

Montaigne's great-grandfather bought the property in 1477. Among other things, he had been a merchant of wine. By the time Montaigne inherited the chateau, it had become "the head office of a fairly large wine-producing business, yielding tens of thousands of liters of wine per year." The best part is that the chateau "still produces wine today"!

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

"Cozy" Mysteries

Has anyone read the "Coffeehouse Mysteries" by Cleo Coyle? The "author" is apparently a husband and wife team who also write the "Haunted Bookshop Mysteries" under the pen name of Alice Kimberly.  In reviews I've read of both, they are termed "cozy." I'm not sure what that means.

Monday, December 27, 2010

More Etymology

I've always confused "astrology" and "astronomy." Astrology basically means star-divination. Astronomy is the science of the material universe.  Perhaps my confusion is caused by the similarity of the words.

"Astron" is the Greek for "a star." "Logos" is the Greek for "word." The combination of the two means a "study of stars" which, to me, is what astronomy does.  "Nomy" is the Greek for "distribution" which I translate as the arrangement, in this case, of stars. To me that is what astrology does when it uses the constellations as "signs."

Checking the OED I find that at one time "astrology" was the word used for both meanings in both Latin and Greek.  However, in Old English "astronomie seems to have been the term first used, and to have embraced the whole field of the ancient astrologia." Later "astrologie was adapted for the art or practice of astronomy, and gradually, though not completely before the 17th Century, astronomy and astrology took their current senses."

Sigh. Is it any wonder that I find the two words confusing?

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Boxing Day

I think that I first heard of "Boxing Day" in an Agatha Christie novel years ago. It was strange--perhaps even feudal--so it interested me. It seemed to be a tradition where the wealthy gave presents to their servants. I doubt that many have servants today except possibly the Royal Family.

 It's still celebrated in Canada and the United Kingdom. Does anyone know where the name came from, or how the tradition started or what it now includes?

Saturday, December 25, 2010

Yuletide

A long time ago...
Footprints in the snow
Coming from the wood
Where the yule log still stood--upright.
Snow bright with white moonlight--
It beamed the darkness pale.
Welcome. "Comer--be well here."
The warm peace of hearth--
Fire bright like sunlight--
Still point, haven, of the turning earth.

Friday, December 24, 2010

Etymology of "pudding"

"Pudding" is derived from the Old English word puduc meaning wart. (ewwwww?) By the 14th Century it had become the Middle English word poding meaning a sausage made from the entrails of an animal "stuffed with a mixture of minced meat, suet, oatmeal and seasoning...boiled and kept until needed" according to the Oxford English Dictionary. (The OED has five columns of definitions and examples for pudding, including "U.S. slang: Something easy to accomplish." I didn't know that.) There is even a nautical definition, meaning the padding that prevents scraping between colliding vehicles.  Perhaps the suet used in the original sausage and the fact that it was boiled is the connection between the original meaning and the moist cake of the British term.  Today in Britain "pudding" means the dessert course.

Why we in America mean something completely different, I haven't been able to determine. I looked in Julia Child's cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, (thank you Bluecat!) and she has pages of wonderful desserts like Creme Plombieres Pralinee, Mousse A L'Orange, Charlotte Malakoff au Chocolat that look as though they take days to make. Of course these are creams and custards and closer to the American "pudding" but that doesn't explain the difference. (French pouding of course is similar to the British meaning.) Perhaps it all comes down to JELL-O after all.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Pudding

I came across a recipe for pouding chomeur that is apparently made in Canada. (I'll have to ask Dawson if she's familiar with it.) It was "loosely" translated as "unemployed pudding." French pouding means "plum-pudding." The French noun chomeur means "idle worker" or "unemployed." However, the French adjective chomable (derived from the same verb chomer) means "to be kept as a holiday." So I translate this very rich-sounding dessert as Holiday Plum-Pudding.

This, of course, makes me wonder why it's called "plum" pudding when there are no plums in it. And what brought about the difference in the British meaning of "pudding" (a steamed moist cake--pouding chomeur is not steamed--covered with alcohol and lit for serving) and the American meaning? Do you remember the tv commercial jingle for JELL-O pudding?

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Montaigne

In his essay "Of Solitude" (I, 39), Montaigne says something that I think is profound: "The greatest thing in the world is to know how to belong to oneself."  I don't think that's easy to do and I'm not sure how to do it. Any thoughts or suggestions?

Tuesday, December 21, 2010

Welcome to my blog

I'm currently reading Sarah Bakewell's new Life of Montaigne along with Montaigne's Essays. What are you reading?