Spotlight Poetry – Green Groweth the Holly – A poem by King Henry VIII (Attributed to)

© Nell Hill, Log Of Ivy, Holly And Hazelnuts, 2014l

Green Groweth the Holly by King Henry VIII (Attributed to)

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
Though winter blasts blow never so high.

As the holly groweth green
And never changeth hue,
So I am, ever hath been,
Unto my lady true.

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
Though winter blasts blow never so high.

As the holly groweth green
With ivy all alone
When flowers cannot be seen
And greenwood leaves be gone,

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
Though winter blasts blow never so high,

Now unto my lady
Promise to her I make,
From all other only
To her I me betake.

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
Though winter blasts blow never so high,

Adieu, mine own lady,
Adieu, my special
Who hath my heart truly
Be sure, and ever shall.

Green groweth the holly,
So doth the ivy.
Though winter blasts blow never so high.

Poem Attribution © Attributed to King henry VIII, Green Groweth the Holly

Copyright (c) 2022 Goff James – All Rights Reserved 

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Painting Attribution © Nell Hill, Log Of Ivy, Holly And Hazelnuts, 2014l

Source Attribution https://fineartamerica.com/featured/log-of-ivy-holly-and-hazelnuts-nell-hill.html

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Spotlight Poetry – Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening – A Poem by Robert Frost

© Jen Hallbrown, Moonlit Snowy Wood, 2016

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.   
His house is in the village though;   
He will not see me stopping here   
To watch his woods fill up with snow.   

My little horse must think it queer   
To stop without a farmhouse near   
Between the woods and frozen lake   
The darkest evening of the year.   

He gives his harness bells a shake   
To ask if there is some mistake.   
The only other sound’s the sweep   
Of easy wind and downy flake.   

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
But I have promises to keep,   
And miles to go before I sleep,   
And miles to go before I sleep.

Poem Attribution © Robert Frost, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Source Attribution https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/42891/stopping-by-woods-on-a-snowy-evening

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Painting Attribution © Jen Hallbrown, Moonlit Snowy Wood, 2016

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Moonlit-Snowy-Woods/766133/3261358/view

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Spotlight Poetry – Ancient Music – A Poem by Ezra Pound

© Alice Neave, I’ll Finish Up My Winter Song, 2019

Ancient Music by Ezra Pound

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm.
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.

Goddamm, Goddamm, ’tis why I am, Goddamm,
So ‘gainst the winter’s balm.

Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.

(Ancient Music is modelled after Sumer Is Icumen in, a medieval “rota,” the equivalent of a modern round and the simplest form of a canon for voices.)

Poem Attribution © Ezra Pound, Ancient Music

Source Attribution https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ancient-music/

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Painting Attribution © Alice Neave, I’ll Finish Up My Winter Song, 2019

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-I-ll-finish-up-my-winter-song/71448/4879317/view

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Spotlight Poetry – The Loch Ness Monster’s Song – A poem by Edwin Morgan

© Artist Unknown, Catching the Loch Ness Monster, 1977

The Loch Ness Monster’s Song by Edwin Morgan

Sssnnnwhuffffll?
Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?
Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.
Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl –
gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.
Hovoplodok – doplodovok – plovodokot-doplodokosh?
Splgraw fok fok splgrafhatchgabrlgabrl fok splfok!
Zgra kra gka fok!
Grof grawff gahf?
Gombl mbl bl –
blm plm,
blm plm,
blm plm,
blp.

Poem Attribution © Edwin Morgan, The Loch Ness monster’s Song

Source Attribution https://www.scottishpoetrylibrary.org.uk/poem/loch-ness-monsters-song/

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Painting Attribution © Artist Unknown, Catching the Loch Ness Monster, 1977

Source Attribution https://bookpalace.com/acatalog/info_20thNessie.html

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Spotlight Poetry – Journey of the Magi – A Poem by T. S. Eliot

© James Jacques Joseph Tissot, Journey of the Magi, 2017

Journey of the Magi by T. S. Eliot

‘A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.”
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arriving at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Poem Attribution © T. S. Eliot, Journey of the Magi

Source Attribution https://www.poetrybyheart.org.uk/poems/the-journey-of-the-magi/

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Painting Attribution © James Jacques Joseph Tissot, Journey of the Magi, c.1894

Source Attribution https://www.wikiart.org/en/james-tissot/journey-of-the-magi

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Spotlight Poetry – Slip into Sleep – A Poem by Mandy Coe

© Rudolf Kosow, Contact I, 2016

Slip into Sleep by Mandy Coe

Slip your toes into sleep
Slip your heels into sleep
Slip your knees into sleep
Slip your hips into sleep
Breathe soft, breathe deep
Slip into sleep

Slip your middle into sleep
Slip your chest into sleep
Slip your shoulders into sleep
Slip your arms into sleep
Breathe soft, breathe deep
Slip into sleep

Slip your elbows into sleep
Slip your wrists into sleep
Slip your fingers into sleep
Breathe soft, breathe deep
Slip into sleep

Slip your neck into sleep
Slip your chin into sleep
Slip your lips into sleep
Breathe soft, breathe deep
Slip into sleep

Slip your nose into sleep
Slip your eyes into sleep
Slip your hair into sleep
Breathe soft, breathe deep
Slip into sleep

Poem Attribution © Mandy Coe, Slip into Sleep

Source Attribution A Poem for Every Winter Day, Ed. Allie Esiri, Macmillan

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Painting Attribution © Rudolf Kosow, Contact I, 2016

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Contact-I/843869/3339767/view

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Spotlight Poetry – Our Revels Now are Ended – A Poem by William Shakespeare

© George Romney, The Tempest Act I, Scene 1, 1797, (Engraving)

Our Revels Now are Ended by William Shakespeare

(Extract From The Tempest – Prospero)

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air; into thin air,
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.Sir, I am vex’d,–
Bear with my weakness – my old brain is troubled.
Be not disturb’d with my infirmity.
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose: A turn or two I’ll walk
To still my beating mind.

Poem Attribution © William Shakespeare, Our Revels Now are Ended,(Extract From The Tempest – Prospero)

Source Attribution A Poem for Every Winter Day, Ed. Allie Esiri, Macmillan

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Painting Attribution © George Romney, The Tempest Act I, Scene 1, 1797, (Engraving)

Source Attribution https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:George_Romney_-_William_Shakespeare_-_The_Tempest_Act_I,_Scene_1.jpg

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Spotlight Poetry – Innocent’s Song – A Poem by Charles Causley

© Maurice van de Wege, Blood, 2018

Innocent’s Song by Charles Causley

Who’s that knocking on the window,
Who’s that standing at the door,
What are all those presents
Lying on the kitchen floor?

Who is the smiling stranger
With hair as white as gin,
What is he doing with the children
And who could have let him in?

Why has he rubies on his fingers,
A cold, cold crown on his head,
Why, when he caws his carol,
Does the salty snow run red?

Why does he ferry my fireside
As a spider on a thread,
His fingers made of fuses
And his tongue of gingerbread?

Why does the world before him
Melt in a million suns,
Why do his yellow, yearning eyes
Burn like saffron buns?

Watch where he comes walking
Out of the Christmas flame,
Dancing, double-talking:

Herod is his name.

Poem Attribution © Charles Causley, Innocent’s Song

Source Attribution https://allpoetry.com/Innocent’s-Song

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Painting Attribution © Maurice van de Wege, Blood, 2018

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Blood-painting/392518/4198094/view

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Spotlight Poetry – And For My Next Trick – A poem by Dave Calder

© Susan Frey, The Magician, 2014

And For My Next Trick by Dave Calder

Out of his hat he pulled a hen
that laid a shining egg, and when
he broke the egg with his white-tipped wand
it became an eye in the palm of his hand.

And when this eye had look around
he swallowed it without a sound.

At which, the hen, with a polite
bow, put on the hat, and exited stage right.

And everyone clapped – though my sister said
she wished it had been a duck –
for the magician stood there in the spotlight
all feathers and beaky head
going
cluck
cluck
cluck

Poem Attribution © Dave Calder, And For My Next Trick

Source Attribution http://www.windowsproject.net/downlds/bigbunch.pdf

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Painting Attribution © Susan Frey, The Magician, 2014

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-The-Magician/739940/2268004/view

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Spotlight Poetry – To the One of Fictive Music – A Poem by Wallace Stevens

© Brooks Evans, The Music of the Sea, 2017

To the One of Fictive Music by Wallace Stevens

Sister and mother and diviner love,
And of the sisterhood of the living dead
Most near, most clear, and of the clearest bloom,
And of the fragrant mothers the most dear
And queen, and of diviner love the day
And flame and summer and sweet fire, no thread
Of cloudy silver sprinkles in your gown
Its venom of renown, and on your head
No crown is simpler than the simple hair.
 
Now of the music summoned by the birth
That separates us from the wind and sea,
Yet leaves us in them, until earth becomes,
By being so much of the things we are,
Gross effigy and simulacrum, none
Gives motion to perfection more serene
Than yours, out of our imperfections wrought,
Most rare, or ever of more kindred air
In the laborious weaving that you wear.
 
For so retentive of themselves are men
That music is intensest which proclaims
The near, the clear, and vaunts the clearest bloom,
And of all vigils musing the obscure,
That apprehends the most which sees and names,
As in your name, an image that is sure,
Among the arrant spices of the sun,
O bough and bush and scented vine, in whom
We give ourselves our likest issuance.
 
Yet not too like, yet not so like to be
Too near, too clear, saving a little to endow
Our feigning with the strange unlike, whence springs
The difference that heavenly pity brings.
For this, musician, in your girdle fixed
Bear other perfumes. On your pale head wear
A band entwining, set with fatal stones.
Unreal, give back to us what once you gave:
The imagination that we spurned and crave.

Poem Attribution © Wallace Stevens, To the One of Fictive Music

Source Attribution https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/148731/to-the-one-of-fictive-music

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Painting Attribution © Brooks Evans, The Music of the Sea, 2017

Source Attribution https://www.saatchiart.com/art/Painting-Music-of-the-Sea/714085/4147137/view

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