“Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then, I account it high time to go to England as soon as I can.”

Från inledningen till Moby Dick av Herman Melville, med tre ord utbytta


2012-02-19

I hjärtat av Hardy Country

Det är dags för sista posten i serien Engelsk LitteraTur Sommaren 2011 och passande nog slutar även denna serie med besök på en kyrkogård, närmare bestämt den vid St. Michael's Church i Stinsford, Dorset.


Vi har genom de senaste bloggposterna besökt Thomas Hardys trakter, och vi befinner oss fortfarande i högsta grad i Hardy Country. Här på kyrkogården vilar nämligen Thomas Hardys hjärta, bredvid hans första fru. Kroppen vilar dock i Poets’ Corner i Westminster Abbey.


Och vad passar då bättre än Hardys egen dikt om kyrkogården, där växtligheten själv talar till oss.


VOICES FROM THINGS GROWING IN A CHURCHYARD

These flowers are I, poor Fanny Hurd,
Sir or Madam,
A little girl here sepultured.
Once I flit-fluttered like a bird
Above the grass, as now I wave
In daisy shapes above my grave,
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- I am one Bachelor Bowring, "Gent,"
Sir or Madam;
In shingled oak my bones were pent;
Hence more than a hundred years I spent
In my feat of change from a coffin-thrall
To a dancer in green as leaves on a wall.
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- I, these berries of juice and gloss,
Sir or Madam,
Am clean forgotten as Thomas Voss;
Thin-urned, I have burrowed away from the moss
That covers my sod, and have entered this yew,
And turned to clusters ruddy of view,
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- The Lady Gertrude, proud, high-bred,
Sir or Madam,
Am I--this laurel that shades your head;
Into its veins I have stilly sped,
And made them of me; and my leaves now shine,
As did my satins superfine,
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- I, who as innocent withwind climb,
Sir or Madam.
Am one Eve Greensleeves, in olden time
Kissed by men from many a clime,
Beneath sun, stars, in blaze, in breeze,
As now by glowworms and by bees,
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- I'm old Squire Audeley Grey, who grew,
Sir or Madam,
Aweary of life, and in scorn withdrew;
Till anon I clambered up anew
As ivy-green, when my ache was stayed,
And in that attire I have longtime gayed
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- And so they breathe, these masks, to each
Sir or Madam
Who lingers there, and their lively speech
Affords an interpreter much to teach,
As their murmurous accents seem to come
Thence hitheraround in a radiant hum,
All day cheerily,
All night eerily!

- Thomas Hardy

2012-02-13

Kyrkan i Tess of the D’Urbervilles

As they came out of church the ringers swung the bells off their rests, and a limited peal of three notes broke forth – the power of expressing joy in such a small parish ranging no further. Passing by the tower with her husband on the path to the gate she could feel the vibrant air humming round them from the louvred belfry in the circle of sound, and it matched the highly-charged mental atmosphere in which she was living.


Bilden visar Church of St Andrews i den lilla byn West Stafford utanför Dorchester, vilket sägs vara den kyrka där Tess gifte sig med sin Angel Clare.