The world of Beatrix Potter

The tales of Mrs. Tiggy Winkle & Mr. Jeremy Fisher are probably two of my favourite (who am I kidding they’re all my favourite, ha)

🐸’s solitary life, talking to himself, his fear of being swallowed up by a giant creature of the deep when he’s innocently fishing upon a tranquil pond; and the motherly Mrs Tiggy Winkle, 🦔 her hospitality and helpfulness to do others washing in her little snug home in the hillside … but she still lets a visitor in.

I had the fortune of visiting Beatrix Potter’s home Hill Top Farm in Ambleside a few summers ago… it was cozy, with a quaint garden, cabbage/ carrot 🥕 patch and little lanes leading to the village that gave inspiration for her characters! Well what struck me was that the post box was miles away & she was very isolated (Back in the day when she wouldn’t be driving around or waiting for an hourly bus!) the map 🗺 inside this book shows an overview of all the areas around…

It was interesting to wander around the dark wooden panelled corridors of her house, see the little toy figurines in their cabinets, it all struck me as quite small and dark…. and tightly fitted, she would have to stoop down to cross the thresholds of many a doorway. But the solitude and tranquility suited her best, and that’s where I can relate!

Her ability to illustrate using watercolour her stories and antidotes of her woodland pets really are an inspiration and she never lost faith in the wonderful world she brought to life. Not only this but the stories showcase the best of the British countryside (I also started learning the theme song to the 90’s TV show on the piano- “Perfect Day” by Miriam Stockley) 🤓

In the end, she left her legacy to the National Trust after her death, including almost all the original illustrations of her books. Definitely a recommend to visit her home if you’re also a Potter fan like me! And since I owned most (but not quite all) her stories in their traditional white covered versions, this collection will definitely hold a special place in my heart! 🙂

My old and very faded portrait I’ve had since a young kid! ☝️

20,000 leagues under the sea

Having started “20,000 leagues under the sea”, watched “Aquaman”, “Jaws” & “Blue Planet-the deep” all in the space of 2 days ~ it’s no surprise when I started dreaming of being violently flung about on a boat swept by ominous looking black waves. 🌊

My phone was sliding around on deck, and I had just managed to catch it in one hand with triumph- only to discover my 2 companions were sinking under the tide (we were on our way to attend a party.) Needless to say, I arrived at the party without them… though I did give all my best efforts searching around, it turned into an affair like “The Great Gatsby”, they had different personas and were trying their best to evade me…

I’ve always been intrigued with creatures deep under the ocean. Their bulbous eyes and sharp teeth, their luminescent, transparent bodies, their spongy blob like exteriors… stuff out of nightmares…(which, I love calling up on the projector to show my students just to see their reaction!)

They say an iceberg is largely 3/4 under the surface. There are things below those tranquil waters that are beyond our imagination, and will still continue to lie unobserved.

So when the ‘Nautilus’ arrives and causes havoc in the seas around the world, it’s not hard that it could be mistaken for a narwhal or a cross between a whale/sea unicorn with its impenetrable exterior. It raises panic enough that the best captains rally and send forth a ship ready to capture, and, sadly slaughter this troublesome creature…Only to realise, it’s not a beast at all coming forth from the depths, but indeed a vessel, captained by none other than the infamous Captain Nemo. At this point our 3 protagonists have nothing else to do but sit, wait, and be carried along in an adventure like no other (since they’ve seen too much to be allowed to return home to dry land.) 🙄

Captain Nemo lets our guests into many secrets about the creation of his vessel (as surely it defies science), but we know this is only the beginning. If it’s anything like “5 weeks in a balloon”, I know that there will be no shortage of crazy events, the possible harpooning of sea spiders and giant squids, oxygen shortage, walking on the ocean bed and many, new discoveries.

And…if it’s anything like Dr Ferguson, Kennedy & faithful Joe- hanging onto the last trimmings of their damaged hot air balloon, shot at by arrows above enemy waters and praying to be saved~ we can only hope this Parisian professor & his friends get back safely (along with the unsuspecting sea creatures that cross their path!)

Oyster

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It is the yolk of a pearlescent oyster,

A Viennese swirl baked to a slow caramelisation;

It hurls itself over the broken edges of peaks, smashed like egg shells, sculpted in marble.

The cracked tiles of the village are doll houses in miniature,

you can cut the clouds with a knife, spread it on the plains like a dollop of thick cream.

Molten metal cannonballs shot in rose gold.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

 

~ Ink ~

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They swarm on the breath of a midnight shadow

glossy with the ink of stolen dreams.

Faster, towards a hurricane’s spinning wheel, faster-

draining the sky of its sapphire violet and dying sunset,

of fresh rain sliding down a windowpane.

As shredded paper, they settle on the hillside; paralysed.

Beautiful, stripped, like a shooting star.

Twinkling, as lost treasure under the ocean,

Arching in a slow cruise, their feathers burn to ash

and are taken.

Below, in fields the colour of squeezed limes, strawberries tremble in anticipation

until even the broken sky brushing their cheeks

~ matter no more.

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Copyright © 2016 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

‘My Ántonia’~ Book Review

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“The red of the grass made all the great prairie the colour of wine stains, or of certain seaweeds when they are first washed up. And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running.”

It recalls memories of the adventures of “Tom Sawyer”, Scarlet’s love of the land in “Gone with the Wind”, romantic tendencies towards philosophy in “The Great Gatsby” and a voice quite its own. For one, I really enjoyed the descriptions of nature, the vivid colours etched into your imagination of some place new, not yet experienced. A pocket into a time past.

On the edge of the prairie, where the sun had gone down, the sky was turquoise blue, like a lake, with gold light throbbing in it….the evening star hung like a lamp suspended by silver chains — like the lamp engraved up the title-page of old Latin texts, which is always appearing in new heavens and waking new desires in men.

There’s something about reading that makes creativity flow again, and I could well carry the images of the prairies with me as I went about my day. The plot mainly focuses on Ántonia, (My Ántonia) a Bohemian girl travelling to Nebraska with her family to escape poverty and build up the land from scratch- and the memories it affords to Jim Burden, orphaned at the age of 10. Though time passes and their lives are apart, he begins to write a journal of his childhood.

Time changes us all. We adapt and view things in different ways, ways which can give us some form of calm acceptance as we grow older. It’s true that one of the main aspects you miss about a place is it’s scenery and environment. Its overflowing nature, peace and greenery, solitude. The idea of leaving our modern lives behind, escape and live in a log cabin somewhere in the wilderness seems attractive and romantic. But the reality of the hardships Ántonia and her family have to face, immigrants from her native land- their struggle for survival is real.

“The older girls, who helped to break up the wild sod, learned so much from life, from poverty, from their mothers and grandmothers; they had all, like Antonia, been early awakened and made observant by coming at a tender age from an old country to a new.”

With any piece of writing, character development is by far one of the hardest – through speech or physical descriptions that need maintenance not just in introduction. Yet Willa Cather’s transition of Ántonia from child to adult captures her resilience, good nature, pure love for others and open, childlike wonder that sustains her as the yolk that brings all avenues of the story together.

Jim Burden’s devotion to Ántonia is remarkable in a way that transcends words. She represents to him his childhood days, his home, all the people that touched his life before he went away, memories that he has always cherished and carried with him. Their lives may have taken separate turns, but their collective memory is one that will always remain.  “…my mind plunged away from me, and I suddenly found myself thinking of the places and people of my own infinitesimal past.”

I will leave you with an extract – my particular favourite:

Of course it means you’re going away from us for good”, she said with a sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll lose you. Look at my papa here; he’s been dead all these years, and yet he is more real to me than almost anybody else… The older I grow,  the better I know and understand him…”

About us was growing darker and darker, and I had to look hard at her face, which I meant always to carry with me ; the closest, realest face, under all the shadow  of women’s faces, at the very bottom of my memory. “I’ll come back,” I said earnestly, through the soft, intrusive darkness.

“Perhaps you will-” I felt rather than saw her smile. “But even if you don’t, you’re here, like my father. So I won’t be lonesome.”

As I went back along over that familiar road, I could almost believe that a boy and girl ran along beside me, as our shadows used to do, laughing and whispering to each other in the grass. 

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A dedication

woodland watercolour

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The cottage has opened its doors to me,

of dreams long foretold,

of poppies and tiger lilies, violets three,

and memories dear to hold

*

The path is worn through tender days,

the seeds blossomed; overgrown,

through woods and bluebells I long to stay,

o’er moss fair winds have blown

*

She halts my quiet sighs,

bent down with grains of sorrow,

and beckons me forth on green fields lie,

Where none but Death can follow

*

Storms rage on in faraway lands

but close stillness and quiet roam

It comforts the voices of my consumed heart;

and tenderly guides me Home.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

song of solitude

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The whisper of mist, stealing over the land like dream’s breath,

o’er ruins, a fractured tooth on the rolling hillside,

discarded and forlorn as seasons pass.

Unto all stained in russet red, gold,

chasing an enduring reflection, for evermore.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Inspire

norway-photography-32__880You’re in every new song I hear

The whisper of mist that clings to my eyelashes

Every ocean that spreads its aquiline arms in offering

And the lights that flash across the midnight shadow

You are the force field that protects me –

Against the world.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

Abandon

It was the remnants of a chilly winter
on the cusp of spring,
the freighter ship glowed
a lonely rusty red.
I weaved my arm through yours
seeking warmth from coat sleeves
as it sunk into a darkness
of forbidden murky greens.
Benevolent acknowledgment of
the spirits of the ocean,
a petrified creature;
as the shrill cry of seagulls
wrestled the breath of the wind.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

~ February ~

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Northumberland, England

Rocks tumble over one another
like greasy sun soaked crabs.
Tender lapping waves
slip over their forms;
a distant echo
and through dying embers
clouds drag pale light
entombed in a blanket of mist.

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Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)

 This is part of a “Snapshots of a Year” series I am doing, each month I will write landscape-inspired poetry taken specifically from my 2015 calendar. Feel free to leave a comment below 🙂