Showing results by narrator "Ghizela Rowe" in All Categories

Night. The day has gone. Departed. And the dark embrace, the inky shadows of night descend. For many a time to unwind and slumber. For some a nagging doubt that all is not well. That some primeval and primordial happening may yet go bump in the night. But for our poets the night is a time of wonder and imagination as well as many other emotions and feelings. Among our ranks of gloried talents are Keats, Coleridge, William Morris, DH Lawrence, Whitman, Longfellow and many more besides. Their descriptions capture what they see and feel as perhaps only a poet can.

For much of history women have been seen rather than heard. Their thoughts, their views, have lain too long in the shadows of our culture. Whilst this traditional view has some merit it is not entirely accurate. Here, gathered together in these volumes, we can, through their words, experience their lives; we can hear their voices, their thoughts, joys, loves and losses. For the female poet there was always the confining hand of men to instruct that their time was perhaps spent more productively elsewhere.

For the female poet there was always the confining hand of men to instruct that their time was perhaps spent more productively elsewhere. These lines, these gilded verses often protest otherwise. The contribution of women in these earlier centuries is immense, and in this series we bring together poets who have created some of the most beautiful and expressive verses ever written. And remember these words, these telling lines, have been written against the grain of society's male bias. With their remembered words these female poets have given us a history that we can all now share.

For much of history women have been seen rather than heard. Their thoughts, their views have lain too long in the shadows of our culture. Whilst this traditional view has some merit, it is not entirely accurate. Here, gathered together in these volumes, we can, through their words, experience their lives; we can hear their voices, their thoughts, joys, loves and losses. For the female poet there was always the confining hand of men to instruct that their time was perhaps spent more productively elsewhere. These lines, these gilded verses, often protest otherwise.

In this volume we gather together verse from lesbian poets that is deeply personal and at times overwhelming. It is not just a search for physical love but a journey through the spiritual to completeness, to becoming whole. However we recognise that the label lesbian might be anachronistic and so also include those who stand by their sides or who have a view in verse that helps us to revel in their love. For in the end that is all our journey is about.

Robert Laurence Binyon, CH, was born on 10th August 1869 in Lancaster in Lancashire, England, to Quaker parents, Frederick Binyon and Mary Dockray. He studied at St Paul's School, London, before enrolling at Trinity College, Oxford, to read classics. Binyon’s first published work was Persephone in 1890. As a poet, his output was not prodigious, and, in the main, the volumes he did publish were slim, but his reputation was of the highest order. When the Poet Laureate, Alfred Austin, died in 1913, Binyon was considered alongside Thomas Hardy and Rudyard Kipling....

Hugh John Lofting was born in Maidenhead, Berkshire, on January 14th, 1886 to English and Irish parents. Lofting was initially educated at Mount St Mary’s College in Spinkhill, Derbyshire, a Jesuit boarding school, from the age of eight. By 1905, at age 18, he was to study abroad, taking classes in civil engineering at the esteemed Massachusetts Institute of Technology (MIT) in the USA. Thereafter he embarked on a quest to travel widely before settling down to write of his adventures.

Night. The day has gone. Departed. And the dark embrace, the inky shadows of night descend. For many a time to unwind and slumber. For some a nagging doubt that all is not well. That some primeval and primordial happening may yet go bump in the night. But for our poets the night is a time of wonder and imagination as well as many other emotions and feelings. Among our ranks of gloried talents are Keats, Coleridge, William Morris, DH Lawrence, Whitman, Longfellow and many more besides. Their descriptions capture what they see and feel as perhaps only a poet can.

The Graveyard Poets, also known as 'Churchyard Poets' or 'the Boneyard Boys' began in pre-Romantic days with a leaning towards gloom, melancholy and the general decay of churchyards. It should be remembered that in the 18th century city graveyards were a teeming mass of overcrowding and disease, their country brethren better but hardly idylls of worship. What would eventually lead to the Gothic literary genre began, in the main, with reflections by Christian clergymen upon God, mortality and the assumed afterlife.

Whilst this given name and the poets included can seem at first glance broad and unmanageable, the name both historically and artistically is a near perfect fit. Those poets that pledged support to Charles I, a connoisseur and patron of fine arts, were in the main courtiers or closely aligned. Among their number were Robert Herrick, Richard Lovelace, Thomas Carew and Sir John Suckling. These poets shied away from verse on religion or philosophy but mused instead on love, joy and simpler things, very much living for the ‘now’.

Milton was to now publish his greatest works, which had been gestating for many years. Paradise Lost, perhaps the classic English epic poem was originally published in 10 books in 1667. This was followed by Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes in 1671. Because of his anti-monarchy views their reception was muted, but over the centuries since, Milton has established himself as second only to Shakespeare. He died of kidney failure on November 8th, 1674, and was buried in the church of St Giles Cripplegate.

Mary Cholmondeley was born in Hodnet near Market Drayton in Shropshire on June 8th 1859, the third of eight children. Her father was appointed rector in 1874 in succession to his father. Much of the first 30 years of her life was taken up with helping her sickly mother run the household and her father with his parish work and mitigating the effects of her asthma. Mary began writing in her teens. She wrote in her journal in 1877, 'What a pleasure and interest it would be to me in life to write books.'

Art. The greatest standard bearer of what the human condition really is? Or emperor’s clothes, cheap gimmicks displayed as all-knowing? When it comes to writing we have our favourite authors. But what of the authors themselves? What are they keen to write of? For our classic authors, from Poe to Lovecraft, from Woolf to Fitzgerald, art in their words is something to be admired. From many angles, many views, their stories, their characters interact with art, and the consequences fall as they may.

Israel Zangwill was born in London on 21st January 1864, to a family of Jewish immigrants from the Russian Empire. His writing earned him the sobriquet ‘the Dickens of the Ghetto’ primarily based on his much-lauded novel Children of the Ghetto: A Study of a Peculiar People in 1892 and its glimpse of the poverty-stricken life in London's Jewish quarter.

The human race prides itself on being the most organised of animals. We manage the fate of all other species. All other animals bow to our control or suffer. In diminishing numbers we allow some to live in the wild, but in increasing numbers we domesticate them, and whether they become part of the family, a best friend or a wonderfully decorative accessory, we take their compliance for granted.

We love control. The ability to predict and organise our lives as we want them. As we desire them. It’s quite a shock, then, when phantoms, ghouls and ghosts play their part, too. They don’t play by our rules. Our welfare is not their concern. They will do as they wish. And they have very vivid imaginations - way beyond the dictionary definition: Phantom. Noun. Something apparently seen, heard or sensed but having no physical reality. An image that appears only in the mind; an illusion. A model, especially a transparent one, of the human body or of any of its parts.

Our greatest fears are of the unknown. Usually we think those fears are in front of us...or behind us. But perhaps the human body itself holds the greatest horror. What happens after death? Do our bodies have a new existence either in whole...or part? Will others seek to claim them and do unspeakable things? We don’t know. But our authors do. And they have the talents and wits to make these diabolical stories vehicles for horror, for terror, for the unimaginable....

Scotland’s official national day is St Andrew's Day, the feast day of Saint Andrew. In the Bible it is Andrew who introduces his brother Peter to Jesus as the Messiah. As well as Scotland he is also the patron saint of the likes of Russia, Greece, the Ukraine, and Barbados. It is thought that the day was first celebrated over a thousand years ago in the reign of Malcolm III (1034-1093).

The United States has July 4th, Ireland St Patrick’s Day and France Bastille Day. Most Nations celebrate a particular day as ‘theirs’. That day is when they turn to themselves; to reflect on the past, to revel in the present and to look forward to the future. For England 23rd April is St George’s Day. St George, a hero from bygone days, who slays dragons and pursues other mythic deeds, is part of childhood. But for modern times, for modern nations, a greater purpose is needed. For England St George is best now described as a principle.

Adelaide Anne Procter was born on 30th October, 1825 at 25 Bedford Square in the Bloomsbury district of London. Her literary career began whilst still a teenager. Many of her poems were published by the great Charles Dickens in his periodicals Household Words and All the Year Round before being later published in book form.