tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post3022959074585231064..comments2024-03-23T20:37:37.891-07:00Comments on First Known When Lost: Life Explained, Part Thirteen: "Leaving Town"Stephen Pentzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-79318197804122829192011-02-18T11:12:15.677-08:002011-02-18T11:12:15.677-08:00From My Easy Chair: as always, thank you for dropp...From My Easy Chair: as always, thank you for dropping by, and for the kind words. Yes, 'fictions of our own despair' is a lovely phrase, isn't it?Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-16639036828816545512011-02-18T11:08:20.577-08:002011-02-18T11:08:20.577-08:00zmkc: Do you find the sound jarring, or the sense?...zmkc: Do you find the sound jarring, or the sense? (Or both?) I confess that, as an American, I didn't know what a 'jug-and-bottle' was when I first read the poem -- although I surmised that it was a liquor store or bar of some sort. At the time of my first reading, the Internet didn't exist, so I made my way to a library to track the phrase town. I discovered that a 'jug-and-bottle' is (correct me if I am wrong) a separate part of a pub where one can buy spirits for consumption off-site.<br /><br />Having said all that, is there perhaps some other connotation to 'jug-and-bottle' that this colonial has missed?Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-58877206258222780422011-02-18T10:57:19.323-08:002011-02-18T10:57:19.323-08:00Mr Lancaster: thank you very much for visiting aga...Mr Lancaster: thank you very much for visiting again. And thank you as well for the link to Edward Thomas's 'Leaving Town.' I agree about the poetic quality of Thomas's prose -- I sometimes get a bit irked when I see his prose referred to as 'hack' work or 'Grub Street' work, which is often seen in criticism of his work. I, like you, believe that his prose is valuable in itself.<br /><br />That being said, I can't help but remark -- and I am certain that you have noticed this as well -- the passage that you quote is quite reminiscent of his poems 'Rain' and 'It Rains.' The Thomas melancholy, I suppose. (Although I would not want to over-stress his melancholy -- there is more to him than that).<br /><br />As always, thank you for your thoughtful comments.<br /><br />On another note: thank you for all of your work in building and updating the Ivor Gurney website. I urge any interested readers to visit the site, which is wonderful. A link to Mr Lancaster's site is included in my list of blogs, and from his site, you may reach the Gurney site.Stephen Pentzhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14882220887712092005noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-50343712123618671642011-02-18T08:37:49.555-08:002011-02-18T08:37:49.555-08:00I love the simile, "like fictions of our own ...I love the simile, "like fictions of our own despair" as well as yours, "Like Dante in an industrial park." Lovely artwork also.From My Easy Chairhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09997508927018221157noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-53666177607275261942011-02-17T12:10:37.979-08:002011-02-17T12:10:37.979-08:00I like that very much, except for the second last ...I like that very much, except for the second last line, which somehow jars (no pun re jugs intended). Do you notice that, or is it just me being irrational?zmkchttps://www.blogger.com/profile/08972549292961948240noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5010170380967519230.post-71426929631146694402011-02-17T04:04:37.869-08:002011-02-17T04:04:37.869-08:00The title of the poem reminds me of my favourite p...The title of the poem reminds me of my favourite passage in Edward Thomas - part of a more successful attempt to leave the town behind. The first part of 'The Heart of England' is titled 'Leaving Town'. As Thomas leaves an inn, en route out of town, he writes: <br /><br />'I felt a kind of exalted and almost cheerful gloom as I stepped out and saw that it was raining and would go on raining. O exultation of the sorrowing heart when nature also seems to be sorrowing! What strange merriment is this which the dejected mind and the wind in the trees are making together! What high lavolt of the shuffling heels of despair! As two lovers wounded and derided will make of their complainings one true joy that triumphs, so will the concealing rain and the painful mind.'<br /><br />This is my desert island book, which contains as much poetry as his true poetry does. It is available online at http://openlibrary.org/.Philip Lancasterhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/17457417552041307923noreply@blogger.com