Greetings, Poetry Lovers!
I've been burning the midnight oil, what with December upon us. TODAY - or, tonight, rather - is "Night on the Town" - probably the biggest street party of the year in Beaufort. My studio will be open, of course, with a very special guest signing books - my dear friend and partner in Victorian mischief Kim Poovey.
Why will Kim grace my shop with her presence in one of her signature HANDMADE and authentic Victorian gowns? Earlier this year she gave me no choice but to illustrate the cover of her wonderful new book project, DICKENS' MICE. (I had a blast and burned the midnight oil then, too.) One of these days I'll scare up a proper post on my art blog about it!
You can learn more about the oh-so-clever story here. I'll give you a hint: our good friend Mr. Dickens was in need of some inspiration on a certain Christmas Eve, and it came in the form of some wee little personages with twitchy noses and jaunty tails. (I'll be buying some copies to give as gifts, myself - it's an enchanting tale! Something between a short story and a novella. And there are some other tasty story bits in the volume, too!) Discover more about Kim's literary and historical adventures at her website.
In honor of our festive Friday evening, here is a poem by said Mr. Dickens.
The Ivy Green
By Charles Dickens
Oh, a dainty plant is the Ivy green,
That creepeth o'er ruins old!
Of right choice food are his meals, I ween,
In his cell so lone and cold.
The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,
To pleasure his dainty whim:
And the mouldering dust that years have made
Is a merry meal for him.
Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Fast he stealeth on, though he wears no wings,
And a staunch old heart has he.
How closely he twineth, how tight he clings,
To his friend the huge Oak Tree!
And slily he traileth along the ground,
And his leaves he gently waves,
As he joyously hugs and crawleth round
The rich mould of dead men's graves.
Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,
And nations have scattered been;
But the stout old Ivy shall never fade,
From its hale and hearty green.
The brave old plant, in its lonely days,
Shall fatten upon the past:
For the stateliest building man can raise,
Is the Ivy's food at last.
Creeping on, where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.
I found the poem here at The Poetry Foundation, and the biographical entry on Charles Dickens is here.
Did you know Charles Dickens wrote some poetry?
Confession: I did not. But I was delighted to discover this gem, and somehow it suits the historical meanderings that Kim and I can find ourselves in.
Must go - I've not yet finished the jewelry I promised Kim for the evening! (The artsyletters elves are still quite busy, and they promise a "new bookmarks bonanza" all next week!)
Enjoy all the great poetry Liz Steinglass is rounding up for us this week - and the Facebook elves recently revealed a publication date for her upcoming poetry book for young readers from Wordsong! (I've been waiting for this one - even though I don't know much about soccer. But I know Liz and her stellar writing.) :0)