The Wednesday Corner with Uncle Tree

 It is my great pleasure to welcome Uncle Tree. He should feel quite at home here as he has great sympathy with roots and branches! The root of his post on the Wednesday Corner is his appreciation of the work of D.H. Lawrence – the branches of which, reach into Heaven itself. Many thanks, Uncle Tree aka Keith Alan Watson for being on the Plum Tree today. 

I’d like to thank Niamh for allowing me to share the spotlight with a man who taught me much, David Herbert Lawrence. I was 42 when D. H. and I first met up in the library. “Sons And Lovers” got us acquainted, and “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” kept us together for quite some time. I found it easy to admire his mastery oflanguage, his courage to face life, and his persistence in seeking peace whilst rocking the boat simultaneously! The Priest Of Love practiced a gospel that was foreign to my ears, and yet, familiar to my heart. He broke rules! He was fun! He was smart! So smart sometimes that it hurt to read his words, and feel his pain. But in between, he painted the world with such a magnificent sensuality! Enough to make you thirst for more Heaven here on Earth.

This thought is important to me, and I believe its something to keep in mind as long as we continue to live, love, and work: “I’ve yet to write my best poem.” Proof of this possibility is well-displayed with Mr. Lawrence’s “Shadows”, his last work before he passed away in 1930 at the tender age of 44. Listen to him! See the glimmering glimpses of hope that shine between his words and lines. And watch him start this oh-so serious piece with “And”. LoL Is that legal? Yes! Enjoy.

D.H. Lawrence and Frieda

“Shadows” by D.H. Lawrence 

And if tonight my soul may find her peace
in sleep, and sink in good oblivion,
and in the morning wake like a new-opened flower
then I have been dipped again in God, and new-created.

 

And if, as weeks go round, in the dark of the moon
my spirit darkens and goes out, and soft, strange gloom
pervades my movements and my thoughts and words
then I shall know that I am walking still
with God, we are close together now the moon’s in shadow.

 

And if, as autumn deepens and darkens
I feel the pain of falling leaves, and stems that break in storms
and trouble and dissolution and distress
and then the softness of deep shadows folding,
folding around my soul and spirit, around my lips
so sweet, like a swoon, or more like the drowse of a low, sad song
singing darker than the nightingale, on, on to the solstice
and the silence of short days, the silence of the year, the shadow,
then I shall know that my life is moving still
with the dark earth, and drenched
with the deep oblivion of earth’s lapse and renewal.

 

And if, in the changing phases of man’s life
I fall in sickness and in misery
my wrists seem broken and my heart seems dead
and strength is gone, and my life
is only the leavings of a life:

 

and still, among it all, snatches of lovely oblivion, and snatches of renewal
odd, wintry flowers upon the withered stem, yet new strange flowers
such as my life has not brought forth before, new blossoms of me –

 

then I must know that still
I am in the hands of the unknown God,
he is breaking me down to his own oblivion
to send me forth on a new morning, a new man.

About Dr Niamh

When I was a little girl (a very, very long time ago), I used to love learning new, really big words like ‘discombobulate’. As I grew, my love of words grew too, until I loved them so much, I could not stop writing them down. One day, as I was scribbling a particular word, a very peculiar thing happened. The word shouted at me, “Stop! Don’t put me there!” As you can imagine, I was shocked and nearly fell off my chair. When I recovered somewhat, I said to the word, “Could you stop shouting, please? I am not used to it.” Can you guess what happened next? No! I thought not. The word said, “I might be small, but I will misbehave if you do not use me properly. I will not tell the story you would like me to tell. I will say something entirely different!” I dropped my pen. I hoped that by dropping my pen, the word would stop talking. Alas! It did not. It carried on chitterchobbling, even after the ink had dried. I was in a pickle. I could not allow my words to run away with my story, now could I? I don’t know about you, but when this sort of thing happens, there is only one thing left to do if you prefer not to spend your time arguing. “Very well,” said I. “I will do as you ask if you will just be quiet and allow me to concentrate.” Since that day, I have been paying special attention to every word I invite into my stories. After all, a story should say exactly what it means to say and not be led astray. With love from Dr. Niamh, Ph.D in Learning Through The Imagination and Founder of Dr Niamh Children's Books. www.drniamhchildrensbooks.com

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