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courtesy of Evi Christodoulou
Poetry, which C.S. Lewis says is impossible to define, is “the unique linguistic instrument”1 our minds have to order their thoughts, emotions and desires.” But poetry works so secretly and so insensibly that it is very difficult to trace the tracks it makes, the flowers that burst into blossom on its path or the lobes of balance it composes when old worlds are dieing and new ones are being formed, as they are so pervasively in our time. However secretly poetry works, these lobes of balance that I create possess an internal harmony and order derived from things unseen and from the sweetness of imperishable fragrances which I have long inhaled during the years of my life, especially during days of trying and testing when life was far from sweet..–Ron Price with thanks to 1I.A. Richards, Practical Criticism, 1929.
I’m trying to record and order my
reactions to life, my amazement
and wonder in a way that I can
not possibly do any other way
that poetically in a garden of words.
It’s just some lively feelings, life,
situations and ideas I yearn,
struggle passionately to express
and which I feel acutely and abundantly,1
some deeper birth in solitude. A passive
quality, trained sensitiveness, imagination’s
child operating as it does on the streaming
chaos of impressions through which I hourly
move and have my being here. There’s a cultivation
of the private in the midst of an immense world
of public entertainment, vulgarization–the world’s
and mine–sin and abyss, a fragmentation and a
unity with confusions and disparities transcended
in this locus of expression–the poem: mine and this
garden, yes, this garden of immense beauty and peace.
1
Ron Price
7 January 2002
(updated for flowers,forum.com 22/4/’08)
Walter de la Mare, ‘Dream and Imagination,’ Behold the Dreamer, 1939.
Flowers are so beautiful. And no one knows more about flowers and flower arrangements than a florist. Visit dallas flowers
This florist is amazing and definitely knows what he’s doing! He can create specialty arrangements. irving flower arrangements can be found here.
Thanks, Krystal. If I ever need flowers sent to friends or relatives in the USA I will keep this in mind.-Ron Price, Tasmania
THE EARLY BUDS ARE OUT
If this unearthly Love has power to make
my life immortal and to shake ambition
into some fitting portal where I brim
my measure of contentment and with merest whim
search, poorly, after fame, then ‘tis a Love
that I shall keep ‘til the call from above-
and then…-With thanks to John Keats, Endymion, lines 843-47.
These things of beauty will be joys forever
and their loveliness will increase far down
the centuries and ages. Eras will not see these
wonders pass into nothingness. Dreams and
quiet places sweet and still will fill these
marbled-flower gardens binding us to
primal points of holy seat made for our searching.
Such beauty moves us far beyond incipient sadness;
takes this young sprouting freshness canalized
in energy-lamps everywhere in the vineyard.
Such grandeur cools in the hot season and
sprinkles our air with musk-rose blooms,
strengthening our loins in submissive worship.
And such wonder, too, for and with the dead
who have entered the garden of happiness
and now circle ‘round us in mystic intercourse.
It is all so dear, now, all that circles here;
even the moon which haunts then cheers as light
and seems to bind our very souls clear and tight.
This place, I prefer it have no name, its music
brings a joy to valley, mountain, plain.
The early buds are out now, milk in pails
is coming down the lane while lush juicy
fruits are being brought in by sail
in little boats-I’ve got one-I steer
in many quiet hours down deeper streams
where I hear bees hum in globes of clover.
Autumn brings its universal tinge of sober gold
to this world on mountain side wherein I hold
such thought that can only be described as bliss.
The trumpets have already blown and, now, my path
is dressed in green, in flowers, indeed a marble bath.
Those assembled ‘round the shrines had looks of veneration,
‘twould be here for many years to come, each generation
would have its awed face, companions in a mountain chase.
I therefore reveal unto thee sacred and resplendent tokens
from the planes of glory to attract thee into the court of
holiness and nearness and beauty, and draw thee to a station…
And I had been drawn into gardens of such fruit, such orient lights.
For here is the heavenly abode in the Centre of earthly realities
and here I am, as if led by some midnight spirit nurse of
happy changes toward some magic sleep, toward some
soaring bird easing upward over the troubled sea of man.
The words found here sound a strange minstrelsy, have
tumbling waves in echoing caves: a silvery enchantment
is to be found in this mazy world with its new song,
its upfurled wings which renovate our lives. Try them!
You may open your eyelids with a healthier brain.
Some influence rare goes spiritual through this Damsel’s hand;
it runs quick, invisible strings all over the land.
Ron Price
26 May 1995
(For Flowers Forum
5/11/08)
I tried to edit the aboveprose-poem into a more visually friendly form, but was unable to do so.-Ron price, Tasmania
Hi Ron,
If you need any help with the blog please let me know ;-)
How does one edit a post?-Ron
I’ll PM you, and be happy to explain anything you might want to know about the blog.