We’re turning from the horrors of the world to that which reminds us that there is more here…
Read by Xe Sands
In times of such horror, I have to remind myself that there is still joy in the world. I find that when everything seems to have gone to hell in a handbasket – when in fact we’re all starting to secretly harbor thoughts that perhaps the Mayans got it right – it soothes my soul to find sources of amusement, little reminders that we are more than the sum of our personal or global tragedies.
Enter this week’s Going Public, which is lovingly offered as pure amusement from author Peter Davey (with my apologies to dear Peter for my not brilliant attempt at a British accent…I just couldn’t bear to say “arse” and “paracetamol” without one!).
All rights reserved by the author.
A short poem triptych from “LUNAR ECLIPSE” by Peter Davey, expressing the author´s sensations and deep connection to nature and surroundings which have been sharpening his intuitive capacities of writing (recorded with permission of the author).
1. Dawn after Snow 2. Dead Bird 3. In the Shelter of the Firs
Dawn after Snow
dignified by pale light
a burd chirping very softly
on a neighbour´s lawn
from the vanished path
tips, stumps of things
beyond the window
to be discovered
by the cold
Death is so quiet here
at the field´s edge
so dignified and unforgiven, far
from human life and human stare
In The Shelter of the Firs
In the shelter of the firs
a hiss of seas ascending into waves
rough wood and cones and needles
sliding on the sky
burnishing of sun
Image: Studies of Rainclouds by Peter Davey
This Compost, by Walt Whitman
Read by Diane Havens
I love Walt Whitman. He can write a poem about composting and make it beautiful. The earth takes death and feeds new life.
Tobin’s Palm,” by O. Henry
Read by Mark Turetsky
Book 4 Chapter 7 of Tom Jones.
This is part of an ongoing project in which I will record and post one chapter per week of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones over the course of four years.
Once again, Fielding buries the lede in this brief chapter. It starts off with a rather plain admission that Molly Seagrim is now pregnant! But then almost immediately ignores this fact in order to discourse about how her mother intends to hide the fact by having her wear Sophia’s cast-offs to church that week. This, of course, leads to Molly showing vanity and pride in the sack that she’s wearing (note: sack just means a dress, in this case).
Fielding then goes on to discuss how the gentry don’t have a monopoly on vice, that you can find instances of every kind of person in every class of people.