July 5, 2013

Welcome back to our regular weekly offerings! 

Let’s see…what’s on deck today? Well, some David Herbert (duh!), a bit of patriotism, a disturbing bit of tragic Brooklyn history, and the continuing saga of Tom Jones!

 

The End, by D.H. Lawrence

Read by Xe Sands

Xe  writes…

Well, after the whirlwind of June is Audiobook Month (JIAM) and GOING PUBLIC…IN SHORTS, it’s been a quiet and blessed return to my own heart…with David Herbert.

As if you had any doubt.

Of COURSE it’s Lawrence. How could it not be? Where else is “home?” Who else owns my heart the way Lawrence does? Dunn? Pastan? Oh they own my soul and capture my poetic imagination, make me cry and often sum up my daily existence…and I have been flirting with Gilbert recently…but no, it is Lawrence who has owned, abused, neglected and yet always loved and most importantly, accepted, my poetic heart since we first we met in college.

And this piece…hmm. Yesterday, I would have said that I had never read it – that it had somehow slipped by me. But today, memory has shown itself for what it truly is: a series of educated guesses. And so I have to go with: I have not felt this poem before, and therefore had no prior memory of it.

…and before this gets so purple that you can no longer muddle through, I’ll end it there.

 

Excerpt from The Declaration of Independence 1776

Read by Diane Havens

Diane writes…

For Independence Day. The opening and closing paragraphs of the document that started it all.

 

A threefold poetic pronouncement from “Poems from Long Ago”, by Peter Davey

Read by Sonia Vilim

Sonia writes…

Recorded with permission of the author.

Where the Hens lived

At home the henhouse was
dry wood slatted; it stood
down among nettles
and some wild grasses but the hens’
wandering and foraging and scratching
somehow caused
the nettles and the grass to vanish
leaving bare earth; there was an iron
watercart, swaying, squeaking as it moved,
it sometimes
slopped over, if you filled the tank too full,
and soaked your legs. I loved how
that ground was not definable – it was not
meadow, it was not
garden, it was not
farmland, it was just
where the hens lived, out the back –
wire, warmth, dry earth
some scraps of groundsel
poking through the holes in iron sheets,
and murmuring and chortling, the sudden
fast fluttering of wings, and now and then
the cock crowing

Midsummer Night at Tynepits Cottage

Windows wide upon the whirring world
the curtain stirs
between the shadow-mouths of furniture
and shifting trees, between the brink of sleep
and forest-realms of badgers, foxes, owls;
the lapsing, rising breeze
deflects the nightjar, holds
one blackbird calling
in the deep wood; is the moon
vast, round, bronze beyond the maybug’s
fumbling, the distant line of downs
still visible from Great Oaks Wood?

Windmill Hill at Two in the Morning

Vast
silence
vast silver silence
two o’clock
the soaring firmament is mine
earth
belongs to owls and badgers
weasels, beetles, maggots;
boundaries are redefined
by tiny tracks and feeding grounds,
a single cry
denotes the forest humped against the night

vast
silence
Mars suspended out across the ocean
now the sky surrounds
this planet bearing all its life in whispers
stars are underneath the earth
and suddenly you sense its giant bulk,
its massive roundness,
how
it hangs with perfect buoyancy
in emptiness

Image: Where the Hens Lived by Peter Davey

 

The Burning Of The Brooklyn Theater (1876), Part 1

Read by Wyntner Woody

Wyntner  writes…

A reading of “The Burning of the Brooklyn Theater.”

WARNING: The graphic depiction of casualties from this conflagration may upset you.

For more information on this Brooklyn tragedy, please see: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Brooklyn_Theater_Fire

Further episodes to come.

Many excerpts from other works may be found here: Wyntner Woody, on Audible.com and at www.theateroftheear.com.

 

Tom Jones – Book 5, Chapter 3, by Henry Fielding

Read by Mark Turetsky

Mark  writes…

Book 5 Chapter 3 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.

So many twists and turns to this love triangle! Tom has just now remembered that he’s pledged to Molly Seagrim, and she’s carrying his child! Things are looking grim for Sophia and Tom’s relationship!

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