Showing posts with label history. Show all posts
Showing posts with label history. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Bits Of Inspiration ~ Lace

Lace, it has a violent history involving death, blindness and smuggling. It is hard for me to envision lace having such a dark past. I first became aware of it when I read the book, The Ruins of Lace by Iris Anthony. Frankly at the mention of lace my mind goes directly to my wedding dress.

There are no definite dates for its origin, but what we identify as lace came about in the early sixteenth century. There are several sources at this time which tell us that poor children were taught lacemaking in an attempt to make them self-supporting and in England their teacher was paid 2 pence for each child per week. A teacher would hold classes in a room of her cottage while she also supervised the more proficient in the production of saleable lace. In 1699 a child of six or seven could earn 1 shilling and 8 pence a week and a good adult 6 shillings and 6 pence. 
A working day at this time would have been from 6 am through to 7 or 8 pm and after dark, 4 lacemakers would be sat around a small table on which one candle would be burning. Between each lacemaker and the candle, a glass flask of water would magnify the light from the candle and focus it onto the lace pillow to illuminate a tiny part of the work. On fine summer days groups of women would work outside but on winter days it was a different matter. Open fires were not allowed because the smoke from them would discolour and dirty the lace, so clay or metal pots filled with hot coals would be positioned under the women's skirts to keep them warm. Unfortunately these hot coals could also set fire to the lacemakers clothing. Another way of keeping warm was to work in a room above a barn so that the warmth from the animals below heated the working room above. Many women and children actually went blind from making lace because of the poor lighting and hours they were forced to work.


Smuggling of lace was always a problem for the authorities and it was amazing the lengths people would go to indulge their passion for lace. It came into countries in coffins, wrapped around the corpses of expatriates, including an Archbishop of Westminster. In some cases, only the head, hands and feet of the deceased would be found in the coffin, the rest of the body had been discarded to make room for more lace. Some was wound around small pet dogs, which were swaddled in fur wraps in attempts to avoid detection. Another method was to hollow out loaves of bread and yet another was to bring it into the country with the smuggled brandy by the 'Gentlemen'. Rudyard Kipling wrote a poem called 'The Gentlemen, in which he mentioned 'Brandy for the Parson, Baccy for the clerk, Laces for a Lady, Letters for a spy', in the second verse and 'French dolls trimmed with Valenciennes lace' in the third. Penalties for smuggling were very heavy but the commodity was so valuable that many thought the risk well worth taking, even milady would smuggle lace into the country hidden in her muff.

Over the centuries, bodies on the battlefields of Europe were searched in the hope that valuable lace would be found and one writing suggested that the officers went into battle wearing lace because they wouldn't be seen dead without it.


So the challenge for today is to write about lace. You can choose to write about its dark side, a wedding dress, grandma’s table cloth, curtains, doilies, clothing, sensual references, etc. Please create an original piece for this challenge, add it to Mr. Linky and visit your fellow poets to read their lace inspired poetry.


Tuesday, June 25, 2013

A Toad's Favor(u)rite Poem

I found this challenge difficult, until I went downtown to the historic part of the city, I frequent.  I felt the spirits whisper to me and the connection I discovered stunned me.  I live close to Elizabeth City, NC.  Orville n' Wilbur Wright stayed in town before going to Kitty Hawk, for their first flight.  They also inspired the poet I want to share with you today.







 It all started the night I went to my daughter's boyfriend's graduation.  I sat there in the bleachers and Robert Frost's poem, A Road Not Taken, popped into my mind.  It was read at my graduation.   Later in the week,  Robert Frost's name surfaced again.  I took my daughter on an art date downtown.  I discovered there was an antique shop, in the former Southern Hotel.  This shop is inside the historic lobby.   It is steeped in history and charm.  The original staircase once lead to the rooms and a ballroom was on the fourth floor.  Still in existence is the original marble slab check in counter, the service elevator door and button, and the gorgeous checkered floors.  The ceiling has had some work, but you can see it is unique.



  I talked to the shop's owner about the history and yes Orville n' Wilbur Wright had been in these parts, in this hotel.  She said other names and I heard her mention Robert Frost.  I stopped on the way home to mail my butterfly art submission to a magazine and knew I had to do some research.  I discovered Robert was a  New Englander, like me.  He  had been here in this area, not just in the city, but on the Dismal Swamp.  I live near the Dismal Swamp State Park, which is in both North Carolina and Virginia. The swamp was part of the National Underground Railroad and considered a national treasure. How did he end up here, I wondered?

Elinor Miriam White and Robert Frost
 

He had proposed to his love, Elinor White we share the same initials. She was in college and said no. She wanted to finish her education before marriage, smart girl. He had written a poem for her called My Butterfly-I have goosebumps I just mailed my butterfly art-weird.  It was his first published poem.  She refused his proposal and he boarded a train-distraught and ended up in my neck of the woods.


My Butterfly

Precipitate in love,
Tossed, tangled, whirled and whirled above
like a limp rose-wreath in a fairy dance.
When that was, the soft mist
Of my regret hung not on all the land...


 A Line Storm Song

In the wood-world’s torn despair
Than now these numberless years the elves,
Although they are no less there:
All song of the woods is crushed like some
Wild, easily shattered rose...


       
Ghost House

I dwell with a strangely aching heart
In that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road
That has no dust-bath now for the toad
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;...

“Poet Robert Frost vanished into the Dismal Swamp, according to local legend, contemplating suicide. After imbibing at a local roadhouse, Frost changed his mind and was inspired to write his signature poem, The Road Less Traveled.”


            Later published as The Road Not Taken:


And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day! 
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back...


Elinor and Robert did get married in 1895! She finished college, he did not. 

 I discovered Robert Frost wrote a poem about Orville n' Wilbur years later. Their first flight was in Kill Devil Hills, but the record soaring one was in Kitty Hawk. Info here. 
There are 473 lines in his Kitty Hawk poem. I will share a few stanzas-no not my favorite poem.

Kitty Hawk


Kitty Hawk, O Kitty,
There was once a song,
Who knows but a great
Emblematic ditty,
I might well have sung
When I came here young
Out and down along
Sixty years ago...

 When the chance went by
For my Muse to fly
From this Runway Beach
As a figure of speech
In a flight of words,
Little I imagined
Men would treat this sky
Some day to a pageant
Like a thousand birds.
Neither you nor I
Ever thought to fly.
Oh, but fly we did,
Literally fly……

Robert Frost


And now my favorite poem: 

To the Thawing Wind

Come with rain, O loud Southwester!
 Bring the singer, bring the nester;
 Give the buried flower a dream;
 Make the settled snow-bank steam;
 Find the brown beneath the white;
 But whate'er you do to-night,
 Bathe my window, make it flow,
 Melt it as the ice will go;
 Melt the glass and leave the sticks
 Like a hermit's crucifix;
 Burst into my narrow stall;
 Swing the picture on the wall;
 Run the rattling pages o'er;
 Scatter poems on the floor;
 Turn the poet out of door.

Robert Frost

I love how Robert uses nature as a metaphor.   For me, this poem expresses the writing process. I feel the insight of how we as poets bring life to our words and make them breathe.  
Robert Frost:   " A poem aims for “a momentary stay against confusion.” It “begins in delight and ends in wisdom.”   ...“Like a piece of ice on a hot stove the poem must ride on its own melting.”  He stated the highest goal of the poet is— “to lodge a few poems where they will be hard to get rid of.”

For info about this poet check these sites:

The Figure A Poem Makes

Frost Bio

Frost Timeline