S.D. Crockett's Blog

September 23, 2014

Struwwelpeter

Aah, fond childhood memories...naturally, I don't suck my thumbs...










































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Published on September 23, 2014 12:39 • 37 views

September 20, 2014

Rainer Maria Rilke. 
Some kind of communion...

Letter 8; Letters to a Young Poet.

 "I want to talk to you again for a little while, dear Mr. Kappus, although there is almost nothing I can say that will help you, and I can hardly find one useful word. You have had many sadnesses, large ones, which passed. And you say that even this passing was difficult and upsetting for you. But please, ask yourself whether these large sadnesses haven't rather gone right through you. Perhaps many things inside you have been transformed; perhaps somewhere, someplace deep inside your being, you have undergone important changes while you were sad. The only sadnesses that are dangerous and unhealthy are the ones that we carry around in public in order to drown them out with the noise; like diseases that are treated superficially and foolishly, they just withdraw and after a short interval break out again all the more terribly; and gather inside us and are life, are life that is unlived, rejected, lost, life that we can die of. If only it were possible for us to see farther than our knowledge reaches, and even a little beyond the outworks of our presentiment, perhaps we would bear our sadnesses with greater trust than we have in our joys. For they are the moments when something new has entered us, something unknown; our feelings grow mute in shy embarrassment, everything in us withdraws, a silence arises, and the new experience, which no one knows, stands in the midst of it all and says nothing..."

Full text here 











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Published on September 20, 2014 12:25 • 16 views

September 18, 2014

WB Yeats. 

Leda and the Swan













"A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.

Being so caught up,

So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?"




Free Copy of One Crow Alone for the first person to tell me which Yeats poem Robin Blake recites to Willo in After The Snow...
You can't say I'm not generous.












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Published on September 18, 2014 01:41 • 15 views

September 17, 2014

After The Snow - Hungarian edition...







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Published on September 17, 2014 02:27 • 12 views

September 15, 2014

Nature Connection.... by Dan Crockett

Hoping this will not be my connection to nature in coming months...

"Something is amiss and we can't quite put our finger on what. It seems that the further our society progresses, the more disenfranchised we feel. The hyper-connectivity of social media (which has its own potential) leaves us cold and over-informed, saturated with unwanted information and more aware than ever of the injustices of the world..."

Read the full article here...

Dan Crockett - Huff Post

check him out here...
Daniel Crockett 






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Published on September 15, 2014 11:15 • 16 views

September 4, 2014

POLLY'S BIRTHDAY...


A year ago today, Polly arrived in the village.  One tin of sardines later, and she was on the sofa...




















The Twa Dogs  (excerpt)
by Robert Burns.


He was a gash an' faithfu' tyke,
As ever lap a sheugh or dyke.
His honest, sonsie, baws'nt face
Aye gat him friends in ilka place;
His breast was white, his touzie back
Weel clad wi' coat o' glossy black;
His gawsie tail, wi' upward curl,
Hung owre his hurdie's wi' a swirl...  Add caption
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Published on September 04, 2014 00:45 • 12 views

August 28, 2014

BUDGE
New inmate and one day friend. 


           They Flee From MeBy Sir Thomas Wyatt.

 
They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.
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Published on August 28, 2014 13:30 • 12 views
BUDGE
New inmate and one day friend. 

           They Flee From MeBy Sir Thomas Wyatt.

 
They flee from me that sometime did me seek With naked foot, stalking in my chamber. I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek, That now are wild and do not remember That sometime they put themself in danger To take bread at my hand; and now they range, Busily seeking with a continual change.
Thanked be fortune it hath been otherwise Twenty times better; but once in special, In thin array after a pleasant guise, When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall, And she me caught in her arms long and small; Therewithall sweetly did me kiss And softly said, “Dear heart, how like you this?”
It was no dream: I lay broad waking. But all is turned thorough my gentleness Into a strange fashion of forsaking; And I have leave to go of her goodness, And she also, to use newfangleness. But since that I so kindly am served I would fain know what she hath deserved.
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Published on August 28, 2014 13:30 • 24 views

August 23, 2014

Chess and end of another summer


Working through the  opening moves.  The theory is to hold the middle ground....but 5 hours later and after negotiations...










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Published on August 23, 2014 05:13 • 36 views

August 21, 2014

A Murder of Crowfound an old card of the woman I painted who inspired the poem....

(excerpt)
"So Crow did preen his cloak so dark And Swift to river he embarked, And with a gentle caw he spoke, With love, like mirrors, glinting smoke But could not lie when gazing on That wondrous fair and gentle swan. He hopped ungainly ‘mongst the sedge, To make it known his lover's pledge: “I love you Swan,” that brave Crow said. And she did modest, dip her head. Fair swan looked up with glassy eye And gave a light and gentle sigh: 'You’ll show your love if you come in.' 'But Swan,' said Crow,  'I cannot swim -' "
And now... A Murder of Crow finally printed....

Also, One Crow Alone has been shortlisted for The Sheffield Children's Book Award...


A bright and good day.






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Published on August 21, 2014 10:39 • 32 views

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