Sunday, October 14, 2007
The Great Lover
Ellen emailed me and offered to send me a tiny book she made. "I know you scrapbook, and I thought you'd be interested," she wrote.
(You know Ellen, she's one half of the dynamic Monica Ferris and Ellen duo, those intrepid travelers who visited Thailand.)
Of course, I was interested. In fact, I was delighted and honored she thought of me. A few days later, I opened a padded mailing envelope. My jaw dropped. "Wow," I said, over and over. "Look at this," I shared the lovely tiny item with my son and a female friend of his.
They said, "Wow." (You know, teenagers are hard to impress. But Ellen's work did exactly that.)
I carried the little book lovingly downstairs to my office. I held it, turned it over, enjoyed both sides, and stared. The gorgeous miniature piece gives me a giant case of scrapper's block. What ever could I put inside it to be worthy? There are 16 pages, which yields 32 surfaces. What could I put on these to do justice to the workmanship?
I've mulled it over. There's only one subject worthy of this lovely, handmade piece: I'll scrapbook my favorite things.
I'll use my favorite poem as a springboard:
The Great Lover
by Rupert Brooke
These I have loved:
White plates and cups, clean-gleaming,
Ringed with blue lines; and feather faery dust;
Wet roofs, beneath the lamp-light; the strong crust
Of friendly bread; and many-tasting food;
Rainbows; and the blue bitter smoke of wood;
And radiant raindrops couching in cool flowers;
And flowers themselves, that sway through sunny hours;
Dreaming of moths that drink them under the moon;
The, the cool kindliness of sheets, that soon
Smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss
Of blankets; grainy wood; live hair that is
Shining and Free; blue massing clouds; the keen
Unpassioned beauty of a great machine;
The benison of hot water; furs to touch
The good smell of old clothes; and other such--
The comfortable smell of friendly fingers,
Hair's fragrance, and the musty reek that lingers
About dead leaves and last year's ferns. . .
And thousand other throng to me! Royal flames;
Sweet water's dimpling laugh from tap or spring;
Holes in the ground; and voice that do sing;
Voices in laughter, too; and bodies' pain.
Soon turned to peace; and the deep-panting train;
Firm sands; the little dulling edge of foam
That browns and dwindles as the wave goes home...
All these have been my loves.
Tell me...do you love this poem as much as I do? I'm eager to hear your reaction.