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Family Ties VIII: Generations

November 9, 2010
Family Ties VIII: Generations

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3 Comments

  • Reply
    acarolegrant
    November 10, 2010 at 4:59 am

    Cameo and lace
    Stitching shows the past still lives
    Beauty at its best.

    Gorgeous Lyric! and I love doing the Haiku…

  • Reply
    Vivika
    November 9, 2010 at 1:12 pm

    I love this series, Lyric. Bravo! And as an English Major (25 years ago…) it made me think about all of that lovely poetry I studied. The best fit I can think of is your "knitted" piece being paired with Pablo Neruda's "Ode to my Socks". I am not sure if copyright has expired – probably hasn't, but if you site the author and translator, you'd probably have no problem. The poem is too large to attach to this comment, but if you can't get it, email me and I'll send an attachment.
    vdenegre(at)yahoo(dot)com

    last stanza…
    The moral of my ode is this:
    beauty is twice beauty
    and what is good is doubly good
    when it is a matter of two socks
    made of wool in winter.

  • Reply
    Vivika
    November 9, 2010 at 1:11 pm

    I love this series, Lyric. Bravo! And as an English Major (25 years ago…) it made me think about all of that lovely poetry I studied. The best fit I can think of is your "knitted" piece being paired with Pablo Neruda's "Ode to my Socks". I am not sure if copyright has expired – probably hasn't, but if you site the author and translator, you'd probably have no problem. I'll try to add the copy to this comment, but if you can't get it, email me and I'll send an attachment.
    vdenegre(at)yahoo(dot)com "Ode to My Socks" by Pablo Neruda (translated by Robert Bly)
    Mara Mori brought me
    a pair of socks
    which she knitted herself
    with her sheepherder's hands,
    two socks as soft as rabbits.
    I slipped my feet into them
    as if they were two cases
    knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin,
    Violent socks,
    my feet were two fish made of wool,
    two long sharks
    sea blue, shot through
    by one golden thread,
    two immense blackbirds,
    two cannons,
    my feet were honored in this way
    by these heavenly socks.
    They were so handsome for the first time
    my feet seemed to me unacceptable
    like two decrepit firemen,
    firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
    of those glowing socks.

    Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
    to save them somewhere as schoolboys
    keep fireflies,
    as learned men collect
    sacred texts,
    I resisted the mad impulse to put them
    in a golden cage and each day give them
    birdseed and pieces of pink melon.
    Like explorers in the jungle
    who hand over the very rare green deer
    to the spit and eat it with remorse,
    I stretched out my feet and pulled on
    the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

    The moral of my ode is this:
    beauty is twice beauty
    and what is good is doubly good
    when it is a matter of two socks
    made of wool in winter.

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