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Tag Archives: Rudyard Kipling

Enter a Kite – snoring

30 Tuesday Jun 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Books, Things

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librarian, Life's Handicap, not a book club, Reading aloud, Rudyard Kipling, The City of Dreadful Night

sleeping-raven-vector-isolated-white-48588759A couple of weeks ago we had the last meeting of Ad Alta Voce, our not-quite-book-club, before parting company for the summer. There were some ten of us, including The Librarian.

Now, you see, The Librarian is a rather rotund, more than middle-aged, yellow-haired lady who Is There Because She Is There. Don’t ask – it’s all very Italian.

The Librarian is also a rather peculiar character and used to dislike Ad Alta Voce quite a bit. For the first year and a half or so, she would grumpily let us in and then sit at her desk or prowl the (very tiny) library, making us jump at intervals by muttering to herself behind the shelves. And it was clear all along that what she muttered about was why, oh why couldn’t we read in our sitting rooms instead of forcing her to work night hours… Continue reading →

Mistakes under the Deodars

30 Saturday May 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Things

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Kipling Year, Rudyard Kipling, Under the Deodars

I-never-made-a-mistake

Another piece of K-wisdom… Yes, well perhaps “wisdom” isn’t quite the word – but frankly, I yearn for the chance of saying this to someone – pausing just so at the semi-column. Continue reading →

The Playmate and the Eiderdown

28 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Books

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Limits and Renewals, poems, Rudyard Kipling, Short Stories

A poem of Kipling’s. It goes with the story “Aunt Ellen”, from the 1932 collection quiltLimits and Renewals.

SHE is not Folly — that I know.
Her steadfast eyelids tell me so
When, at the hour the lights divide.
She steals as summonsed to my side.

When, finger on the pursèd lip;
In secret, mirthful fellowship
She, heralding new framed delights.
Breathes, ‘This shall be a Night of Nights!’

Then out of Time and out of Space.
Is built an Hour and a Place
Where all an earnest, baffled Earth
Blunders and trips to make us mirth;

Where, from the trivial flux of Things.
Rise unconceived miscarryings
Outrageous but immortal, shown.
Of Her great love, to me alone . . .

She is not Wisdom but, may be.
Wiser than all the Norms is She
And more than Wisdom I prefer
To wait on Her — to wait on Her!

Quite who “she” is, is open to debate. I have always liked to see in this charming lady either an imaginary companion or a child’s quirky and playful imagination…

Anyway, here you can find the story – and it is of the laugh-out-loud variety. One has to wonder at the sharp contrast with another, similarly named aunt, Helen Turrell, in The Gardener…

Ah well, we’ll come to that one too, sooner or later. For now, have fun with Aunt Ellen, and the eiderdown quilt, and cars that bound marsupially with a noise of ironmongery in revolt.

History & Stories

11 Saturday Apr 2015

Posted by la Clarina in History, Stories

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Historical fiction, History, Rudyard Kipling, writing

HistoryIt strikes me that this particular piece of K-wisdom is a near-perfect motto for this blog…

And it’s not unlikely I’ll adopt it as such.

Incidentally, it goes very well with Kipling’s two books of “history” stories, and his other occasional foray into historical fiction. There are not many – just enough to make me wish he had written more.

Also, this would make a nice answer to the unavoidable question of Why Historical Fiction…

Were you ever asked? And what did you say?

The Power of the Dog

31 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Books

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Actions and Reactions, Dogs, Kipling Year, Poetry, Rudyard Kipling

stanleyFor Kipling Day, a poem from the 1909 collection Actions and Reactions. It goes with the story Garm – a Hostage.

If you ever had and loved a dog – or a cat, for that matter – then you know what this is all about… Continue reading →

Mr K. meets the Cheshire Cat

17 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Uncategorized

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Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll, Rudyard Kipling, the Cheshire Cat

MrKandtheCatCouldn’t help myself. And it isn’t my fault, either: I saw the K. quote, and the conversation dawned on me – just like that.

Er… right. Enough. I think I’ll disappear for now… -ow… -ow… -ow… -ow…

 

                                        ♫ ‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves… ♫

 

And as Mr. Kipling says…

10 Tuesday Mar 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Scribbling

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elephants, Rudyard Kipling, storytelling, writing

ashesandsnowOne of my favourite pieces of K-wisdom – to be kept in mind to stave off a temptation to obsess over the proper rules of storytelling.

World Read Aloud Day

04 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Stories

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#WRAD2015, Edward Lear, Litworld.org, Reading aloud, Rudyard Kipling, World Read Aloud Day

litworldWRAD15logo-web2Out of schedule, I know…

Did you know it is World Read Aloud Day?A whole day, all over the world, devoted to this age-old, all-important way to share written words, stories and ideas.

Have a look at the dedicated LitWorld website, enjoy clips of Kipling’s The Smugglers’ Song and Lear’s The Owl and the Pussycat read aloud, and maybe, before the day is over, find someone to read something to.

The Recall

07 Saturday Feb 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Stories

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Actions and Reactions, Kipling Year, Poetry, Rudyard Kipling, University of Adelaide

ActionsA little Kipling today – it’s his year, after all.

I love The Recall, a little poem taken from Action and Reactions – one of many collections of short stories and poetry.

It is a small, dream-like thing of home-coming – even when you don’t know you are coming home – and the power of place, something that, according to Peter Ackroyd, is deeply rooted in English imagination. Continue reading →

Sewing Aloud

15 Thursday Jan 2015

Posted by la Clarina in Stories

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Bogumil Hrabal, book-club, Judith Cook, Maxence Fermine, Reading aloud, Rudyard Kipling, sewing-club

Sewing iconRemember Ad Alta Voce, the not-quite-book-club?

Well, a couple of months ago a town councillor approached us about a shared event with the local sewing-club: an evening of reading and sewing. I must say I wasn’t wild about the notion. Call me a narrow-minded snob, but I wasn’t sure we’d have much in common with the seamstresses… All the same, the councillor is a persistent woman, and there was a chance that I might be wrong, and in the end we said, why not.  We already had scheduled and “Arts and Crafts” themed night, and it sounded fitting, so…

So, Tuesday night, we gathered at the Library – earlier than usual, because apparently the seamstresses were afraid we might keep them up late – and found our new friends already there, and a little miffed because we hadn’t arrived even earlier – and also because they’d had to put aside their machine-sewing for the night, in favour of quieter cross-stitching.

Not the most promising of starts, isn’t it? But that was nothing. Once in the library, the seamstresses swarmed to take all the seats around the table we usually use, spread out their stitching tools, and started to merrily cross-stitch away – without as much as a greeting to our poor little selves.

English: Turn of the century sewing in Detroit.There were seven of us, pushed in a corner, with most seamstresses giving their back to us. That’s when the councillor sketchily explained the evening’s purpose, the nice shared experience awaiting us, and all that jazz. That she felt the need to ask the seamstresses to keep quiet during the readings, I found a tad ominous. By then, I was in full Told-You-So mode, but it was too late to walk away – so, since there was no sign of quieting down, we decided we’d just start.

And start we did, with extracts from a book of memoirs about old river jobs. We are river people, around here, and there is a long tradition of water-related jobs. It’s a shared past, and we thought it might be of common interest… How naive of us. All through the reading, our seamstresses kept chatting in what perhaps they deemed – but weren’t – low voices. Clearly, we had failed to grab their attention. I was next in line, with the opening pages of Kipling’s The Bridge Builders, and Anglo-indian civil engineering proved as useless as the local washerwomen. Then it was Pablo d’Ors’ rival printers, then it was Maxence Férmine’s luthier… nothing. The seamstresses were as uninterested and uncaring as ever.

“Shall we make a little break now?” asked at this point our rather annoyed leader. No, was the answer, because they always eat at the end of the evening. Oh well, then: we were more than happy to read on, and I had just started with my translation of the Lighting Designer’s Tale (from Judith Cook‘s Backstage), when the leading seamstress up and announced we were going to eat the cake now.

Eatons_Seamstresses“I am, you know, reading…” I pointed out.

The seamstresses sat back – with something approaching ill grace. By the time I reached my last word, they were already handing out cake on paper plates…

After that we, the disgruntled readers, closed ranks, and went on reading – not much caring if the ladies with the needle listened or not. Needless to say, they did not, and instead grew noisier and noisier. We had some more Férmine, some Hrabal – until, quite in mid-reading, the seamstresses started packing up their stitching, and filed out, barely sparing us a “good night” – not to mention a “thank you”. But when I say they filed out, I’m overstating the case. As a matter of fact, a few of the ladies stopped well within hearing, to make some more, and louder, conversation. You see, poor dears they had kept so utterly silent all evening, they just had to give voice to a thought or two…

And yes – I’m waxing sour. But the fact is, when I went and asked could they please lower their voices, because we were still trying to read, they just moved over a few steps, and resumed their chatter… Ad Alta Voce – Aloud, indeed.

On top of it all, as we finished, the councillor arrived, all smiles, to say that yes, perhaps the two groups hadn’t mixed well – yet. A matter of different needs and interests, did we know… But perhaps next time… Not a word of apology – nothing. They tell me she is the head-seamstress’ daughter.

Then again, it was our own fault. We did invite them in, after all – like the ghost in that story. But now we’ve learned our lesson. Reading and sewing don’t mix well. We can’t expect much in the way of interest – or manners, either. Town councillors are potentially dangerous, and we must never again assume they know what they are talking about.

It was an experiment, yes. Let’s call it a learning experience. Now we can all happily go our separate ways, and next time we go back to reading, thank you very much – with and for people who come for the books and the stories.

 

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