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24/12/2013

Dear Poets!

Dear Poets!

Dear poets,
You are my guides and guardians,
You are the champions of love and humanism,
Who take birth amidst adversities,
Chaos, hatred and violence,
Like the violet flowers that bloom
In the barren heath even in the winter.
The stream of zest for life
Which springs from your heart
Cannot be stopped by any regulations
Imposed by the tyrants or religious fanatics
Against whom you stand firm like a beacon
That withstands boldly the terrible tempest,
And prefer to embrace martyrdom
In order to create a breathing space
For the freedom-loving people like me,
And never allow the candle of hope
Which you have created in my heart
To get extinguished by despair.
Your poems do not allow me to become
The ocean which meekly ebbs out,
Though they make me restless so that
In that restlessness I may find
My own truth and my own voice,
Whose waves will never want to reach
A particular shore and cling to it forever.
Now poetry has taken roots in me too,
and it does not let me to become despondent
Or get defeated by the forces of darkness.

-Portia Burton


22/11/2013

William Shakespeare's Sonnet 94

William Shakespeare's Sonnet 94

One of my very dear friend has made me to muse once again about this sonnet. I had interpreted it in my own way when I was doing my under-graduation in  'Advance English- Creative Writing' at Trinity College, Cambridge. I reminisced about my views and want  to stand by them even now. I present here this enigmatic sonnet and my interpretation of it.

Shakespeare's sonnet 94




They that have power to hurt, and will do none,
That do not do the thing they most do show,
Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,
Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow;
They rightly do inherit heaven's graces,
And husband nature's riches from expense;
They are the lords and owners of their faces,
Others, but stewards of their excellence.
The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,
Though to itself, it only live and die,
But if that flower with base infection meet,
The basest weed outbraves his dignity:
   For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;
   Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds.


 This is often thought to be the most enigmatic of the Sonnets.
In the past it was presented as the type and model of a detached observation on human nature, but nowadays greater emphasis is placed on setting it in the context of the surrounding sonnets, 87-96, in which the youth is portrayed as potentially fickle and ready to abandon the pledges he has made, a beauteous flower, but corrupted at the core.
 Most of such interpretations are in the context of the whole sonnet-sequence and address to the poet's relationship with the 'young lad' at the center of these sonnets. The general tone of these interpretations is that the poet is warning his dear young lord to use his divine gifts 'fruitfully'( in line of advice given in the first group of 17 sonnets::'So thou, thyself out-going in thy noon,/Unlook'd on diest, unless thou get a son.'[sonnet7]). Other wise, he will be like that 'sweet lily' which turns sour because of living for itself and then festers to smell far worse than weeds.
 I beg to differ from this line of interpretations. In my opinion, here Shakespeare is presenting to us a very gifted and powerful person.    

Let us read this sonnet completely.   We'll just stop every few lines to check our understanding,

Let's start!

"They that have power to hurt and will do none,

That do not do the thing they most do show,"

What  does this mean?  It appears to be talking about people who have power over others, power that could be harmful.  The second line implies that those in power do not exercise it to hurt others, even though they could and even though they look tough on the outside.

"Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,

Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,"

These people of power are able to influence others but themselves are not easily moved, do not display their feelings, and do not respond quickly to temptation.

"They rightly do inherit heaven's graces.

And husband nature's riches from expense;"

These people inherit grace from heaven, and are able to grow riches from the expense of energy required to remain uninfluenced and true to their values.

"They are the lords and owners of their faces,

Others but stewards of their excellence."

These people own their actions and control them.  Other people, who do not, are only "stewards" (caretakers) of their emotions, not owners of them.

"The summer's flower is to the summer sweet,

Though to itself it only live and die,"

Now comes the  switch in the images. The poet now talks not about people, but rather nature.  A flower during summer smells sweet, but is not sweet to itself (the flower is indifferent to its own sweet smell.)  The flower knows that when itis "born" , it will certainly "die."
"But if that flower with base infection meet,

The basest weed outbraves his dignity:"

The flower is easily made sick, corrupted,but the weed, an ugly, stinky flower, will outlast it, since the 'evil' or 'vile' has a long life.

"For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds."

This is a great last line.  Something that starts out as beautiful on the outside has a far greater penalty when it doesn't live up to expectations.  The dead flower will stink worse than the dead weed.  What he seems to be saying is that even if something appears to be beautiful and righteous on the outside, because of its actions or inactions you may find it is far worse than something that is not so "flashy" in its actions.

How does this tie in with the first image?  The powerful individual is not flashy at all.  He is stoic.  You cannot read him by his face, which is grim and cold.  It is by his actions that you know he is a man in "grace."  He does not do good to get attention or for appearances.
 But then he starts using his power for selfish purpose, like taking revenge upon those who have hurt him in some way or the other in order just to teach them a lesson. He never intends harming them permanently. Then, when such act is done, realization dawns upon him of his folly and his original 'merciful' nature is re-awakened and he regrets his action. He reminds himself,

"For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds;

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds."

The flower looks and smells beautiful, but because of its actions it ends up stinking. 
 In my opinion,Shakespeare was then envisaging a just 'ruler'. He had seen the tyrannical rule of Queen Elizabeth and then the most passive rule of King James I.This sonnet must have been ringing in his mind for long until it led him to create 'Prospero'. Yes, in my opinion this man is 'Prospero', the protagonist of 'the Tempest' .He is conscious of his powers, his superiority,  untinged  by arrogance, genial scorn for the mean and the base (like Caliban), and basic  mercifulness  into which, sadly, contempt has entered to a large extent, leading him to become revengeful(fester). This turns his sweetness of serenity excluding passionate affection while admitting tenderness, intellect  overtopping  morality but in no way perverting it.
 On realizing how he has become 'festered', he comes to conclusion that 'the rarer action is in virtue than in vengeance.'He then decides to abjure his 'rough magic', break his magical staff and bury it very deep and drown his book of magic.
 The whole aim of this sonnet is to tell everyone of us to use whatever gifts we have in noble ways, otherwise we will be as useless and despisable as 'festered lilies'.

-Portia Buton

15/11/2013

WHEN IN LOVE

When In Love....
I was then  having a strange urge for a change. I couldn't name it, but just felt its intensity........I wondered where this would take me. This urge is close to anticipation of a climax. It built on in waves...stronger and stronger. Would I ride on its waves? Would I let it sweep me away? Would I be on the crest of the waves? Would I let it pass? I did not know. I wanted to know.
In the past,my 'teen' days, which I cherish, whenever I wanted a change I used to run to the hairdresser. A change of hair cut or hair style would trap me into thinking of it as a change I wanted. Now I laugh at the thought of it. Pictures of myself keep reminding me  how self - deceiving I was. An urge for change rooted into most intimate thoughts will not go away with a new hair-cut or new cloths or a new friend.
As I sip my morning cup of coffee, I realize that there is actually no need for change. It's my inner self which screams for freedom. Freedom from conventions, freedom from self-inflicted stereotypes, freedom from what others want me to have/want. When I am at peace with myself, there is no such urge. I am filled with creative flows, I am generous, I am happy. Have I forgotten the golden rules of inner peace? - 'Be grateful, see the beauty in everything around me, enjoy it, even if it's a fallen leaf! Breathe slowly, smile, laugh, dream with eyes wide open, let the warmth of love heal your heart!'etc...
    Then I witnessed huge changes happening in one of my dearest friend Autumn Eliza's life. I know her for  over 15 years now. She grew up with me and we have become soul-sisters. We both love art, artists, western classical music, and poetry.We even studied painting together because she wanted to study something with me since she is younger by two years to me, the fact she hates the most.But then 'love' happened to her and she embraced its enormous life transforming change over her cozy and secure life, rebelling against her parents.While witnessing her struggle to break away from what she thought as shackles and running towards an uncertain dream,  I realized every change she made towards her inner self was gradual, painful at times but in a beautiful, creative way. She is now at peace. She has easily adjusted herself from a lavish living-style in London to a much simpler style in Paris with her beau. She is content in just one bedroom apartment there! I see it in her eyes, her gestures, her smile. Will she want to radically change anything now? I looked for an answer in her recent paintings, and I was satisfied to see that she had retained her merriness, her basic characteristic and needs no more change. She has anchored  in a safe harbor, filled with love. And as for myself, I understood what was that strange urge. It was love calling me! I was  surprised to see that my life is playing out my dear friend's life-story of embracing love over anything else, though luckily for me I did not need to rebel. And when in love, where is the need for any change when every moment you remain becoming more beautiful?...

-Portia Burton

12/11/2013

feeling Helpless For the Helpless People

Feeling Helpless For the Helpless People...

After attending the morning prayer
On the Remembrance Sunday,
Having observed two minutes' silence
For our country's war heroes,
We  observed silence for two more minutes
For the thousands of helpless people
Of a distant Eastern country, who perished
In the attack of a deadly typhoon,
And that silence is still glued on my lips...

I listlessly go about my daily routine,
Yet those visuals on the news channels
Of the devastated cities, washed off villages,
Houses reduced to mere heaps of rubble,
Huge tress lying scattered like straws,
Dead people and animals lying like torn dolls...
Oh, God! Switching off the TV doesn't help,
Those visuals follow me along all the day,
In my head I hear the cries,and  the last gasps
Of the helpless people before getting buried alive
Under the rubble or in the merciless mud....
The same story is played out in the restaurant
Where I've come for lunch with my beau,
And on visualizing that vile mud spread on my salad,
I get up and rush out in a huff,
My beau follows and asks me,"Why?"
But then understands and takes me in his arms,
And whispers,"baby, please don't cry,
We too are helpless like those unfortunate people
Whom we can't help much beyond  silent prayers."

-Portia Burton

02/10/2013

I Long To Sit in this meadows...

Oh , the lovely Autumn has come and I long to sit in this meadows at the back of my college. To listen to the late summer hum.  To wonder at the bowed heads of wilting grass-blades.  To drink in the gorgeous array of colour of the surrounding trees and the smell of their dew-dripping leaves.  To feel the light breeze and to smell the rain sodden earth.  This I love.  This feels like home.

I would want to paint.  To know the exhilaration of putting paint to paper in hope of coming close to what I see and feel here.  To be reminded that my palette of watercolor just cannot do justice to what's at my feet.  To go home from this place knowing I can look back through the pages of my sketchbook and be here again.

I would want to knit.  To sit here with wools the colors of the field, running through my fingers and needles.  Indeed I would rename the fibers as they fair-isled into a yarn painting:  Autumn Grass, Dew Drop, Goldenrod, and Clover Hay.  And each time I wore the finished piece I'd be able to smell the earth and hear the sounds of my field.

I would want to write.  To craft words that represent each blade of grass, wheat, and wild flower.  Letters that give real-time meaning to the other-worldly air I breathe here. Words that would be carefully crafted as if I had knit them...or painted them.

But I've come to my field without any of these.  Just to sit and take it all in.  I breathe in and out.  I gaze and marvel.  I ruminate.  I try to cease all thought.  And then I close my eyes.  Something trickles down my cheeks.  It is then that I have a thought I've never had before---perhaps all the paintings in watercolor and yarn, all the sketches and drawings, the knitted and crocheted creations, are tear-shaped drops that reflect the beauty that's all around me.  Perhaps a need to create is a way of exhaling it out, a way of crying to the Universe that it is so beautiful and I must make something of it or else I'd simply weep everywhere I go.
_Portia Burton,
Cambridge, October 2, 2013

29/09/2013

THE EFFECTS OF THE ENVIRONMENT UPON HUMAN THINKING AND BEHAVIOUR


THE EFFECTS OF THE ENVIRONMENT UPON HUMAN THINKING AND BEHAVIOUR
   We are now studying about what effects does the environment have on our thinking and behaviour, and conducting some sample studies. . I would rather talk about  the effect of the change in the environment has upon me personally. Just the change in the place of living , from London to Cambridge has already affected me. Away from the mad rush of my metro, I feel more relaxed and at ease with myself in the easy-going life of this small city.The Cam river of this place may be just a baby before the river Thames of London, but it is so clean, pleasant and  friendly! There I have only a pair of trees standing rather in an hopeless resignation on the pavement near my house,but here my neighbourhood is adorned with a great cluster of joyous trees! And I have no words to express the serenity  I experience when I go to my grandmother's tiny village, Grasmere, in Cumbria's 'Lake District'!! And all this goes to show the great role that nature plays in the environment. The more greener the surroundings, the more we are at ease and less strained.Sadly, we seldom take the notice of  the effect  of the change in the seasons upon us, the way nature changes along with the seasons and how we human beings relate  to it. Yes,  the regional environmental and the climatic conditions do affect the thinking and behaviour of the people. All of us are still the children of nature and its changes affect us anywhere in the world....
 The other day I was just glancing out of the window at the funny way the clouds were changing their shapes. I noticed more saturation of grey hue in them and then some leaves fluttered down. It was just like a wake-up call, and I said to myself, oh my, Autumn is here! I was so thrilled by this simple realization! I was just wordless!

Yes,There is something magical about the changing of the seasons that cannot be explained with words, and that’s especially true about autumn! It is a season where you don’t need to check a calendar to know when it starts. You can feel it in your bones and deep inside your brain where mysterious things happen.
When I read some very old 'Celtic' poems, which are mostly about nature, I realize from their simple words which had come out from the sheer awe about the beauty of nature, that we aren’t as closely attuned to nature as those ancient people who took to the woods to collect nuts and roots that could be dried and preserved for the winter months, and sang thankfully for the bounty of autumn. Yet the mysterious urges from nature are still there. Don't we sometimes find ourselves restless with vague longings that affect our work and our social life? Don't we wish to leave this mad rush of city life and go to the woods or at least  to a nearby park for outings and picnics so as to be with each other and also with the nature? Or, don't we sometimes have to be among crowd just to have a feel of 'brotherhood', a  sense of belonging ? Perhaps that may be one of the reasons we squeeze ourselves into a crowded football stadium. I feel It certainly has something to do with primitive urges to flock together. All those 'pagan' festivals were about celebrating togetherness and the wonders of nature.

Technically, autumn begins when the autumnal equinox occurs on or around September 20th. This is when the plane of the equator passes the centre of the Sun, and the earth and Sun are not tilted either way, so the scientists say. The days have become shorter since the first day of summer, but we scarcely notice the first cool mornings and aren’t aware of the birds as they slip away to find a haven further south.  And  we ourselves start getting ready involuntarily for the more cooler days, the misty mornings and even start worrying about winter though it is yet so distant! All this happens because we too, as mammals, are still tied to the 'clock of nature'.

A casual stroll in the morning in our local park,  makes me sense some changes. A week ago there were many geese wandering about hoping for a handout at a picnic table. Then, suddenly, they are gone as if by magic! And even our pets, basically  mammals ,who can't migrate,  do become restless along with the rest of us. I jog through the park early in the morning and glimpse furry creatures peeking from behind trees and from culverts. The rest of the year they seem too busy to notice me. Toward the end of September, they seem indecisive as if something is calling them. I feel it too, and I find myself watching the sky and wondering if I would not be better off somewhere else. I become restless and have an urge to go and sit on the grass in the shade of a tree, as if in answer to a 'call'.
 Now the leaves have started to fall. We enjoy their golden and russet  beauty. But then the winter will come and denude all the trees, who will then wait patiently for the Spring. This is the beauty of nature. It gives us life and absorbs our deaths too. It reminds us that there is an immutable cycle of birth, growth, ripening, decline, decay ,death and rebirth, we share that with the everlasting stars and also with the short-lived gnats. It is this powerful life-affirming effect that nature has upon me. It reassures me silently and helps me in maintaining a kind of inner balance and peace .

-Portia Burton,
Cambridge

21/05/2013

Bluebells- the iconic beauty of Great Britain

BLUEBELLS: THE ICONIC BEAUTY OF GREAT BRITAIN:
Every May, for a few weeks, many of the woodlands in Great Britain are covered with English bluebells.
This magical carpet of bluebells makes for a dreamy landscape and may be the reason these flowers have earned the nickname "Fairy Flowers". England boasts the largest number of bluebell flowers in the world, and Micheldever Wood often has this amazing blue and purple display. The true beauty of our bluebells - the color, the scent, the view - makes them an essential and special element to our  England's springtime experience.
Keeping this in mind I had enrolled myself for 'Ashridge 5- Dirt running', a sort of adventurous trek though Ashridge forest, but the authorities did not allow 'dirt running' this year. However, we did have a wonderful experience of  bluebell-decked Ashridge Forest!
   To tell you more about Ashridge, it is a country estate  in Hertfordshire, part of the land stretches into Buckinghamshire and it is close to the Bedfordshire border. It is situated in the Chiltern Hills, an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty, about two miles  north of Berkhamsted and just twenty miles  north west of London. The estate comprises 5,000 acres  of woodlands (known as Ashridge Forest), commons and chalk downland which supports a rich variety of wildlife. It also offers a good choice of waymarked walks through outstanding country. The estate is currently owned by the National Trust.


The ancient woodlands on the Ashridge Estate, are home to one of the finest examples of massed flowering bluebells that are an icon of Spring in England. Here, the English landscape is transformed into a sea of blue – almost as far as the eye can see.
For only a few days, the sapphire of the bluebells is also contrasted with the emerald green colors from the newly emerging foliage of the beech trees in the spring landscape – a natural gem from Mother Nature. Soon the foliage is thick enough to obscure the light and the blue flowers will be gone for another year.
  I give here some of the most wonderful photos of this magical  treasure of bluebells ofAshridge Forest taken by some of  my very talented friends who had come  well equipped with their 'gear'(cameras etc) and were exclaiming  "O,God! "by Golly!', "Oh, see, what have we got here!" etc. at almost every single step , while I was just dumbstruck for being amidst so much beauty . I just kept repeating to myself, "Bluebells, bluebells, all around!", but even after much prodding by some girls, that line did not lead to a poem...


A misty dawn is one of the best times to come and see the bluebells, the atmosphere is dream-like, the forest quiet and beautiful.

Ashridge forest has several acres of bluebells creating a rich carpet on the forest floor.These are protected flowers by law, but even before it was instituted in the law, there were stories of dark fates awaiting those who pick these 'fairy flowers'. Stories tell of a pixie that would lead the picker away, never to be seen again. Perhaps such folklores were instrumental in protecting these flowers.
                                          
                                           Bluebells in the woods just after a light drizzle

                                              The wonderful carpet of Bluebells at noon.


A pathway among Bluebells.

                                        Sunlight bursting through the trees to caress the bluebells!

                      Sunlight bursting through the trees and lighting the bluebells in stripes of dark blue and bright purple. Bluebells are often associated with gratitude and everlasting love. 

                                       Gorgeous bluebells drinking the last rays of sun at dusk. 


                                                           Bluebells- a close-up
                         "Love is the answer, and you know that for sure; Love is a flower, you've got to let it grow."-John Lennon
                                                                                                                      
 Like Lennon, I too associate bluebells with love, and that reminds me a tragic tale by Paul McCartney of the Beatles, is that he whispered these last words to his wife Linda, before she died: "You’re up on your beautiful Appaloosa stallion. It’s a fine spring day, we’re riding through the woods. The bluebells are all out, and the sky is clear blue."
McCartney later said that he had hardly got to the end of the sentence before his beloved closed her eyes and gently slipped away...
   I love bluebells  perhaps due to such pathos is associated with them.
But I  had another most outwardly experience during this trek , about that, later......
_Portia

01/05/2013

'LITTLE VENICE OF LONDON'


dear friends, I just can't help myself but to share my love for a wonderful place in my London: 'Little Venice'. When me and my beau Edward want to escape the crowds for a while , we make our way to the watery oasis of 'Little Venice', yes, 'Little Venice' of our own London! Directly north of Paddington is this tranquil pocket affectionately known as ' Little Venice'. The area is a popular tourist attraction mainly due to the picturesque canals with Narrowboat cruises travelling between 'Little Venice' and 'Camden Lock'. Located in Maida Vale, at the junction of the Regents Canal and the Grand Union Canal, it's the perfect place for a coffee and a leisurely stroll. A paved tow-path runs from Little Venice all the way to Camden Lock and the famous Camden Markets. The walk will take you about 90 minutes, and along the way you will pass by London Zoo and Regents Park. For a more relaxed journey,when I just want to 'decluster' my mind, I take a trip on a canal narrowboat from Little Venice to Camden Lock Market ,and  merrily  give a 'royal' wave to those walking along the tow-path! (It is free to walk along the canals. A return canal boat trip will set you back about £7.50. )

                                              a view of Regent's Canal
The 14.5-kilometre Regent's Canal is one of London's best-kept secrets. Largely hidden behind buildings, the line sneaks its way through a rich collage of urban landscapes. Starting at the houseboats of Little Venice, it wends its way through Camden Lock and fashionable East London, and bypasses the site of the London 2012 Olympic Games before ending in Limehouse Basin.
Around the canals you can visit the London Canal Museum, the Puppet Theatre Barge, and the Cascade Flooring Art Gallery. Many attractions  are  along the canal themselves. . If you head a bit south away from the canal junction, you'll run into more contemporary attractions- a few bars, a Subway, a Sainsbury's- among the canal boats. Head north, and you'll discover the tastes of the best view in Little Venice, overlooking the custom-painted boats along the canal. Café Laville, situated at the very end of the neighbourhood, features a selection of pasta, salads, and sandwiches that feed the Italian reference to the area well.
     For what may at first look like a simple pond in passing, Little Venice offers a bit more with a nice walk featuring a small selection of quiet entertainment- perfect for a Saturday lunch or a looker's stroll.
Then there's 'BRIDGE HOUSE': our favorite haunt! 

                                                                 Bridge House
                                                        Interior of Bridge House
We celebrated my birthday here-just me, my Edward, Autumn and her albert ,Sandra, Anna and Philip,my cousin, who had come specially from Norwich.
Me and this group of mine just love this place! No theatre bar in London can be as convivial as this one. Beneath the Canal Café, the Bridge House ( 13 Westbourne Terrace Road, Maida Vale, London, W2 6NG)comprises a waterside terrace and a spacious, relaxing interior. If it’s sunny, sit outside and listen to the lapping of the Regent’s Canal; when it’s chilly, curl up around the fireplace.
The place has a charged, slightly naughty feel, thanks to velvety banquettes, bright red beaded lightshades and Anna Runefelt’s faintly erotic photos on the wall; even the toilets are concealed behind thick curtains!
In the middle of the room, a bar dispenses ales (Landlord, London Pride and the like) and continental beers (Kozel, Franziskaner, Peroni), plus a list of wines available by both glass and bottle.
An all-day kitchen deals with an extensive and affordable seasonal menu, which is really delicious!
Some places just don’t need to do much to be cool and if you’ve already got a spot a stone’s thrown from the canal and the thriving Canal Cafe Theatre upstairs then you’ve definitely got a head-start. The décor at The Bridge House pub is not to everyone’s taste but its dark, showy feel is well-suited to the faded glamour of a theatre bar. The thing to do is to get here early doors and soak up the atmosphere; if you can, nab one of the lounge-y leather sofas or a space outside, which is bursting with revellers when it’s warm. I recommend chilling with some pre-theatre cocktails and tucking into the food, which is pub-with-a-bit-of-posh, before wandering upstairs to catch a show.
.


                                               a view of canal from Bridge House

What we love most is the activity of 'experimental theatre' which goes on here with much gusto. The crowd is mainly of young people like me and so here's a lot of  'give n take'. I met my beau here only! But that's another story!

Have a nice spring!

-Portia