Katherine Mansfield's deathday - New Zealand's other Germaine Greer.
She once wrote, and it is a very dangerous thing for a writer to hold out such open invitations to posterity:
"I imagine I was always writing. Twaddle it was too. But better far write twaddle or anything, anything, than nothing at all."
Before he fell out with her, D.H.Lawrence admired her, even adored her, and that is recommendation enough for me. They shared the T.B. too of course. Her last words would last forever, if they were inscribed on her gravestone:
"I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face."
She also went further, much further; through the rain to the illusion of sunshine:
The Storm
I ran to the forest for shelter,
Breathless, half sobbing;
I put my arms around a tree,
[‘round’ in the original: the added syllable is my correction]
Pillowed my head against the rough bark.
"Protect me," I said. "I am a lost child."
But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.
A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;
It lashed the forest together.
A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.
[sloppy, that line]
I prayed, implored, "Please take care of me!"
But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me.
Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.
A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowning
[better without ‘that’]
In a bubbling cavern of space. I alone -
Smaller than the smallest fly - was alive and terrified.
Then for what reason I know not, I became triumphant.
"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.
But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wings
And floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.
[dreadful cliché - the poem maimed
I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.
[but then redeemed]
And the trees swung together and delicately laughed.
[by ‘delicately laughed’]
I put my arms around a tree,
[‘round’ in the original: the added syllable is my correction]
Pillowed my head against the rough bark.
"Protect me," I said. "I am a lost child."
But the tree showered silver drops on my face and hair.
A wind sprang up from the ends of the earth;
It lashed the forest together.
A huge green wave thundered and burst over my head.
[sloppy, that line]
I prayed, implored, "Please take care of me!"
But the wind pulled at my cloak and the rain beat upon me.
Little rivers tore up the ground and swamped the bushes.
A frenzy possessed the earth: I felt that the earth was drowning
[better without ‘that’]
In a bubbling cavern of space. I alone -
Smaller than the smallest fly - was alive and terrified.
Then for what reason I know not, I became triumphant.
"Well, kill me!" I cried and ran out into the open.
But the storm ceased: the sun spread his wings
And floated serene in the silver pool of the sky.
[dreadful cliché - the poem maimed
I put my hands over my face: I was blushing.
[but then redeemed]
And the trees swung together and delicately laughed.
[by ‘delicately laughed’]
Amber pages
Simone de Beauvoir, born today in 1908. Apparently "The Second Sex" was suggested by Sartre (for whom see April 15), and she thought it might be a good idea for a short article for a newspaper; until she started researching it, and it grew, not just into 2-volumes and over a thousand pages, but into the most important work in the feminist catalogue.
Joan Baez, born today in 1941.
1969: The Concorde jetliner made its first test flight (Bristol). Or maybe not. The BBC History page insists it was March 2; elsewhere I have found January 19... clearly this needs more research...
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