Famous Poets – Part Six

Louise Labe (1524 - 1566)

Louise Charlin Perrin Labé was born in the early 1520s to a prosperous rope-maker in Lyon. Bother her father and her stepmother were illiterate, but her father had her educated in languages as well as in music.

She was married in her early 20s to another rope-maker, some 30 years her senior. It was after her marriage that she began to participate in the literary circles of Lyon, which at the time challenged Paris as a cosmopolitan center and which allowed the bourgeoisie greater participation in cultural life than did the capital.
At the siege of Perpignan, she is said to have dressed in male clothing and fought on horseback in the ranks of the Dauphin, afterwards Henry II.

She formed a library and gathered round her a society which included many of the learned women of Lyons. In 1555 Euvres de Louize Labe Lionnoize was published in Lyon: it contained a prose dedicatory epistle to a local noblewoman, a prose Debat de Folie et d'Amour, 24 sonnets (the first in Italian), and three elegies.

In addition to her own writings, the volume contained twenty-four poems in her honor, authored by her male contemporaries. The book was popular enough that three other editions came out within a year (the first Revues et corrigees par la dite Dame), and it was widely-read enough to bring both praise from beyond Lyon and criticism for being immodest and "unwomanly."

The poet Olivier de Magny, in his Odes of 1559, praised Labé (along with several other women) as his beloved; and from the nineteenth century onward, literary critics speculated that Magny was in fact Labé's lover. However, the male beloved in Labé's poetry is never identified by name, and may well represent a poetic fiction rather than a historical person.

In 1564, the plague broke out in Lyon, taking the lives of some of Labé's friends. In 1565, suffering herself from bad health, she retired to the home of her friend Thomas Fortin, a banker from Florence, who witnessed her will. She died in 1566, leaving the greater part of her fortune to the poor, and was buried on her country property close to Parcieux-en-Dombes, outside Lyon.



Sonnet II - Your Cold, Appraising Eyes

Your cold, appraising eyes entice me still
And cause a hundred thousand sighs. Again,
And yet again, I wait and wait in vain.
The night is dark, the way is all uphill.

And when I dream about you, I am filled
With ceaseless turmoil and long-stifled pain.
Then, on a sudden, flashing through my brain,
I see my fate, and it’s a bitter pill.

Into the deep of night, I speak your name.
My hard-fought struggle with the gentle art
Of making verses cannot long subdue

All passion and desire. A fit of flame
Flares up, ignites, and burns within my heart.
Would that one red-hot spark might fly on you!



Sonnet VIII - I Live, I Die

I live, I die, I burn with fire, I drown.
It matters very little what I feel;
All life is now too real, now too surreal;
Joy comes and endless boredom weighs me down,

And suddenly I laugh and then I cry;
With grief and bliss I’m weeping for the past;
Good feelings go away and yet they last,
And suddenly I bleed and then I sigh.

That’s how it goes. Strange, ever changing love
Has worn me out. I wish I were removed
From such a star-crossed fate! I need a truce

With Lady Luck. Again and yet again,
Her wheel is spinning madly to produce
This wanton, wild, intense, exquisite pain.

Hump Day Hunk

Ho ho ho!

Superstitions - Part IX Knocking on Wood

“Knock wood” or “touch wood” is a superstitious action used to ward off evil consequences or as a charm to bring good luck. It’s most often used when a person makes a statement which seems to tempt fate. The idea is that knocking on wood will ward off evil spirits. You must knock on wood three times after mentioning good fortune or the evil spirits will ruin things for you.

The tradition traces back to an ancient pagan belief that spirits resided in trees, particularly oak, ash, holly or hawthorn, and that by knocking on or touching the wood you were paying a small tribute to them by remembering or acknowledging them and could call on them for protection against ill-fortune. Also, you were thanking them for their continued blessings and good luck.

Greeks worshipped the oak as it was sacred to Zeus, Celts believed in tree spirits, and both believed touching sacred trees would bring good fortune. Irish lore holds that "touching wood" is a way to thank the leprechauns for a bit of luck. Pagans also held similar beliefs of protective tree spirits. Chinese and Koreans thought the spirits of mothers who died in childbirth remained in nearby trees.

A Jewish version traces the origin to the Spanish Inquisition of the 15th century. At the time, persecuted Jews fled to synagogues built of wood, and they devised a coded knock to gain admission. Since this practice spared countless lives, it became common to "knock on wood" for good luck.

This superstition may have been adapted by Christians, as many early pagan beliefs were, and some people associated knocking on wood with the Cross. Even today pieces of wood, or the true cross, are often carried around for good luck.

By the 1800s, many children's games included a refrain to knock on wood. The idea of knocking on wood was probably widespread long before these games were popular. However, the tradition of knocking on wood for luck seemed to become much more widely accepted as these children's games entered the popular imagination. By the 1900s, British and American people were both knocking on wood for good fortune.

It should be noted that in modern times, when many items are manufactured to only appear wood-like, it has become acceptable to knock on a table with a wood veneer, or even on something that is not wood at all, such as plastic or Formica, as long as you say "knock on wood" or "touch wood". To me, this shows that the original reason for knocking is becoming forgotten, even in folk memories, in favor of the knocking action itself.

To my surprise, while doing research for this piece, I came across many references to a person knocking on their own head if no wood was available. This is something I’m in the habit of doing, even when there is wood around. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.

Molimen Monday

molimen ~ great effort, especially in performing natural functions

I had a rather quiet weekend . . . I wasn’t feeling well so it was the perfect excuse to curl up with a good book. Or in my case it was a few good books. I didn’t even crack the lap top open yesterday. (Hence the fact that I’m late getting this post up.)

My Light Scribe was actually pretty cool – eventually. I admit it was a little frustrating at first. No where in the packaging did it mention that I had to download separate software for it to work and after I’d installed the right software my computer couldn’t detect the drive. It might have had something to do with the fact that I switched my USB hub from the desktop to the lap top to do some printing and forgot to switch it back again. D’oh!

Did not get my business books set up. Yeah, my bad. I don’t mind doing the actual bookwork, it’s just the setting up that I have a problem with. Come to think of it, I don’t think I paid any of my bills last week either.

I’m starting to think I need to print out my goals/to-do list. Cleaning out the craft closet completely slipped my mind. Oops! Which of course means no Christmas crafts got done either.

This Week’s Goals:

Tuesday: This week’s installment of my series on superstition concerns knocking on wood, which I do quite often.

Wednesday: Another Hump Day Hunk for your viewing pleasure – I think I’ll have to see if I can come up with some Christamsy hunks for the season.

Thursday: Part VI of my Famous Poets series will feature Louise Labe, who wrote really wonderful sonnets.

Friday: Oh, now I remember what I was supposed to do on the weekend – get started on the new serial. Looks like I’ll have to get focused this week if I want to post the first installment Friday.

Elsewhere in my week:

First thing I’ll be doing is catching up on my blog reading/commenting. I wasn’t on the internet much on Friday or Saturday, and as I said earlier in this post I wasn’t on the computer at all on Sunday.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I seem to be in denial regarding the rapidly approaching holiday. Of course it might have something to do with the serious lack of snow here. Great White North my butt!

Writing-wise I’ll be working on Forever and For Always, which is where the excerpt I posted Friday came from. I’m also going to be taking one of my other WIPs out of mothballs and dusting it off. Woman cannot live by editing alone, so I’ll be adding new words to my novel The Perfect Man – yes, I know that title is an oxymoron. ;-)

Snow or no snow I’d better get started on this year’s Christmas crafts. Which of course means I have to find my massive bag of Christmas craft supplies in the closet of death. *shudder*

I should also sit down and make a list of the cookies I’m going to do this year. Perhaps I’ll start with gingerbread – nothing like the smell of gingerbread men to get you in the mood for Christmas. :-)

And there you have it. My week to come. How about you? What’s in store for you this week?

Fictitious Friday

So here’s the thing. I was going to start working on the idea for my next serial yesterday, but got sort of side tracked . . . Okay, here’s the truth. I got involved in this discussion about favourite fictional heros and mine are the Black Dagger Brotherhood (by J.R. Ward, no relation), and naturally this led to pulling out my favourite book in the series, Lover Eternal, which is about Rhage, and before I knew it I finished that book and went on to the next. And guess what? I don’t even feel guilty about it. Well, okay, maybe just a little guilty.

Anyway, I don’t have the new serial ready to start being posted today, and all I can tell you at this point is that it will be another Elemental story - this time Fire - and there probably won’t be so much stuff going on in space. I’ll also leave the Space Opera up until I get the first chapter of the new one posted.

In the meantime, I’m posting an excerpt from the novel I’m currently working on. This scene is towards the end of the novel. Our heroine has been kidnapped, drugged, and left in the catacombs to die. Our hero is just a wee bit upset.


Trez woke slowly, reluctantly. She hurt. She was cold, and she couldn’t move. With returning awareness came pain, a great deal of pain. She whimpered, the only sound she was capable of making.

She thought about opening her eyes, then with a shaft of fear realized they were open. The darkness around her was all encompassing. The silence was so absolute she could hear the beating of her heart, the faint puffs of her breath.

Trying to keep the panic at bay, she took stock of her injuries. The largest source of pain came from her leg. There was a good chance it was broken; she vaguely remembered hearing a snap before she passed out. Her head was resting on something hard and raised; the surface beneath her was hard and uneven.

A single tear made a hot, wet, trail down her face. A second one followed. She was going to die here. She would never see Aleksandar again, never feel his arms around her. They would never have the chance to have children, to grow old together. The tears came faster. He would never know what happened to her.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Aleksandar stood in the doorway to Trez’s bedchamber. It looked so normal. He stepped inside and went over to the bed. There was the case from the jewels he sent her. He wondered if she liked them. He wondered if she’d ever be able to tell him. His foot struck something and he bent down to pick it up. It was the amethyst necklace.

Raynor tapped gently on the door. Aleksandar turned.

“Were you able to find anything out?”

Like Aleksandar, Raynor was still dressed in his clothes from the day before.

“Where would you like me to start?” Raynor said wearily. “Faella is,” he stopped, then ran a hand through his hair and started again. “She’s been behind it all, starting with drugging you before you went off world, and ending with engineering Trez’s disappearance.”

“What?” Aleksandar’s fist tightened around the necklace until drops of blood beaded up between his fingers and dripped to the floor.

“She was quite proud of herself, told us everything.” Raynor sat down heavily in one of the chairs. “She’d been slipping you a drug for weeks that made you act out of character. She was hoping Mahalia would want to marry you off to settle you down.”

“And she thought I’d want her as my wife?” Aleksandar’s lip curled.

“When she overheard the argument you had with your grandmother, she changed her plan. She figured with you out of the way, they’d make Cayden heir and she could inveigle her way back into his good graces. She sabotaged your ship – if you hadn’t been shot down it would have taken you to the heart of the Regulian sun.”

“I can’t believe she’s so twisted.”

“Believe it, my friend. She alternated boasting about the attempts she made on Trez’s life, and complaining about how she always managed to escape. She was especially bitter that the pirates didn’t get her – she let it slip to them that Trez was carrying a cargo of Imperial rubies.”

“Did she give any clue about what she did to Trez?”

Raynor shook his head, unable to meet his eyes. “No, just that she hoped Trez suffered before she died.”

“At least she didn’t kill her outright,” Aleksandar said bleakly.

“We found the Azure,” Cayden said, coming into the room from the connecting door.

“There were two men on board, both dead. It was set on automatic, headed out of the system.”

“Were you able to identify them?”

“One was a palace gardener, you might have even seen him around – a large man, not too bright but good at following orders. The other was one of the maintenance workers from the space port.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask how they died,” Raynor said.

Cayden hesitated. “It was a slow acting poison.”

Aleksandar went very still. “I want you to talk to everyone in the palace – staff, guards, even the children. Someone must have seen something. I want Faella’s family and friends brought in and I want them questioned thoroughly.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Trez thought she might have passed out again, but there was no way to be sure. Time had no meaning in this place; she might have been laying here for minutes or days. She no longer felt so cold and wondered if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The pain had become so much a part of her she could no longer separate the individual injuries. She was, however, very much aware of a new discomfort – thirst, a terrible thirst. How many days could a person last without water?

The darkness was still all encompassing, but the silence was no longer absolute. She could hear faint rustlings, the sound of one surface brushing another, the scurry of tiny feet, sounds made all the more ominous because their source was unknown.
Her mind began to drift.

Famous Poets - Part Five

Sir Walter Raleigh (1554 - 1618)


Walter Raleigh was born in Hayes Barton in Devonshire as Walter Ralegh. The spelling "Raleigh" was adopted by Sir Walter's widow, and has been commonly used, though there was tendency to prefer "Ralegh".

The romantic stories told by Sir Robert Naunton in the Fragmenta Regalia, and by Fuller in his Worthies, represent at least the mythical truth as to Raleigh’s rise in favour. It is quite possible that he did throw his mantle on the ground to help the queen to walk dry-shod over a puddle, and that he scribbled verses with a diamond on a pane of glass to attract her attention, though we only have the gossip of a later generation for our authority. It is certain that his tall and handsome person, his manners and his quick wit pleased the queen. The rewards showered on him were out of all proportion to his services, which had not been more distinguished than those of many others.

It is to be noted that Elizabeth treated Raleigh exclusively as a court favourite, to be enriched by monopolies and grants at the expense of her subjects, but that she never gave him any great office, nor did she admit him to the council. Even his post of Captain of the Guard, given in 1587, though honourable, and, to a man who would take gifts for the use of his influence, lucrative, was mainly ornamental.

It was by Raleigh's help that Spenser obtained a pension, and royal aid to publish the first three books of the Faerie Queen. The exact cause of Raleigh's partial disgrace at court is not known, but it was probably due to the queen's habitual policy of checking one favourite by the promotion of another. In 1589 he accompanied the expedition to the coast of Portugal, which was intended to cause a revolt against King Philip II, but failed completely. In 1591 he was at the last moment forbidden to take part in the voyage to the Azores, and was replaced by his cousin Sir R. Grenville, whose death in action with the Spaniards was the subject of one of Sir Walter's most vigorous pieces of prose writing.

In 1592 he was again at sea with an expedition to intercept the Spanish trade, but was recalled by the queen. The cause of his recall was the discovery that he had seduced one of her maids of honour, Elizabeth Throgmorton. On his return he was put into the Tower, and if he was not already married was married there. To placate the queen he made a fantastic display of despair at the loss of her favour.

The death of the queen and the accession of James I were ruinous to Raleigh. He unquestionably took some part in the complication of conspiracies which arose in the first months of James's reign, and was committed to the Tower on the 19th of July 1603.

Raleigh's confinement was easy, and he applied himself to chemical experiments and literature. He had been known as one of the most poetical of the minor lyric poets of an age of poetry from his youth.

Hope of release and of a renewal of activity never deserted him, and he strove to reach the ear of the king by appealing to successive ministers and favourites. At last he secured his freedom by promising the king he’d find a gold mine in Guiana without trenching on a Spanish possession.

On Raleigh's return to England, the outraged Count Gondomar, the Spanish ambassador, successfully demanded that King James reinstate Raleigh's death sentence. Raleigh was executed under his old sentence on the 29th of October 1618. His wife was given his embalmed head and kept it for 29 years until she died. Then his head was buried with his body.

This poem was written the night before his death:

EVEN SUCH IS TIME

Even such is time, which takes in trust
Our youth, our joys, and all we have,
And pays us naught but age and dust;
Which in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wandered all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days!
And from which grave, and earth, and dust,
The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.



The Silent Lover I

Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams:
The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb;
So, when affection yields discourse, it seems
The bottom is but shallow whence they come.
They that are rich in words, in words discover
That they are poor in that which makes a lover.

The Silent Lover II

Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart,
The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart,
That sues for no compassion.

Silence in love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty:
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart,
My true, though secret passion;
He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

Hump Day Hunk

If this doesn't melt the snow for you, I don't know what will! ;-)