Subject: Re: screaming heebies
From: Cecilia Baader (ceciliabaader@yahoo.com)
Date: Thu May 31 2001 - 11:18:11 GMT
--- Scottie Bowman <rbowman@indigo.ie> wrote:
>
> But as a poetic image, the one
> thing a poppy is not is PALE red. ‘A pale-red gossamer mask
> made out of poppy petals’ is what we bowmen call a boss shot,
I'm going to have to beg to differ with you, for when picked, even the
reddest of poppies begin to pale and take on a gossamer feel. (As one
who cannot bear to throw out flowers when they are sent to me, this is
something that I've noticed about reds as they begin to die. They fade
to a pale-red. I guess that the pale-red becomes important then, too, as
it begins to indicate decay. Hmm.)
> I’m also grateful for the natural history of the poppy. But it
> was my distinct impression that the fields of France were deep
> in poppies long before the enormities of 1914. After all, many
> Monets mack a muckle.
Well I cannot claim to have been wandering the fields of France in 1914,
but my understanding is that the fields in question had a smattering of
poppies before the trenches and after, an outpouring of red. The
blood-red fields of Flanders.
There's a number of poems from WWI that take note of this, but "In
Flanders Fields" is probably the most famous.
> Where am I?
County Cork, I believe. (Sorry. Couldn't help myself.)
You could be anywhere, I guess. But the poppies make me think that
something horrible has happened there, long ago. I don't know. An
interesting contrast, with the cool of the breeze and the uncomfortable
poppies. So where?
Regards,
Cecilia.
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