The Uplands Heaven blew clear of cloud, the beech Hung full of stars, still or quaking, The cold wind shivered my warm touch, Ice in the white road crackled breaking. It was an icy night of wonder, Swift came the flurries of snow’s spite,– All were asleep; beasts down in under Depths of earth; safe from such night. Songs of these hills when most happy The day was for our Western men– Sea songs, tunes of war and company– Beaten by cold, my mouth cried again: Echoing from the barn walls, Western Songs fitting such place, racked and rang– Great stars in their clear pattern Smote the air with their fire’s clang. And hiding the minutes from my frozen Mind–at last came to Birdlip Corner– Where the far lights of Gloucester showing, Called me down, between Coopers and Chosen, Where the lowland air was warmer, And a fire waited, with tea things, blazing. ~ Ivor Gurney, (1890–1937) Ivor Gurney, born in Gloucester, UK, was a composer, poet and wounded WWI veteran. This week’s poem was discovered by Peter Anastas of Gloucester, MA.
“I am grateful for being so warmly embraced by my many new friends in this wonderful city.”
“I am grateful for the sense of community Gloucester provides where it seems, it is true, everybody knows your name. When conducting day to day activities, there is not a day that goes by where I inevitably see someone I know and exchange a greeting.”
“On Thanksgiving and every day, I am grateful for all the beauty that is Gloucester, from the colors of Spring to the magic Winter brings. Above all, I’m thankful for all the friends who seem to have an endless amount of joy to share.”
photos by Laurel Tarantino
“I thought I came to Gloucester for the light and the sea, for the art and the music. But the people I found here, tenacious and unpretentious, welcomed me into their true community and made me want to stay. This place matters to me.”
Lois A. McNulty
“I give thanks today and every day for the privilege of living in this beautiful place, this real city, which we must never allow to be taken from us by those who would remake it in their own image.”
Dreamtime Fear the Clown He is us all His tears’ Tattoo Plays on down His long sad cheeks Burning through His Enormous Smiling lips And quench His drowning heart It is time to sleep Now,long and bold Raise the dead cats From the streets And muster eunuch dogs To wail This inhospitality, This rudeness This day in Day. ~ HB Hilary Frye is a Gloucester native who thrives on adventure, usually involving salt water. She is a certified sailing instructor who volunteers with Sail GHS. She writes poetry as HB.
A new entry from Loving and Leaving the Fort
17 November 2014
Why do people move? I imagine there are a lot of reasons. Your job relocated you. You got approved for that mortgage and are finally going into your dream home. School. The landlord is selling the house, or perhaps, you’re simply ready for a change.
Whatever the reason, it can be exciting, sometimes traumatic and I believe in all cases exhausting. For me, it was all three.
The trauma and excitement were rolled up in one. A new adventure was before me, but I was leaving behind a place that held me in an embrace that comforted away the worries of the day.
I found myself recently trying to comfort a friend who couldn’t see beyond the sadness of a break-up that left her torn and heart broken. Of course there are the old clichés, “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” “There’s always sunshine after rain.” “When one door closes another one opens.” These are just a few that come to mind. Being there for your friends is the important thing. You won’t be able to take away the pain in that moment; they have to go through the mourning process in their own time. What I have found, through personal experience, is the next love is a higher love. It has to be, or you’ll keep looking back, idealizing, instead of being in the present. After living on my own for a couple years, how I loved the sound of my own laughter. I’d learned I could enjoy myself without depending on someone else, and then along came Jimmy who also appreciates the simple pleasures that make up each day, my “Higher Love”
It’s been the same leaving Fort Square. I’ve enjoyed making it my home for the past 23 years, but I’m moving into the future knowing I will find the next great chapter in my life.
I spent the 80s in Mt. Washington Valley. I was kind of fresh out of High School, embarking on what, I didn’t know, but I was ready, ready to become an adult and see something different. Not far from home, Gloucester, but a complete change from sea and shoreline.
I’d made a good choice for myself. I found the mountains to be as powerful as the ocean. I’d made it “Over the Bridge,” and I was hooked. How breathtaking to see Mt. Washington topped with snow in the morning light. Add the beautiful colors of autumn to the picture and you find yourself parked, taking it all in and perhaps being late for work.
The seasons are so giving in the mountains. Ah, to hear the rush of snow melt in a brook along a woodsy path. The awakening shock of diving into a hidden pool formed by those rushing waters on a hot Summer’s day, the smell of cider and those of country fairs with the promise of warmth in a barn full of big brown-eyed cows and bleating goats. Even winter doesn’t seem as harsh. Snowfall is invited; it adds its own magic.
…the sky, a besmudged cauldron, leaking sudden shafts of sunlight; the water, tossing quicksilver. Like crisp white cat’s ears, the sails pop up, and the near-empty harbor dances to life.