O greening branch!
You stand in your nobility
Like the rising dawn.
Rejoice now and exult
And deign to free the fools we are
From our long slavery to ignorance
And hold out your hand
To raise us up.
Hildegard of Bingen
David Jones
Posted on by James Woodward
After the war, Jones entered the Westminster School of Art, where he developed an interest in Post-Impressionism and studied under the English artist Walter Sickert, among other influential teachers. He also became increasingly attracted by Roman Catholicism, and in 1921 he co
Time Out
Posted on by James Woodward
I remember as a student in London buying the weekly magazine Time Out to catch up on films and see where cheap theatre tickets could be bought. Always a mine of information and very candid and illuminating reviews. I wonder of it is still in print?
I am back in Temple Bals
Forgiveness??
Posted on by James Woodward
Looking down on my father's
dead face
for the last time
my mother said without
tears, without smiles
without regrets
but with civility
"Good night Willie Lee, I'll see you
in the morning."
And it was then I knew that the healing
of all our wounds
is forgiveness
that pe
Greenness
Posted on by James Woodward
Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee,
Whether the summer clothe the general earth
With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing
Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch
Of mossy apple-tree, while the nigh thatch
Smokes in the sun-thaw; whether the eave-drops
University Challenge
Posted on by James Woodward
Sad - perhaps - but a day away from Temple Balsall and two rather problematic journeys down the M40 - rain and snow - ice and fog sent me to the TV for relaxation!
I was gald to watch University Challenge. I failed to get into the Kings College team in 1980 and so am
Speak in poetry not prose please?
Posted on by James Woodward
'Listen, now, verse should be as natural
As the small tuber that feeds on muck
And grows slowly from obtuse soil
To the white flower of immortal beauty.'
'Natural, hell! What was it Chaucer
Said once about the long toil
That goes like blood to the poem's making?
Leave it to
What will you do when you grow old?
Posted on by James Woodward
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each
Pray for Zimbabwe
Posted on by James Woodward
Here in Temple Balsall we know soemthing of the human cost of the present and longstanding unrest of Zimbawe as we have a number of resisdents who lived there and love its land and people.
The statement from Anglican leaders is a model of prophecy and Christian action -
In Praise of Snow…
Posted on by James Woodward
Walking in it is best!
My back garden...
Driving isnt fun - thank goodness you are not in charge of transport for London......
Bringing Dementia out of the shadows
Posted on by James Woodward
It is easy to knock the Government and I wonder sometimes if any of us really understand the complex and demanding nature of modern governance?
Today I want to commend the Governments excellent initiatives around Dementia. Let me remind you about the plans. The ambition is
Hugo Young
Posted on by James Woodward
Curiosity, Hugo Young argues, is the essential ingredient of the best journalism. The only way to understand any world, especially the ever complex, always churning, often deceiving world of politics, is to craft the right questions and then go in search of the answers.
CandleMas
Posted on by James Woodward
The Feast of the Presentation of Jesus at the Temple celebrates an early episode in the life of Jesus, and falls on or around 2 February. In the Eastern Orthodox Church, it is one of the twelve Great Feasts, and is sometimes called Hypapante (lit., 'Meeting'). Other
Giving shape to Old Age
Posted on by James Woodward
In the Old Age of the Soul
I do not choose to dream; there cometh on me
Some strange old lust for deeds.
As to the nerveless hand of some old warrior
Te sword-hilt or the war-worn wonted helmet
Brings momentary life and long-fled cunning,
So to my soul grown old –
Slumdog Millionaire
Posted on by James Woodward
A rather cold afternoon in January is a good time to rediscover the joys of cinema - and my goodness - what a film - deserving every possible acclamation.
So here is the plot!!!
Slumdog Millionaire opens with a police inspector in Mumbai, India interrogating and torturing J
Garlic Mushrooms on a bed of Rocket
Posted on by James Woodward
Ingredients
1/2 lb mushrooms, preferably button
1 packet of rocket or 1/2 an iceberg lettuce
(finely shredded)
250g (1/2 pt) whipping cream
1 garlic clove, crushed
3 tbsp sunflower oil
Pepper and salt
1/2 grated nutmeg or flat tsp ground mace
1 tbsp chopped chives
Method
Wipe th
VALUING AGE?
Posted on by James Woodward
Later today I shall travel down to London for a small event to mark th epublication of this book. Thanks to my old boss Richard Harries ( now Lord Harries ) the party is to be held in the House of Lords.
Here is a little taste of what I want to share with guests:
How are we to
Memory
Posted on by James Woodward
Alzheimer’s Patient
Oh, how can this be?
You and I are losing me
Some day soon
May be morning
Many be noon
I will no longer be the me
You and I know as me
And the answer seems to be
Words, and thought, frequently scramble
And my conversations seem to ramble.
Oh, how can
Patience
Posted on by James Woodward
patience
An absolute
patience.
Trees stand
up to their knees in
fog. The fog
slowly flows
uphill.
White
cobwebs, the grass
leaning where deer
have looked for apples.
The woods
from brook to where
the top of the hill looks
over the fog, send up
not one bird.
So absolute, it
How are we to understand our Life?
Posted on by James Woodward
SO MANY DIFFERENT LENGTHS OF TIME
How long is a man’s life, finally?
Is it a thousand days, or only one?
One week, or a few centuries?
How long does a man’s death last?
And what do we mean when we say, ‘gone forever’?
Adrift in such preoccupations, we seek clari