Monthly Archives: July 2011

W B Yeats, The Kinks and Natural Recall

Dreaming of Iona

I have a confession to make that I am having a great deal of difficulty remembering the events of a week ago not to mention that yesterday can have all the appearance of a complete blur

There are certain elements that always have a tendency to stand out, the appointment with the optician who recommends an increase in bifocal strength so I can read the news that the cost of living is increasing on the hour every hour, the unexpected meeting with a friend who tactfully informs me that my hair is whiter (not grey) than the last time we meet and the all important doctors consultation where he advises you when complaining about the pain in your left ankle on wet september mornings “what else can you expect at your time of life” I would hate to contemplate what his reaction would be to my memory crisis?

I have been taking comfort from the fact that my recall cannot be that severe as I can vividly recount every scrape and abrasion I received to my elbows and knees fifty years ago not to mention the long ever ending warm summer days strolling in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens or the tree-lined paths of The Meadows with the strains of Ray Davis escaping from open windows.

Perhaps I should reach a conclusion that this phenomenon is not a softening of the grey matter but a mechanism to cope with the realities of everyday living, the momentum of a headlong rush to reach a undefined destination in time or maybe I should bow to the inevitable.

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

W. B. Yeats


 

Dylan Thomas, A Different Generation and An Illusion to be Cherished

I am slowly coming to the realisation that what appears to be reality is no more than an illusion, a trick of the senses and as much a figment of the imagination that our school and teenage years were the best days of our life.

Although when comparisons are made between the present ethics and attitudes to that of over 30 years ago, it has to be concluded that morality, respect and even religious expression are all measured against a different template.

It is unreasonable to expect that the youth of today, should live the lives that a different generation experienced but on the same token when we reach that certain age where the illusion that our school and teenage years were the best days of our life becomes a reality, we should be allowed to cultivate the realisation and live the life that our own generation cherished.

There is nothing more depressing than being afraid to grow old in grace and wisdom but hastened to add I am also not adverse to the sentiments expressed by a welsh poet;

“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Cambridgeshire_Upware-From The Fen Rivers Way (2)