John Clare: The Temple of Minerva

The Temple of Minerva by John Clare.


The ruin of a ruin – man of mirth

Pause o’er the past and immediate decay

The very stones are perishing to earth

Foundations though all’s left will waste away

Time’s chissel on what’s left still writes ‘Decay’

Which every season wrecks and wears away


A shadow it was present – but ’tis past

Time sickened and life’s nature met decay

Convulsive winds seemed sobbing out their last

When ruin’s piecemeal Temple passed away

The very stones like clay dissolving lye

And solitude half-fearing learns to sigh


See’st thou the steps of yesterday

The night before the last

See’st thou when darkness went away

And daylight winnowed past

The present is – and shadows are

What was so very bright and fair


Spring meadow-flowers was suns and joy

Of present happiness

But when the summer filled the sky

All was another dress

They changed to seed among the hay

And dyed when summer went away


Now evening rosey streaks – a ribboned sky

Spreads in the golden light of the far West

And mighty rocks are pillowed dark and high

The image and the prototype of rest

The heavens’ prophesy where peace is blest

A stillness soft as fall of silent dews

Is felt around – the very dusk looks blest

As is the maiden while her heart pursues

Her evening walk o’er fields in silent dews

Ave Maria, tis the hour of love

When sighs and pains and tears on beauty’s breast

Are whispered into blessings from above

Ave Maria, tis the hour of rest

For man and woman and the weary beast

And parents love the minature delights

That blesses all with sleep and quiet rest

Ave Maria, tis the hour of night

Like to an Indian Maiden dressed in white

The winter-time is over love

Whitethorns begin to bud

And brown and green of freshness love

Enlivens all the wood

There’s white clouds got agen the sun

One daisy open in the green

The primrose shows its sulphur bud

Just where the hazel stulps are seen

And ere the April time is out

Along the riding’s gravel walk

The bedlam’s primrose blooms about

Wi’ twenty blossoms on a stalk

How happy seems the drop of dew

That nestles in the daisey’s eye

How blest the cloud seems in the blue

That near the sun appears to lie

How happy does thy shadows seem

That stretches o’er the morning grass

They seems to walk as in a dream

I know their shadows as they pass . . .

(John Clare https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Clare)





oil painting & pastel on card, 230 x 230, 2016



oil paint and pastel on card, 230 x 230 mm, 2016



oil paint & pastel on card, 230 x 230 mm, 2016



pencil on paper, a4, 2016

nietszche’s writing rules

Nietzsche’s 10 Rules for Writing with Style (1882)

1. Of prime necessity is life: a style should live.

2. Style should be suited to the specific person with whom you wish to communicate. (The law of mutual relation.)

3. First, one must determine precisely “what-and-what do I wish to say and present,” before you may write. Writing must be mimicry.

4. Since the writer lacks many of the speaker’s means, he must in general have for his model a very expressive kind of presentation of necessity, the written copy will appear much paler.

5. The richness of life reveals itself through a richness of gestures. One must learn to feel everything — the length and retarding of sentences, interpunctuations, the choice of words, the pausing, the sequence of arguments — like gestures.

6. Be careful with periods! Only those people who also have long duration of breath while speaking are entitled to periods. With most people, the period is a matter of affectation.

7. Style ought to prove that one believes in an idea; not only that one thinks it but also feels it.

8. The more abstract a truth which one wishes to teach, the more one must first entice the senses.

9. Strategy on the part of the good writer of prose consists of choosing his means for stepping close to poetry but never stepping into it.

10. It is not good manners or clever to deprive one’s reader of the most obvious objections. It is very good manners and very clever to leave it to one’s reader alone to pronounce the ultimate quintessence of our wisdom.

from here: http://www.openculture.com/2016/12/nietzsches-10-rules-for-writing-with-style-1882.html

I’ve been writing for various purposes of late so I’ve posted this. I want to think about it. (Worth baring in mind it’s regarding German – and translated into US English.)



What’s the difference between something said to be intelligent and something worth saying? Does it matter?





graphite on paper, a5, 2016


dead mouse