Good red in the cellar.
They buy cheap bubbles
for the quick dizzy joy.
Don’t we all seek joy? Keats got the joy of the small, got the need to store the evanescent and transient. Consolation and sustenance from memory and words.
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o’er-darkened ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
‘Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven’s brink.[i]
How good is that?
A hundred and three years later, 1915, the middle of the Great War to end all wars. It would cost you fifteen US cents to buy volume seven number one of Poetry andread Uber Icon Carl Sandberg’s Joy.[ii]
Seventy four volumes of poetry later it would cost you fifty cents for the gloriously named Emma Swan’s take on joy.
Today you can, for nothing more than you are already paying for your internet access, read poetry inspired by Mish at dVerse https://dversepoets.com . She has issued an open invitation to post anything you like. She talks about a simple joy in her own world and the diverse world in the dVerse community. It is so interesting to read the range of difference generated by a simple prompt. Take a look the the diverse dVerse here: https://www.blenza.com/linkies/links.php?owner=dversepoets&postid=23Jul2020&meme=12507
Where I am we are going deeper into lock-down every day. This is my third participation in dVerse. While I’m certainly no Keats, I am learning, having fun and being deeply challenged all at the same time.
I find it quite confronting to put my words and pictures out there. So the encouraging comments and likes from the wordpress community are much appreciated. Thank you all so much.
The last word on joy goes to the great William Wordsworth:
Surprised by Joy
Surprised by joy — impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport — Oh! with whom
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind —
But how could I forget thee? — Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss! — That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.[iii]