Poem of the Week

Easter, 1916
W B Yeats
 
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

The Pubs Around Nunhead 22: In the Nun's Head

 

Starbucks, South Mimms

So when the barrista asked if I wanted my name on the cup, I had to be a smartarse...

The Pubs Around Nunhead 21 - The Rye

And now, as promised, The Rye.

No longer The Rye Hotel, please note - not that it was a hotel for some time beforehand, so far as I could see.  As previously described it is mentioned in The Ballad of Peckham Rye, which may be its most significant claim to fame.

The newly (re-)opened The Rye smells of paint, and someone has spent significant sums in remodelling the place.  Physically, the old L-shaped bar has been knocked through, so now there is a central island bar (retaining some of the old woodwork and the clock) with seats all around.  The kitchen and loos have been moved and the entrance to the (still huge) garden at the rear changed and opened out. 

It does feel more open and airy - lots of white walls and varied seating - some more comfortable than others.  The kitchen seems large and they are obviously pushing the menu, while the bar drink prices seemed cheapish, at least for the present.

It does currently feel very, very new, and somewhat soulless.  The smell of new paint and clean walls are part of that, plus the new awnings and lighting.  It still needs to develop a character.

It is also true that the staff are still feeling their way.  The chap who served me couldn't be sure about the wine they had available, then he discovered he couldn't log in to the cash terminal.  Lots of  'how do I...' questions shouted around.

And there were an awful lot of staff there when I called in (around 5pm-ish a couple of days ago, a weekday in sunny weather).  Five in chef's full fig in the kitchens, plus another 5 or 6 behind the bar at various times.  Maybe they were expecting crowds later, or it was a training day.  Certainly there were few customers around.

And did I mention, it smells of paint?

The old Rye Hotel (I don't mean the temporary MeatWagon incarnation, which was always transitional, but the previous management) was indeed very far from perfect.  Eg staff did occasionally get bullied and let go for no good reason, and there were issues around stock sometimes.  But it had character.  It had live music (sometimes) and events.  The new The Rye will have to build that all afresh.

TANH will, of course, continue to monitor the situation in a hands-on kind of way.

Secure Delivery

Our Olympic tickets were delivered today.  Lots of security - texts, official van, signature, etc.  Much more secure, it seems, than the delivery of my new passport last year. 

Still I haven't checked they are the right ones yet.

Vale

The view through the window of my train for Chippenham today, as it rushed through the Vale of the White Horse...

Bath

So I went to Bath last week, for a meeting, and was put up in a rather nice boutique hotel (the Paradise House hotel.  It is an old 17th century mansion).  Apparently every room is different. 

Above is the view from the large picture window in the room I had.  The coffee kit in the room was a cafetiere and there were (as you'd expect) a digital radio and a digital TV (plasma) in the bedroom. 

Then I went into the bathroom. 

Huge.  Stone floor.  In the middle of the room sat a massive, ornate jacuzzi. 

Plush.

Oh, and a second screen you could watch while you bubbled.

Room 3, if you are ever there...