The Impressions series is autobiographical, meditations on scenes from my life that just happened to drift by when I was close to a typewriter. This one was kickstarted by remembering this poem, while practising typing:
A poor English scan of the poem would be:
Mars looks beautiful in red,
Venus in her green silk gown,
The old moon shakes her golden feathers,
Their starry talk a lot of nonsense,
They don’t spare a thought for you,
Earth, you beautiful, neglected child,
– But cry, and in your tears
You’ll drown them all!
Typed with an Imperial Good Companion 5.
Great Scots! It rolls off the tongue (and the typewriter) beautifully!
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Ha! Cheers, Steve. Glad you like it.
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I’m so glad you loved your native tongue enough to reclaim (and proclaim) it. The suppression of language is a particularly insidious form of oppression and it always gets my hackles up (to use a good Middle English expression).
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You are correct, John, it is an insidious opression, and continues around the world today. One day I hope we mature as a race. Not much sign of it, though. Thanks for your comment.
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