Poetry of the Week: Christina Rossetti's Dream

My dreams have been unruly of late, so until I get a reference sheet up, have some bizarre dream poetry from a familiar writer:

My Dream - Christina Rossetti
Hear now a curious dream I dreamed last night
Each word whereof is weighed and sifted truth.

I stood beside Euphrates while it swelled
Like overflowing Jordan in its youth:
It waxed and coloured sensibly to sight;
Till out of myriad pregnant waves there welled
Young crocodiles, a gaunt blunt-featured crew,
Fresh-hatched perhaps and daubed with birthday dew.
The rest if I should tell, I fear my friend
My closest friend would deem the facts untrue;
And therefore it were wisely left untold;
Yet if you will, why, hear it to the end.

Each crocodile was girt with massive gold
And polished stones that with their wearers grew:
But one there was who waxed beyond the rest,
Wore kinglier girdle and a kingly crown,
Whilst crowns and orbs and sceptres starred his breast.
All gleamed compact and green with scale on scale,
But special burnishment adorned his mail
And special terror weighed upon his frown;
His punier brethren quaked before his tail,
Broad as a rafter, potent as a flail.

So he grew lord and master of his kin:
But who shall tell the tale of all their woes?
An execrable appetite arose,
He battened on them, crunched, and sucked them in.
He knew no law, he feared no binding law,
But ground them with inexorable jaw:
The luscious fat distilled upon his chin,
Exuded from his nostrils and his eyes,
While still like hungry death he fed his maw;
Till every minor crocodile being dead
And buried too, himself gorged to the full,
He slept with breath oppressed and unstrung claw.
Oh marvel passing strange which next I saw:
In sleep he dwindled to the common size,
And all the empire faded from his coat.
Then from far off a wingèd vessel came,
Swift as a swallow, subtle as a flame:
I know not what it bore of freight or host,
But white it was as an avenging ghost.
It levelled strong Euphrates in its course;
Supreme yet weightless as an idle mote
It seemed to tame the waters without force
Till not a murmur swelled or billow beat:
Lo, as the purple shadow swept the sands,
The prudent crocodile rose on his feet
And shed appropriate tears and wrung his hands.

What can it mean? you ask. I answer not
For meaning, but myself must echo, What?
And tell it as I saw it on the spot.

Tea Blends: Witch's Brew

In addition to a pantheon of themed deities, Crossover has a few different types of magic users: Witches, Wizards, and Wonder Workers. I'm unlikely to try to make tea blends for every different theme and header in the game, but I had fun playing around with Witch and Wizard, and will likely give Wonder a try as well. For this week, enjoy Witch's Brew! One of my favorites. (I'm partial to pu-erh and cinnamon, as a general rule.)

Witch's Brew (a pu-erh blend)

The blend:
For every teaspoon of pu-erh, 

 - 1/4 teaspoon basil
 - 1/4 teaspoon rose petals

 - 1/4 teaspoon whole peppercorns

 - 1/4 teaspoon of orange rind

 - 1/4 stick of cinnamon
Of all these blends, this is the least finicky about ratios. Mix and match and throw things in willy-nilly as you prefer. It matches the spirit of the blend better anyway.

Steep at boiling for ~5 minutes. You can't really oversteep.

Notes on ingredients:

 - The pu-erh I used here is from MEM Tea Imports. It's far from my favorite. It's weaker and has less depth than most I'm used to, but I can buy it in bulk, which is useful..

 - Rose petals from Spices and Tease.

Notes on design:
This was actually one of the first blends I ever tried, shortly after the Life tea and before finalizing Death. It's a number of my favorite flavors thrown into a pot to see what happens, (the answer is deliciousness), but it's also very nearly Death's base (pu-erh) paired with Life's flavorings (basil, orange, pepper, rose). Cinnamon is the only additional ingredient, added both to make the initial brew look even more like a haphazard mix of sticks and leaves and because I adore cinnamon and would add it to everything if not stopped (this will be a common theme in my blends). 

The final mix is smooth and malty and comforting while maintaining the bright tangy spice of the Life blend, and rumors that this is the blend that had me start buying pu-erh in bulk are entirely true.

Enjoy! Next week, far more finicky Wizards and their troubling obsession with fire.

Poetry of the Week: R. L. Stevenson, Colds, and Children's Poems

I've been laid out with a cold this week, so my days have devolved into making aggressively productive schedules that I'm too dazed and absent-minded to follow through on. Instead I end up sneezing a lot and meowing back at my cat as he wanders around the house and chirrups or yowls at me from different rooms. (I have no idea why he does this. Occasionally he wants food or attention, but just as often he's gotten "lost" after sticking his head under the shower curtain.) But I owe you poetry, and so I Googled "poetry about colds" yesterday and found a few gems. Most notably a poem from Robert Louis Stevenson, author of Treasure Island and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, that led to my learning that he has an entire collection of adorable (if occasionally exasperatingly Victorian) children's poems, A Child's Garden of Verses.

I haven't talked much about why I insist on sharing a poem or three a week on this blog. Part of it is, admittedly, an excuse for me to reread old favorites and do at least a small amount of regular research (even a five minute internet search on the common cold) to find potential new ones. But I also hope that I'm enabling a five to ten minute break in your week for you to read something silly or clever or profound. And if you like what you read, be it an author or a style or a subject, you can look further. (Or ask me to, which is always an option.) Poetry is interesting to me in the way it concisely captures moments of human experience, so that you can read twenty words written centuries ago by someone half a world away and feel a sense of connection. But what I connect won't always be what you will, so if anything here spikes your interest, I highly recommend seeking out more.

Thus far I've mostly focused on 19th century English poetry, both out of my own familiarity and because it's the most readily available should you want to read more than what I've shared. But I intend to figure out how I want to deal with translations in the near future, and I'm going to start gathering some links to free poetry resources of various types to share. It doesn't much do to encourage you to read more and not give you more directions to look in than search engines. But for now, my cat is blessedly quiet and my tea needs topping off, so enjoy some reflections of childhood imagination.

The Land of Counterpane
When I was sick and lay a-bed,
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay,
To keep me happy all the day.

And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.

My Shadow
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes goes so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close behind me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

Armies in the Fire
The lamps now glitter down the street;
Faintly sound the falling feet;
And the blue even slowly falls
About the garden trees and walls.

Now in the falling of the gloom
The red fire paints the empty room:
And warmly on the roof it looks,
And flickers on the back of books.

Armies march by tower and spire
Of cities blazing, in the fire;--
Till as I gaze with staring eyes,
The armies fall, the lustre dies.

Then once again the glow returns;
Again the phantom city burns;
And down the red-hot valley, lo!
The phantom armies marching go!

Blinking embers, tell me true
Where are those armies marching to,
And what the burning city is
That crumbles in your furnaces!

Tea Blends: The Gods of Joy and Sorrow

The extra week's delay here was mainly due to my inexperience with herbals and a bit of a stumbling block around the concept of sorrow. Like Moon's blend, I'm sufficiently satisfied with what I ended up with, but I may keep experimenting until I get it right. I'm more than happy with Joy's blend, though, which tastes like soda and jelly beans and a kid's summer holiday. Both were helped greatly by an afternoon browsing the shelves of a local spice and herb shop with a friend of mine, grabbing a number of new and interesting ingredients to experiment with. So here we are!

Faithful Of Joy (a strawberry sassafras blend)

Good Cheer!

The blend:

 - 1/2 teaspoon vanilla rooibos
 - 1/2 teaspoon rhubarb strawberry green tea

 - 1/4 teaspoon of dried sassafras root

 - 1/8 teaspoon of orange rind

 - a pinch of something bright and colorful! (blue mallow petals here, but you could try sprinkles or edible glitter or whatever tickles your fancy)
Steep at boiling for ~5 minutes. 

Notes on ingredients:

 - The vanilla rooibos comes from MEM Tea Imports, as does so much of my stash. I don't drink rooibos often, and I can't say that I prefer this particular batch any more or less than any other.

 - The rhubarb strawberry green tea I got from Spices and Tease, and goodness is it strong. Delicious, but it is anything but the "subtle" in its description. I only ever drink it cut with other teas, but fortunately the rooibos does the job nicely.

 - The sassafras and blue mallow I picked up at my local spice shop, and I proceeded to spend a week sorting out the proper amount of sassafras to add a bit of flavor and not overwhelm everything with the taste of root beer.

Notes on design:
I knew that I wanted to start with either rooibos or honeybush as the base for Joy, as two of the sweeter and brighter of tisanes I'm used to, and fruit and sweetness seemed a natural addition, so once I remembered the strawberry tea I save for mixing I'd already almost finished. The two paired well, but it still wasn't everything I wanted. Wandering through a spice shop looking for ideas for Sorrow, I encountered some dried sassafras root and that clenched it. I've never played with sassafras root before (I had to look it up at first to remember its connection to root beer), but it's definitely a flavor I associate with joy. A few pinches of orange brighten everything up and help blend it all together, and throwing in something colorful (and edible) is just for fun. These pictures don't fully capture the sunny orange cheery brightness, and the flavor manages to be soda and jellybeans in a way that isn't nearly as overwhelmingly sweet as it sounds. 

Faithful of Sorrow (a lemon balm blend)

Reminisce

The blend:

For every teaspoon of lemon balm, 

 - one or two petals of dried hibiscus

 - three cardamom pods

Steep at boiling for at ~5 minutes. 

Notes on ingredients:

 - Nothing terribly interesting here. The flowers and cardamom came from a spice shop, and a friend of mine grew more lemon balm than she could use.

Notes on design:
What I wanted for Sorrow was something soothing more than tasty. Bonus points for any known or folkloric health or calming properties. I tried chamomile, but so far I've yet to find any chamomile blend that doesn't taste terrible to me. I don't even find them particularly sleepy or calming. Lavender was my next bet, but it worked too well at making a blend calm and relaxing. The followers of Sorrow in this universe are dispensers of justice and judgement, and I couldn't imagine any blend for them being entirely comfortable. Lemon balm hit a good middle ground of soothing without being decadent, with a fairly mild flavor but a hint of sharpness. Playing with dried hibiscus for the first time, I immediately knew that I wanted it in the blend as well, though primarily for its appearance. It bleeds so prettily as it steeps. But those alone left the tea with a tangy medicinal taste, which wasn't bad, exactly, but wasn't anything terribly interesting. Cardamom added an earthier sharpness that balanced the two, but something still feels missing. Which is, perhaps, appropriate to a sorrowful blend, but I'm likely to keep experimenting.

Joy is an absolute delight, though too sweet for me to want very often, (I don't have much of a sweet tooth), and Sorrow isn't meant to be an every day blend, but both achieved what I wanted them to, and will likely enter our general house rotation.

Bonus blend! Discarded Sorrow

Ponder Your Crimes

The most sorrowful herbal tea I've ever encountered is, by far, ku ding cha, or "bitter nail tea". There are a couple variations, but the only one I've ever had was made from rolled, dried broadleaf holly leaves. It is traditionally known for its health benefits and its extremely bitter flavor. Unfortunately for my boyfriend and I, we didn't know any of this on our first encounter. We were gifted with a set of teas with very little English on the labels, and after slowly savoring the lovely pu-erh in the group, we started looking at the others. We didn't think much of the holly mention on the label, and decided that given all the other teas in the group were black teas, we'd be safe enough to brew it like a black tea. (Our first mistake, ku ding should be brewed at a temperature closer to green tea.) Then, distracted, we allowed the tea to steep longer than advisable. (Our second mistake, as it only needed a minute or two.) When we eventually poured the tea, it looked as pale and unassuming as an under-steeped green, but I managed only a sip before horrified surprise set in. I tried a second, to be sure, but couldn't make it any further. The boyfriend, who at least enjoys coffee, and so presumably has more tolerance for unpleasantly bitter drinks than I do, managed about half his cup. It tasted like road tar, and not in the delicious lapsang souchong way.

It looks so unassuming....

Today, to verify that it wouldn't be a good base for Sorrow after all, I tried again with a proper steeping. Not too many leaves, water the proper temperature, no over-steeping... And still, no. One taste made me instantly regret half my life choices and ponder my own mortality. My boyfriend, who makes worse life choices than I do and hates wasting anything, stubbornly tried to finish his glass, but didn't make it any further than the previous time.

It's fascinating, and I'll likely try it again off and on to see if I can see how one acquires a taste for it, and absolutely if I see ku ding available in other places I'll have to try it, to see how other leaves compare to the ones we were given and if there's anything wrong with my steeping method. But for the time being, I can't recommend it.

Poetry of the Week: John Keats

This blog is undergoing some adjustments, but as it is Wednesday, please take a few minutes to enjoy some Keats!

When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be
When I have fears that I may cease to be
      Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-pilèd books, in charactery,
      Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night’s starred face,
      Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
      Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
      That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
      Of unreflecting love—then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.

On The Sonnet
If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
      And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd,
      Sandals more interwoven and complete
To fit the naked foot of poesy;
Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd
      By ear industrious, and attention meet:
Misers of sound and syllable, no less
      Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
      Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;
So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
      She will be bound with garlands of her own..

To Sleep
O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
      Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
      Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
      In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
      Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passed day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,—
      Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
      Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.