I feel very happy that my long-anticipated trip to his home in the picturesque Lake District of England's north-west is happening now and not at an earlier time as planned, before I started this blog. It's great to share this experience here as it does serve to demonstrate the reason, genetically and environmentally, that I write poetry. My lineage to Robert Southey comes through my mother's father's side of the family, and he would tell us of Robert Southey and recite his poetry to us from a young age. I believe this is where the interest to write poetry was first spawned, although it has always been something that's felt natural and innate. I share many similarities to Southey, physically and intellectually, which is extremely interesting to observe, considering they've persisted through five generations. It think all of us would be surprised at our similarities to our ancestors, and I'm thankful that the life, works and personality of Robert Southey are documented in substantial detail so I can get a firm feeling for the man he was. Although not particularly renowned now he was about as famous as a poet could get in his day.
Among a few things I did today, along with my older brother and other friends staying at Greta Hall, was go down to Derwent Water, the large lake next to which the town of Keswick (pronounced Ke-zick), home of Southey for the greater part of his adult life, is located. Here are some photos.
Greta Hall - home of Robert Southey, his family, and the family of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Still a family home but partly used as a Bed & Breakfast.
My older brother Caleb and I out outside Greta Hall
Derwent Water
Part of Keswick town with the peak of Skiddaw behind (180° of above shot)
We also went to see his grave outside Crosthwaite Church and his effigy inside. But more about that tomorrow. Here is a poem I wrote today on the shore of Derwent Water.
I'm adding to this post the following day as I had the opportunity to spend considerable time in Southey's study today, where did nearly all his writing in the last 40 years of his life, and while there I recorded myself reciting this poem. I also changed the word "hills" to "fells" which is what they're actually called.
Here is the video;
Derwent Water
A chilling wind whips Derwent Water's green shore
My face, hands and feet quickly freeze to the core
I stand here and soak in the sight before me
Knowing something quite similar did Southey once see
And with much inspiration to call on this day
I'll try to convey the trees' casual sway
As they huddle in groups orange, yellow, green, brown
The oldest inhabitants of old Keswick town
While rising behind the grey water's expanse
Majestic fells roll their romantic in-trance
As silver clouds flow past peaks scattered with white
Like-coloured ducks float in the icy delight
On a grassed rise nearby shaggy sheep graze and lay
Watched over by grand Skiddaw every day
Small wooden boats sail, and as in Southey's time
Ferry keen Lakers to the small isle so sublime
Such beauty highlighted by buildings of stone
Make this town a place most would like to call home
As would I, if the chance were presented to me
And live as did Southey from 1803
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