Tennyson Down 2003

We went up to Tennyson Down after dinner. It rained steadily the entire time, soaking through my shawl and backpack (here called a rucksack). I took flash photos, which was a little silly, except that it showed the sky ruinous with the fall of night. Raindrops shine in the flash like little comets. John and the students played Frisbee against the wind, the red sun setting in clouds behind them.

I wish I knew more of the poets. I probably wouldn’t recognize a Tennyson poem. He too had the limitations of his time, but his simple, evocative poetry—at least what I’ve heard from the students—is a pleasure. I think of him as the “Dirty Monk” who made Guinevere bow abjectly before a priggish Arthur, but I may be influenced by the illustration. He was a Victorian, good and bad.