Hampton Court Palace

Another post discovered in my draft folder. I'm sure I was waiting to write more details on this one. Suffice it to say, it was as awesome as it looks.

We watched A Man for all Seasons in preparation for the field-trip -- opening doors into the life of Henry VIII, Thomas Wolsey, and the scandal surrounding the palace.




Oh for the glory of Oxford days and English nights . . .

I try to avoid remembering too often, because it is all-together too strange that I am here, when just so recently I was there [a true statement when I wrote this -- now it's been almost a year].

Rebekah Giffone's ode to Hampton Court Palace, where we spent a glorious Thursday field-trip (led by Jonathan Kirkpatrick), during week2 of British Landscapes.

The Ghost of Hampton Court
Dec. 9, 2008

There were no ghosts at Hampton Court,
When I went there in the Fall,
No spectres graced the pathways,
No spirits walked the halls

The wind that blew was windy,
The air was normal air,
No longing gripped my being,
I sat and shuddered there

I was the ghost at Hampton Court,
That harshish Autumn noon,
Treading wraith-like in the gardens,
And undead through the rooms

The golden ache refused to burn,
No beauty pierced my mind,
No ghost returned to haunt me -
I thought myself unblind

"At last I shall see clearly,
the fancies stripped away,
the Past devoid of feeling,
It cannot see decay."

Lies, insidious lies!
Dear daughter, don't you see?
That in the ghosts of Yesteryears
the Present wakes to thee?

Until you meet them face to face,
These spectres keep you chained -
Let the legions haunt you,
I pray you: feel the pain

For spectres live through death,
In your death, they have their being,
You fill their weightless bodies,
And set their sockets seeing

But let a spirit haunt you,
And you rob it of its breath,
Declare yourself the living,
And the dead remain in death

***

There were no ghosts at Hampton Court,
When I went there in the Fall,
No spectres graced the pathways,
No spirits walked the halls

Yet now the day is closing,
The night is falling fast,
My heart begins its yearning,
for spirits of the past

The wind that blows is windy,
The air is normal air,
Yet longing grips my being,
I sit and crumble there

The golden ache begins to burn
These beauties pierce my soul,
A heavy peace now haunts me -
In the voidness, I am whole.

Until I meet You face to face,
These spectres keep me chained,
Yet in Your haunting Presence,
All questions die away

Your Spirit is the answer,
To bereft and bloodless minds -
Your beauty cuts me deeply:
I know I am alive

-Rebekah Giffone