Sunday, September 26, 2010

Knitting Brings Quiet...

This weekend finds me at our local race track, watching as CG races in the rain...  My usual home on Wheels AKA "Petunia" sits at home, unable to start, (we think she needs a new battery)...  So I sit in  the cab of our truck and try to feel the quiet and peace like I enjoy when we travel with Petunia...

I pulled out some rich Kiwi green yarn that I'd brought with me and began to knit a toasty shawl for the cooler weather.   Once again I discover what profound and therapeutic effects working (creating) with colors can have on my temperament.  The repetition of the gently clicking needles and the beautiful colored  yarn passing in, over, through, off, puts me in a state of quiet relaxation, almost meditation... whilst in the background I hear the sound of cars careering  around corners and screeching their tires in an effort to stay on the track in the deluge of rain.  Its good to be warm, its good to be dry...

I discovered this poem I'd like to share by Pablo Neruda.  I love how his words sweetly describe the specialness of being given a pair of hand knitted socks, that are "as soft as two rabbits..."

Ode To My Socks ~ by Pablo Neruda
(Translated by Robert Bly)

Mara Mori brought me
a pair of socks
which she knitted herself
with her sheepherder's hands,
two socks as soft as rabbits.
I slipped my feet into them
as though into two cases
knitted with threads of twilight and goatskin.

Violent socks,
my feet were two fish made of wool
two long sharks
sea blue, shot through
by one golden thread,
two immense blackbirds,
two cannons,
my feet were honored in this way
by these heavenly socks.

They were so handsome for the first time
my feet seemed to me unacceptable
like two decrepit fireman,
firemen unworthy of that woven fire,
of those glowing socks.

Nevertheless, I resisted the sharp temptation
to save them somewhere as schoolboys
keep fireflies,
as learned men collect
sacred texts,
I resisted the mad impulse to put them
in a golden cage and each day give them
birdseed and pieces of pink melon.

Like explorers in the jungle
who hand over the very rare green deer
to the spit and eat it with remorse,
I stretched out my feet and pulled on
the magnificent socks and then my shoes.

The moral of my ode is this:
beauty is twice beauty,
and what is good is doubly good
when it is a matter of two socks
made of wool in winter.

1 comment:

Jean said...

What a lovely poem. What lovely yarn! That color. hmmm.