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Walking through the field in gloves
This is one of my favorite poems:
To a Fat Lady Seen From the Train
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
--by Frances Cornford (1886-1960)
I first came across this poem in a book by M.E. Kerr, a '70s-'80s era YA author. I loved it--loved its rhythms and the metaphor of someone refusing to let beauty touch them, denying life's sensuality. The grass is soft as the breast of doves, shivering-sweet. Love that. It always stayed in my head, and I even came up with a parody of it for HIH Tatiana (my horrible sweet kitty):
Why do you stalk through the field in white gloves,
Hissing so much and so much?
O fat striped kitten whom everyone loves,
Why do you stalk through the field in white gloves,
When your fur is as soft as the breast of doves,
And kissably sweet to the touch?
(That last line must of course be said in a special Tatiana-voice.)
Apparently I'm not the only one who was inspired by this poem:
The Fat White Woman Speaks
Why do you rush through the field in trains,
Guessing so much and so much?
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves as such?
And how the devil can you be sure,
Guessing so much and so much,
How do you know but what someone who loves
Always to see me in nice white gloves
At the end of the field you are rushing by,
Is waiting for his Old Dutch?
--by G. K. Chesterton (1874 - 1936)
I love the fourth line.
And:
O why do you walk through the fields in boots,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody shoots,
Why do you walk through the fields in boots,
When the grass is soft as the breast of coots
And shivering-sweet to the touch?
--A.E. Housman (1859-1936)
To a Fat Lady Seen From the Train
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody loves,
Why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
When the grass is soft as the breast of doves
And shivering sweet to the touch?
O why do you walk through the fields in gloves,
Missing so much and so much?
--by Frances Cornford (1886-1960)
I first came across this poem in a book by M.E. Kerr, a '70s-'80s era YA author. I loved it--loved its rhythms and the metaphor of someone refusing to let beauty touch them, denying life's sensuality. The grass is soft as the breast of doves, shivering-sweet. Love that. It always stayed in my head, and I even came up with a parody of it for HIH Tatiana (my horrible sweet kitty):
Why do you stalk through the field in white gloves,
Hissing so much and so much?
O fat striped kitten whom everyone loves,
Why do you stalk through the field in white gloves,
When your fur is as soft as the breast of doves,
And kissably sweet to the touch?
(That last line must of course be said in a special Tatiana-voice.)
Apparently I'm not the only one who was inspired by this poem:
The Fat White Woman Speaks
Why do you rush through the field in trains,
Guessing so much and so much?
Why do you flash through the flowery meads,
Fat-head poet that nobody reads;
And why do you know such a frightful lot
About people in gloves as such?
And how the devil can you be sure,
Guessing so much and so much,
How do you know but what someone who loves
Always to see me in nice white gloves
At the end of the field you are rushing by,
Is waiting for his Old Dutch?
--by G. K. Chesterton (1874 - 1936)
I love the fourth line.
And:
O why do you walk through the fields in boots,
Missing so much and so much?
O fat white woman whom nobody shoots,
Why do you walk through the fields in boots,
When the grass is soft as the breast of coots
And shivering-sweet to the touch?
--A.E. Housman (1859-1936)