Since I've been enjoying Darrell's sabbatical year, I've perfected activities that I term "productive procrastination". I could be pursuing another degree, devoting more time to assisting non-profits, or learning all the things that have been on my to-learn list for decades - like GIS or French. But, instead, I go for long walks. My newest form of productive procrastination is not overly productive - but has a long history - so maybe that lends it enough cachet. I've been gathering wool as I walk, especially on several rambles in rural England.
Wool-gathering has two distinct meanings, that I, along with the revered poet William Wordsworth, who lived where I am now wandering, dare to conflate. On my rambles, I am often guilty of
"indulgence in aimless thought or dreamy imagining". I am also intentionally gathering wool from the meadows where grazing sheep leave woolly gifts.
There is some reason behind this pursuit. I got the wet-felting
bug from watching an Albanian artisan
create a felted slipper in about 20 minutes. After gathering, I wash and fluff the wool, and then with warm water, soap, and lots of hand massage, the wool alchemy begins. The fluff can be turned into balls, ropes, sheets, and more. It is an ancient and fun craft that also involves enviable amounts of thinking time, aimless or otherwise. My thinking led me to wonder about the etymology of wool-gathering - and to this lovely poem.
My freshman year college roommate Rebecca, who would leave quotes by Shakespeare on our dorm-room door, helped me tease some meaning from this poem in consultation with her fellow literati husband. They agreed that Wordsworth is skillfully combining the two meanings of the term "wool-gathering" in this poem; the term has been used for “wandering thoughts” since the 16th century.
The poet is watching children literally gather wool, but then in the middle of the poem (at “far other strife”) it moves from the literal to the poet’s own thoughts about the children’s future, and by implication his past. The “heart-born grief” along with the “Pains which the World inflicts,” are sorrows that the poet is ruminating on (wool-gathering about) — sorrows of an unknown origin, but they seem to stem from a sense that he has wasted his life (made pastime his idol). Then the last three lines, the end of his wool-gathering, he offers the hope of comfort for his sorrow — not from the “World,” and he says it will take longer than a “brief interval,“ but comfort will come through “silent thoughts,” love, duty, and faith.
So what say you, kind reader? As my literal and figurative wool-gathering merge, I am often considering my own idle pastimes (constructive procrastination defense not-withstanding) and also of the sorrows of the world. I hope love will prevail. And as I continue to gather wool, I keep one hand free to connect to "us".
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| Turning wool fluff into felted balls (brown fluff not shown) |
Intent on Gathering Wool from Hedge and Brake by William Wordsworth
Intent on gathering wool from hedge and brake Yon busy Little-ones rejoice that soon A poor old Dame will bless them for the boon: Great is their glee while flake they add to flake With rival earnestness; far other strife Than will hereafter move them, if they make Pastime their idol, give their day of life To pleasure snatched for reckless pleasure's sake. Can pomp and show allay one heart-born grief? Pains which the World inflicts can she requite? Not for an interval however brief; The silent thoughts that search for steadfast light, Love from her depths, and Duty in her might, And Faith, these only yield secure relief. |
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The poet is watching children literally gather wool, but then in the middle of the poem (at “far other strife”) it moves from the literal to the poet’s own thoughts about the children’s future, and by implication his past. The “heart-born grief” along with the “Pains which the World inflicts,” are sorrows that the poet is ruminating on (wool-gathering about) — sorrows of an unknown origin, but they seem to stem from a sense that he has wasted his life (made pastime his idol). Then the last three lines, the end of his wool-gathering, he offers the hope of comfort for his sorrow — not from the “World,” and he says it will take longer than a “brief interval,“ but comfort will come through “silent thoughts,” love, duty, and faith.
So what say you, kind reader? As my literal and figurative wool-gathering merge, I am often considering my own idle pastimes (constructive procrastination defense not-withstanding) and also of the sorrows of the world. I hope love will prevail. And as I continue to gather wool, I keep one hand free to connect to "us".
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