Saturday, November 27, 2010


And thocht I be nocht in endite expert
Nor eloquent, my simpilnese excuse
And have compacioun of my trublit hert,
Wappit in dred, of all the warld refuse.
I will non othiris dolouris feyne nor use,
Nor borow teris in my pen to rayne,
Bot sic as fallis fro myn eyne twayn.

from The Lufaris Complaynt

Why am I splashing medieval poetry about on my blog? The reason is, I'm tired. So? So I'm tired, and that little voice that never shuts up inside your head was saying, Phew, I'm really wappit ... wappit ... I wonder if that means what I think it means? I think it means tired. I always use it to mean tired. I'm too tired to find out. Think I'll post about author visit tiredness. Think I'll call it Wappit. Better find out what it means ...

Never succinct, that little voice.

Anyway, I googled the word and got this complaining lover. And in the notes ...

"Wappit - stunned."

So there you are. I am, indeed, wappit. But in a good way. I'm hoping in the coming week to get some of the wonderful art work I've been given this month onto my website and more entries onto Slightly's website (there's some dinosaurs there this week - and generally round up - though I've one more talk to do on Tuesday. But really, the whole thing's been ... stunning.

Cheers, Joan.

P.S. I may very well be teaching my granny to suck eggs - I never studied medieval poetry so I have no insider information - BUT I find it's a lot like trying to read Scots dialect poetry. If you read it out loud, the sense is much easier to pick up. What the eye can't tell, the ear can. Go on, give it a go.


Post a Comment

<< Home