Welcome to Billy’s Bloggerel, a web-log of doggerel…
Where Do Ideas Come From?
Part One: The First Place
Where do ideas come from, gracious friends?
These words are the first of my new web log.
Where do ideas come from? Where indeed!
Let us shake this question from all corners!
Why does one man or woman breed one idea,
While others nurture thoughts special to them?
What makes us the spout for these fountainheads?
What makes us the needle’s point that pricks the cloth?
Let us consider place. The place of our birth.
The place of our growth. The place we call home.
I was born between whealden and fielden
Where the river forced Caesar’s road ‘cross a ford.
A place we call Stratford-upon-Avon.
This place where we sprout from never leaves us.
It grows into our flesh like reverse roots.
Even when we fly like dandelions
On air, the seed of home always lingers.
I myself was carried to London town
Far from the Warwickshire clay that wrought me.
And there in the cess-filled streets of the King
Did I recall to life the crow-flowers,
The violet, primrose, and bilberry.
Birds winged anew from boyhood reminiscence.
Banquo’s martlet nested on temple walls,
Elsewhere the thrush, ousel and maggot-pie.
All these ideas flourished from youth’s corms.
Even from the plump pigs that shared our yard,
From the farms of Snitterfield and Wilmcote,
And the bandit country of the Arden.
Where do ideas come from then? Why they bud
From the same ground that made us. From our home.
We are a drum for ideas of place.
If the lofty tree, the languid river,
Or the barbed rose bush yearn to gossip,
They need not cultivate mouths of their own,
Rather they declare through us, their fellows.
We decipher the rustling of spring leaves,
Translate the purple and yellow blossoms,
Decrypt beastly croaks, clucks, caws and chirrups,
Even to render the hog’s grunts and snorts.
So does our birth world become part of us
And speak through us. Our ideas are not ours,
But belong to earth, bark, thorns, weasels and worms.
Yes, that is where ideas begin.