sri lanka here we come

The Sri Lanka trip with Ocean Stars charity, I am almost in the zone and it's seven hours before leaving: ostsrilanka2013.blogspot.com

the me of now

Sitting late, eating dinner in one hand and typing up the words of Derrida on spatial arts with the other. Ah Derrida. How I love Derrida. He makes so much sense: so eloquent, so true, so tight, so wise, so exhilarating - I wish I had been older, I had been the me of now, when I heard him lecture in the 80s, it all slipping far far far far over my head

Romania

Invited as a guest poet to the Brasov celebration of European women poets in Transylvania, I am the only native English speaker in a town so beautiful and brightly coloured with autumn reds and yellows that I am continually marvelling - a real feast for eyes and ears (Romanian being a mix of Slavic/Latin and its own very unique sounds). The beginnings of some good poetic friendships are also forged, in the shadow of not-the-vampire castle and the stunning peaks that surround the town.

wedding poem in my head

This is a draft, right? Came as I was sitting, aimed at me at all angles, rhyme to the fore. I couldn't have ducked if I'd tried. But once I started to type it up the flow slowed, halted, muddled, muddied and my memory of the lines was less clear as well, so has really made me think again about returning to composing in my head, away from screens, boards, papers, wax tablets....... memory-weakeners:

Malc & Sue's wedding sonnet (draft 2)

Shall I describe you as some other couple

who've come to plight their troth this sunny day

or are you something else, are you both double

that - mature and wise and brave enough to say

yes this is person that I choose

to spend my life with: even though they see

my imperfections well, they don't refuse

but welcome them with love as part of me

yes - both say this so happily, turning to look

straight in each other's eyes, with love, delight

reading their partner like a favourite book

with which, though earthbound, they can now take flight

to explore life's offers openly, together

and share with us in rain and sunny weather.

red grape

the redder the grape

the better for heartache

wild strawberry

peeping from under its leaves -
a wild strawberry

raspberry

a stippled ripple

of raspberry drupelets

for you to nibble

french bean

cut cook consume
the squeaky clean and hopefully stringless
fine green french bean

radish

the fiery raw rush
of a rapid reddish
radish root

kale

all hale hearty never-

failing kale, hungry gap food

economy of scale

parsnip

its sweet yellow

fleshy roots snaffled up before

you can say parsnip

carrot

wetness of carrot
oozing
in a spicy cake

potato

chunky, nobbly-eyed,

                                                               the potato says 'hi,


                                                                                                                              will you be my friend?'

lettuce

let us consider

the lettuce - dressed in matchless

red green salad-aptness

broccoli

thin dark leaves on
hunky trunky clumps of tree
o broccoloccoli!

courgette

a little courgette

zucchini, steamed boiled stuffed baked fried

goes a long way

blackcurrants

too sharp for birds

almost too heavy for branches –

blackcurrants

apple

out of twelve hundred
kinds of English apple
you plucked me

apricot

snug by the wall
the one the Pennine wind forgot
Todmorden's first apricot

Poet of the month

The best part of being poet of the month (August 2013) is I had to start thinking/writing my poetics - why I write, how, what it means - read it and see what you think.

I like the end bit I put

'the mood, rhythm, objectness of what goes down on paper and of what does not.'

curly leaf parsley

curly leaf parsley
after the first straight-edged leaves
the frill of the third

caravan with a view

swans on ice

early

I woke up so early today, was it the light? the lack of thunder? the newly harvested, and new to me, aloe vera gel that I smeared on my hands yesterday from one of my many aloe plants. typing now i can see the sunrise colours reflected in soft pastel cream pinks and blue in the west - reflection sunrises can be the best... living backwards!

cabbage fame

My little cabbage poem is going further, not only has it been read, on a cabbage, in Manchester and Malvern to rave reviews, http://stirredpoetry.wordpress.com/2013/04/30/stirred-relaunch-rocket/, and featured on www.incredible-edible-todmorden.co.uk/blogs/?c=edible-poetry, but now it is going to North Carolina to Piedmont Community College where as we speak Ginger Ferrell is painting it into a picture for her community class. Here is some of her previous work: http://www.theglassprize.co.uk/ginger-ferrell-p-806.html.

Where will the cabbage roll to next?
And what is it about cabbages that has this effect? Is it the glow?

Anyway I think the poem deserves a space on this blog as well

                     taken apart, the cabbage

                     becomes all heart

                     and leaves

digging and polishing

writing with novelist in house for the week (what a great idea), she is steeping herself deep in an ancient world reading revising writing polishing as I tunnel through my poem drafts, punctuated by teas, coffees, cafe visits and a trip to tadpole tarn, while workmen dig up my messy tarmacked path to create a smooth flagstone walkway - days of busyness

Reading Vegetables

Fantastic night at Stirred's new venue in the wonderful Three Minute Theatre in Manchester. I decided to use my spot to experiment with poems written on vegetables ('on' as in physically 'on'). I thought the cabbage worked particularly well as it involved peeling back the leaves to read each word.

I had a really interesting discussion with an artist, who was painting each open mic participant as they performed, on how to write / paint my carrot poem with it being reabsorbed into the carrot.  He suggested I wear vegetable jewellery as well, and even drew me sketch of how it should look - still thinking about that one.

Jackdaws

I have a new neighbour, in my chimney, chucking down twigs and chirping and knocking on the wall and perhaps the sound of beak scraping and smoothing mud, a symphony of nest-building being played out in my 'library'/'bedroom'. I checked in the birdsong book - jackdaws. I tried lighting a fire to put them off moving in, before reading the RSPB advice : do not whatever you do light a fire - it's illegal to disturb a wild bird at nest and jackdaws are persistent critters anyway so give up the fight and remain fireless till the autumn.
I was very happy about the bluetits moving into the birdbox and moment-stoppingly (?) delighted whenever they come in or out so now I am transferring this attitude, hoping that what I have till now viewed as a pest/nuisance/difficulty can be transformed into an interesting and unusual neighbour. I know nothing about jackdaws, so think of it: jackdaw chicks hatching beside (apart from one wall) my pillow.

Leek poem

tall green mild and meek
not quite the full onion
the gentle leek

Songs for my Grandmother

Below are the poems that form the text of Seaming To's Songs for My Grandmother, her song sequence featured in today's (9 March) Financial Times. I worked closely with Seaming when writing these and spent a really lovely day with her, her grandmother and mother, which I treasure.
Amazing, very creative experience. I have found the musical and performative results extremely moving.


Tour details:

Sun 10 March- LONDON - Purcell Room, part of "Women of the World" festival
Mon 11 March- MANCHESTER- Band on the Wall
Tues 12 March- BRAWBY- The Shed
Wed 13 March- BRIGHTON- Dome, Studio Theatre
Fri 15 March- OXFORD- North Wall Arts Centre


http://sounduk.net/event_page.php?eid=36


Text of poems:

Through

while your breath becomes shorter

your body grows tired

soft skin gains more creases

movements less fire

the squirrels keep stealing

the bulbs that we bring

mistaking for nuts

what we plant for spring

change that will change

every move every step

slowing down holding on

letting go of the breath

we can watch it with sadness

we can watch it with love

we can hold it in quietness

we can cry out 'enough!'

but change keeps on changing

whatever we do

the moment still passing

as life slips on through

the breath become shorter

the body more tired

the soft skin the creases

the movements of fire

the squirrels still stealing

the bulbs that we bring

the nuts they are hoarding

become tulips of spring

I Ask

I ask when they first kiss

maybe one or two years after

she tells me bashfully

such hard questions to answer

She points out a play on words

disappointed I do not know

she wants so much for me to understand

gently kindly so

We look at the picture

tiny, one inch by two in size

the vicars stand beside the couple

24 December 1945

A choir sings at the wedding

It must have been a lovely day

her eyes closed she is listening

her head nods knowingly

Graduation wish

May a star rise up to meet you

in the origami folds

May the road of paper lead you

to a tissue house of gold

Not everybody looking sees

(alive and full of colour)

behind her poise, authority

performing father

remaining mother

Where the wind is always at your back

your feet firm on the ground

and God has smoothed the paper flat

with the hollow of his crown

Not everyone who looks can see

(her face so full of colour)

past the reserve, beyond the need

performing father, retaining mother

(spirited, joyful, free)

Edge of Bearable

I do not say

she does not let me say

family of voices, clustering

before the edge of meaning

tread cautiously

the edge of sense

the shell is porcelain thin

do not break through

here where we are

keep holding in

tread cautiously

keep sheltering

my mouth is stopped

from storms we do not speak of

the quiet of after

winds long since died down

debris folded into earth, rich brown

the quiet of after

life becoming new and green

the storms moved on

the winds long gone

I do not stray

she does not let me stray

beyond the edge of bearable

and so we leave behind

the weather that I never knew

and there is little walking here, less witnessing

here where we are no more

beside the edge of bearable

we sing we fly we soar

I Only Look The Part In Photographs

only just touching 

your language with my fingertips

see how I stand, still, silent, awkward

failing to claim the great the original chinese

so many things you will not speak

so many things I cannot tell

cloth falls in folds around me

essential buttons gone

I fumble, cannot fasten it

I disappoint, we disappoint

I only look the part in photographs

this hand me down that doesn't fit

what was..

what was not quite then memories now reeld back un saya ble

Circle haiku

before words see in silence

[before words see in silence

words see in silence before

see in silence before words

in silence before words see

silence before words see in]

Chinese Proverb

When drinking water Tong Lai Yuen died

from river See Yuen geography in memory

of our teacher Yuen thinking of favourite

consider origins See Yuen from where Yuen

river source the water comes

deer in the valley

Back in circulation I am greeted by two deer (yesterday morning) in the little valley behind my house. I saw one and thought - that's a very large dog - and then realised. Ah....

pre-hibernation questions

why is a very hot latte the best cure for bentbackovertinyunergodynamiclaptapforfartoolong syndrome and why does it have to be drunk in the particularly atmospheric Bear cafe?

how many more questions can I answer before retreating into the long meditation course?

have i bought toothpaste, read viv's performance articles, attempted corn of cob poem for incredible edible todmorden?

and should I buy pineneedles? - what moomintrolls eat before hibernating.

touching minds

touching minds – all do

over edge-slamming edges

water brain

been thinking alot about telepathy, wondering if we all do it and if it is around alot but we just dont notice we just discount it all the time as a funny feeling or less - i think so

Edward Thomas and de la Mare

Very pleasing to have a review with which I completely agree even if it is only a mention at the end!
Thank you Seren for publishing this book!
http://www.washingtontimes.com/news/2012/dec/28/book-review-now-all-roads-lead-to-france/