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/