End of Days

Posted on March 2, 2011 by SallyJ

Think of the colour of dusk
On a stormy February day-
The bruised sky, pained, worn, drawn.
That is the colour of your coma.
Forget-me-never eyes
Hidden beneath tissue thin
Putty blue lids, quivering
Shivering with who knows what dreams.
Throat, struggling to recover
The gift of a swallow.
Lips, violet tinged
Sealed with a slim
Shadow of your smile.

Imagine cool , blue, pack ice –
Its quality of waiting.
That is the blue of your hands.
Veins – lace with indigo thread,
Deep beneath the surface.
Nails, ashen, celadon
Tips scratching a slow
Dance on stiff, over-laundered sheet.
Baby blue counterpane
Obscures your sunken body
Shades your self.

Dream of cartoon coloured skies –
The play of sun on
cobalt ocean as you sleep,
Seep into the blue yonder
That only you can see.
Breathe your final, thistledown breath
As we whisper smoke hued farewells,
Slip on the lavender cloak
Of grief

Posted in death, Family, miracles, poet, poetry, writer, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , | 19 Comments

Beginnings, middles and ends – not what you think…

Posted on March 2, 2011 by SallyJ

Today I have been forced by events to think about births. And miracles.

I am surrounded by friends celebrating imminent or new grandmother-ship. For most this has been as uneventful as such a wonderful event can be. Occasionally though, something goes awry.

Currently I am praying for a miracle for a two day old baby and her family. Miracles do happen and modern medical science is often their arena. So I am praying for Evie – please join me.

I am also  thinking about endings, with a cremation of a family member. Endings are so difficult. No matter how many words are spoken, there are always more to be added, one more question to ask. Those left behind never seem to have completed the relationship with the one leaving. I only hope that for the one who has gone, there are no similar regrets.

And so that brings me to middles. This week has been a harsh reminder that the middles of our lives, the great expanse between birth and death, need constant attention. Once more I pledge to say the things I need to say and to mean them whole-heartedly; to take the time to look inside and be the best I can be; to look outside and give all that I have to give where it matters most, and most of all to make hope my constant companion.

 

Posted in birth, death, Family, miracles | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

Bodies in perspective – if only!

Posted on March 1, 2011 by SallyJ

Not another diet diatribe, (though one is definitely required), but art…

Tuesday is the day I go to a portrait class – not that I am an artist, I just dabble, and it helps me to observe, which in turn enhances my writing.

Today’s subject was ‘bodies in perspective’ and it was one of the hardest subjects I have had to draw. The model was brilliant and as still as the grave – in fact snoring at one point.

I just had no idea where to start. We had been told to draw from the narrow end – that is the feet end or the head end, no easy sideways view for us today.

I chose the head end, preferring to view down the nose towards tiny feet than the alternative which was all soles, toes and nostrils. And I sat, and sat, and started, rubbed out and sat again.

Eventually I achieved an oversized egg for a head with what looked like a pyramid of up-bent left knee protruding from the chin area  and the top view of a left foot waving carelessly to one side of the composition.

I sketched in the bed, and the model’s two out-flung arms and hey presto, an elderly creature hanging on for dear life to the edges of some kind of diabolical flying carpet.

I rather chuckled to myself as I considered that my art does indeed mirror my life…no bodies, not my own or even those I draw, seem to have any idea of  perspective at all.

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Up stumps – a lament for the Afghan women’s cricket team

Posted on February 28, 2011 by SallyJ

My previous post,’ Corridor of Uncertainty’, was more apt than I like to think. I have just followed up on some research about the Afghanistan Women’s cricket team. I was hoping to find some good news about their participation in the Asia Cup.

My hopes were dashed when I discovered that they had not been allowed to compete. Neither had the women’s team from Iran. Both entries had been blocked by ‘concerns’ of their respective governments. I backtracked to the original article I had found on the UK Forces Afghanistan blog (link at the bottom of this page) and read of their hope and enthusiasm and suddenly the poem I will write began to take shape.

How many times must the dreams of these young women be postponed, or, at worst, trodden into the dust? Hopes for careers, for a place in the global arena as athletes, or for even more basic needs, such as education, health care, the ability to hold an opinion, to be heard, to walk the streets with their dignity in tact.

The cricket poem is all the more poignant now – where before it was a minor celebration, now it will be a lament.

Posted in Afghanistan, inspiration, poet, poetry, war, writer, writing | Tagged | 2 Comments

Right place, wrong time.

Posted on February 27, 2011 by SallyJ

Virginia Water on a sunny, though still chilly, Sunday morning is a sight to behold. The water shines like silver in the sun, dotted with water birds, busy and full of self importance as they bustle about. Dogs, invariably retriever/labrador types, splash in the shallows, their green wellied owners flinging sticks and balls with great abandon, for the dogs to collect, or often, completely ignore.

On the path there seems to be strict lane control. Lycra encased runners take the very inside line, though never in the muddy border between path and grass, that is reserved for polka dot booted toddlers and diffident Grandparents attempting to herd said youngsters forward.

Elbow pumping, power walking, weekendering, twenty and thirty-somethings, generally in pairs, are next in lane, ignoring all enquiries from seemingly ownerless mutts that weave between their legs, as to the availability of food, or even a quick scratch behind the ears..

Taking the crown of the path, in pride of place, marching at a smart pace, are the families. Both parents smart-casually dressed, one often carrying a scarlet-nosed babe in some kind of straight-jacket, papoose thingy, facing forward, plum mouth pursed. One or maybe two other children will riding something…a boy in the vanguard on a silver scooter and a crash-hatted, gender indeterminate creature bringing up the rear, tugging a bicycle along by one handlebar, grumbling loudly.

Lastly, the people like me, clad in dog walking trousers, a ten year old body warmer and mismatched scarf and gloves, meandering, no lane discipline, chatting, laughing, stopping to blow a chill-induced, drippy nose, twirling to watch a bird land on the water, bending to tie a flapping lace, generally causing chaos.

After having my fill of tuts and sighs as I continually moved at the wrong speed, in the wrong lane, I took to the grass (well, mud in most places) and dawdled my way there and back again, making a mental note, that though enjoyable on a Sunday morning, the way to see V W at its best is possibly on a Monday, or Tuesday!

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Rabbit holes and wide hips

Posted on February 26, 2011 by SallyJ

I have spent far too long following links and disappearing down poetic rabbit holes this morning.

When I was researching Imagist poetry for the Ratties writing group , I noticed a link to jazz poetry in some blurb about Langston Hughes. As the musicality of his poetry was one of the reasons I liked it so much, I decided to find out more.

I was immediately sidetracked by references to Mina Loy. What a life she lead! Intrigued by references to the sexuality of her work, I searched for examples. On http://www.poemhunter.com , a really great website, I found seven of her poems.

‘An Old Woman’, yes, I got that and empathised ith the views expressed, but thereafter, I have to admit I was lost. Having tasted the six other titles there and been left rather confused, I thanked my lucky stars that ‘Partruition’, one she wrote about childbirth was not on the list and backtracked to jazz poetry on Wikipedia!

I was intrigued to find direct links from the nineteen twenties jazz poets to hiphop and rap, neither of which, I have to admit, I like much, and also to poetry slams, which I do like. As all things seem to on the web, this led me to You Tube. Ignoring Russell Brand doing jazz poetry as I can’t stand the man, I listened to Eve Packer and Co…and kind of enjoyed it.

Then I found Jahipster, performing a piece called ‘These Hips’ (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Thtjp2V_Q2c).

Wow, what fun. I loved it. Possibly because I too have womanly hips. Whatever the reason, it raised a big smile on this drizzly Saturday morning.

Posted in imagism, inspiration, jazz poetry, performance poetry, poet, poetry, poetry slam, poets, research, Uncategorized, writer, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Red wheelbarrows are a good starting point…

Posted on February 25, 2011 by SallyJ

At last night’s writing group session we attempted to get to grips with the ideas of the Imagists – a movement that spanned 1912 – 17. No small order in a short two hour session.

I have to take the brunt of the blame. I recently wrote a poem called The Doe (you will note that I write anything but what I am supposed to be concentrating on). It was about an incredibly frosty morning in the fields when I disturbed a doe that had been resting in a bramble thicket. As usual with a first draft it contained image piled on image in an attempt to put over exactly what I had seen and what I had felt.

When I read it aloud for the first time, I realised two things. One that the people listening were frowning and two, that it was too difficult to read…there was just too much of it. It was over blown. Added to this was the effect of hearing Motion read  ‘Death of Harry Patch’ a poem that I have mentioned far too often in this blog as one that affected me because of its simplicity.

And so I went searching on the web and discovered the Imagists…Ezra Pound, William Carlos Williams, William Jay Smith and my favourite, (on short acquaintance anyway), Langston Hughes.

The basic idea seems to have started, and I really would like to be corrected if I am wrong as this is new to me, with T E Hulme in the early nineteen hundreds reacting against the abstract language and ‘excess verbiage’ of Georgian Romanticism. I quote,

“The first tenet of the Imagist manifesto was to use the language of common speech, but to employ always the exact word, not the nearly exact, nor the merely decorative word.”

As I began to read such poems as ‘The Red Wheelbarrow (William Carlos Willliams); The City (Langston Hughes); Apartment House (Gerald Rafferty); The Toaster (William Jay Smith), I began to really enjoy myself.

The freshness, the ease of understanding, the depth of feeling conveyed in simple language was an eye-opener. The musicality, especially of Langston Hughes, is a joy.

And then I found Ezra Pound’s poem about the First World War – ‘These fought in Any Case’…some of the lines are so powerful, the thoughts spare and meaningful as he listed –

“Daring as never before, wastage as never before.”

…and I knew that I had to overhaul the way I write. Clarify my thoughts and do better justice to the subjects – the doe deserves better from me.

Posted in inspiration, natural world, poet, poetry, poets, research, Uncategorized, war, wildlife, writer, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy 24th February -because it feels like spring

Posted on February 24, 2011 by SallyJ

It’s happened again and what’s more, I noticed. Like many other bloggers, diarists and commentators on life, I want to mark the day. Today is the day that I noticed that Spring is on its way.

The sun is so bright through the skylight in the kitchen that I had to check there wasn’t a light switched on. The forsythia, primroses and crocus flowers are nodding in the sunshine, which is warm and gentle on my washed out winter skin. The birdsong is thunderous and the dogs for once are not eager to get back in the house but are snuffling around, tails swaying happily. One is even curled up in a sunny spot on the step.

I know of course that we could and probably will have bitter wind and driving rain and hail, even snow  – maybe around Easter time – its happened before – but still today I can feel change and promise in the air in Surrey.

What is even more wondrous is that after a few days where my energy levels have been very low and the M.E. has been making its presence felt, today I feel much more like myself, the real me. I’m sure it has a lot to do with the joy of spring  – cliched but true – and I am going to make the most of it.

So, it’s on with the wellies, out with the dogs, we are going to tramp the fields and just enjoy this brilliant day.

Posted in dogs, Family, inspiration, M.E., ME, CFS, natural world, Uncategorized, wildlife, writer | Tagged , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Kill your darlings and don’t tell!

Posted on February 23, 2011 by SallyJ

I’ve just received my copy of Andrew Motion’s ‘Laurels and Donkeys’ and reread the ‘Death of Harry Patch’. Once again I was struck by the strength of Motion’s image – just one – beautifully drawn and not overwritten. The poem is very much stronger because of its simplicity.

My own work is often image-rich, perhaps overly so, and I am determined to resist the impulse to throw in every idea that comes to mind and just hone one until it is clear and polished. The old ‘less is more’ idea!

There are several of these pearls of writing wisdom, and along with many others I groan each time they are repeated…less is more, show don’t tell, kill your darlings…but every so often it pays to bring them to mind and apply them to the current work in progress. I can guarantee that each time I do so I find substantial rewrites are required.

I was also relieved to find that the donkeys of Motion’s title poem is not a reference to soldiers carrying massive loads, as in Afghanistan today. I have mentioned before that the insurgents use the term as an insult to the Allied troops who are often burdened with heavy kit as well as body armour and weapons, and it is an idea I am exploring with a poem in mind. I am pleased that I do not have to ditch it because it has been done before.

Another interesting thing about the ‘Laurels and Donkeys’  collection is that at least half the profits from sales of the book will go to the Royal Marines’  ‘Recovery – Rehabilitation – Reintegration’ Charity. Also it was not available on Amazon. I wonder why? If anyone knows, I would like to hear what the reason is…

 

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Still life with sparrow hawks

Posted on February 22, 2011 by SallyJ

I have just spent ten minutes watching a sparrow hawk perched like a statue on the terrace wall. I swear it did not move even the tiniest bit, but merely watched – and watched. It was a peculiarly spiritual communion, me watching the hawk and the hawk watching – who knows what.

I had just let the dogs in and was struck by the silence. There is usually a fuss from the small birds at the feeders, but at that moment, nothing. The hawk swooped in low, maybe a foot off the ground, darted up through the camellia bush, then landed on the wall. And waited. Even though I was watching it closely-  it was as still as death – I missed the moment when something changed. I saw no preparation for flight, no flick of a feather or wink of an eye. It just left. One moment it was there, and then it had gone. Within minutes the fidget of small birds was back and it was as if the hawk had never been.

This set me wondering. Each time we step into the garden, cross a field, trample through a wood, what do we change by our very presence. What natural sequence of events might we interrupt? Might a bird of prey miss its target because our footsteps are so loud; a doe leave the side of her fawn to lead the danger away from its nest in the bracken; a wood mouse lose its concentration at the vibration of our approach and fall prey to a predator? Yet we remain blissfully unaware as we tread our heavy path, thinking we are noticing the beauty of our surroundings, yet seeing nothing that is important.

On a different note, I have added another story to the blog. It is called  ‘Still Life’ – and I wrote it after the death of my father in a French hospital. It is not autobiographical, though the setting owes much to that hospital in Rouen. The story won a competition, Write Here, Write Now that was set by  BBC Southern Radio and was broadcast in 2006 – such a long time ago. It was one of the first things I completed after the onset of the M.E. and my decision that the illness was not going to stop me doing something vaguely useful with my time. As an early piece it is perhaps a little clunky, even predictable, but I have a fondness for it. I believe the performance can still be heard on the internet. It was beautifully read. It was great hearing some one else read it who quite drowned out the drone of my own internal voice!

Posted in bird of prey, CFS, dogs, inspiration, M.E., ME, CFS, natural world, Short stories, short story, Uncategorized, wildlife, writer, writing, writing competitions | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments