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Named

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 22, 2013| 10 Comments »

20130422-224423.jpg

NAMED

My name is
‘far from home’

My name is
‘forgotten, lost,
Misplaced’

I name myself
Under all the names
Others have bestowed.
I name myself the seed
The root, the star
Hid by cloud.

I name myself
‘moonlight on roofs’,
Hugged hollowness,
Footsteps echoing.

I name myself
‘mystery, scribble,
Equation’
Mistaken meaning,
A long road alone.

I name myself
‘roaring voice,
Bitterness, waker’
Too polite to manifest
World’s joy in wrath.

I name myself
‘uncertainty principle,
Void, precipice’.
Carrying a carapace,
A studied, practiced armour.

I name myself
‘foolish mirror,
Cascading breath,
Contusion of thought,
Knot’.
A persistence of error,
Circuitous conclusion,
Stumbled silence.

I name myself
‘No one is alone,
Wedded to their shadow’
Given form, formed,
Framed, fragmented.
By their shade
shall ye know them.

I name myself
‘rapture, remote view,
Releaser, pinion,
Branch, web, slurry’.
A cascade of chivied cells
Unconcerned, nested.

I name myself
‘shattered, frozen,
rainbow’
Shard spinning,
Glint and gone.

Each name an edge,
An arrived at limit,
A turning away.

Each, a thin ledge
Gratefully clung to,
A place to leap from.

I name myself
‘not object, not subject.’
I name myself
‘vowel’ with no
Restraining consonant,
A howl,
No glottal stop.

The sound of morning.
The sound of evening.
I call myself
‘remaining,
Abiding,
Concealment’.

****

( the sketch is for a silver pendant i am designing: dragon dance. Sort of sums up flaming throught the void that these words also evoke, I think)

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A Ring Of Islands (extract), haibun challenge

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 21, 2013| 6 Comments »

The full length piece can be found here as a blog page as it takes up a bit of space (though does not comprise many words). I have recently been looking at some very old travel writings, mostly taking the form of haibun. This one was composed on a brief visit to the Orkney Islands, north of mainland Scotland, during the midsummer of 1980. I have added a few new linking texts, but apart from that the piece remains as originally composed. Accompanying the text were originally some black and white photographs, but as this was long before the days of digital anything, I will have to do considerable playing around to reintroduce them (once I have located prints or negatives)

XVI
(solstice)

Returning to Stromness I cooked an evening meal and then wandered aimlessly along the coast. Although I had to rise early next morning, planning to take a boat to Hoy, I was unable to leave such a beautiful evening. Despite the hour, it was still very light, and a deep silence filled both myself and the land through which I walked. Resonance was everywhere. Great wellings up of deep emotion when I beheld the waves on a small foreshore; the trawler, its mast-light flickering, heading out to sea; the hills and cliffs of Hoy across the water almost melting into the deep stillness of oncoming night; young lambs bleating on the hillside; mother ducks with their young by the shore.

this evening, too, lingers,
unwilling to leave
your summer stillness,
Islands of the far north.

on the shore
wave upon wave
only deepens the silence,
Islands of the far north.

XVII
(gift)

soon to depart,
at last
the tune
of something
framing this land

the stranger
knows a wholeness
to which
he does not belong.

mull kodak2 072

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Conversing with invisible friends (1)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 19, 2013| 13 Comments »

CONVERSING WITH INVISIBLE FRIENDS
It is not infrequently that I find reading someone’s blog I become word-filled, or at least taste the winds of wordage. A spontaneous thing, a few lines cast down in appreciation or conversation. I have begun collecting those that pleased or surprised me under the above title. Some are complete in themselves, some just torn pages, sketches, notions. But amusing, I hope. A bouquet for my muses ( you lot of screen-lit waifs and strangers, mind-readers, mind-sharers, an osmosis of muses).

1
DREAMING

Caught in this hammock,
Dew-wet spider web:
February day
Dreaming of spring.

Night now.
The world calling low
Down my chimney:
“come out, the clouds
Are fast and glowing pale.”

2
JUGGLER

And what’s a man without his shoes?
A cold toed dancing monkey,
off balance
and drunk on gravity!

3
TINNITUS

It must all end thusly,
stopping suddenly,
like thoughts do, like life does,
as boredom or something more inviting
takes the stage.
A nice touch,
like hearing a wash of bar-room gossip,
or a sudden rush of fragmented,
incomprehensible telepathy….

4
TOO SMART

Stepping over cracks,
papered, glued.
Names for emptiness,
even clever emptiness that a mind can leap.
One by one
we shall all disappear,
finding everyone else,
who have also disappeared,
wondering how that,
how that could possibly happen,
how that could possibly happen again,
again
and again.

5
MUSED

The poet fights to get out,
is slapped down with a gritty hand,
that then too,
turns into a mudra of revealing.
A nonchalent hide and seek,
footsteps echoing in silence.
The maniac down the corridor titters loudly….

6
LILT

Speed and convolution,
locomotive breath.
Delicate pace
with careful tongue.

Disallowed,
my comments,
strange,
syllabic apprehension,
jealous machines…

7
ASIDES

Underestimated, the value of brackets!
They packet up thought and expression,
more similarly to thought and voice,
than more highly regarded punctuations.
I am all for brackets
( I shall make a placard,
and stand on cold corners
(with a small dog and rattling can).
(and I neither object to brackets within brackets
(though a sniffy grammarian might grumble)).
They are raised eyebrows and slight smiles.
They are knowing ness and by the way ness.
They are signposts in the significance
and waywardness of a train of thought
(we are now off the rails and improvising,
(mouth moving, brain aghast)).

And by the way,
the jewel of your words has a certain ring,
engaging,
wed to the world
(punning though,
is the sign of devils
playing with idle hands).

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Coriolis Effect

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 17, 2013| 3 Comments »

CORIOLIS EFFECT

Seems its been
Raining
All over
poets
Everywhere today.
Cool air,
The sound
Of it
Syncopating thought.
And how many times
Do they say
Lightning strikes
The surface of the Earth
At any one time?
From space
There is, it seems,
A constant flickering,
Like the coming
And going
Of souls,
A lightening
And a darkening,
Maintaining a larger
Balance, of sorts,
Though
As unfathomable
As the
Blue swirl
Of cloud
Over ocean,
As distant
Sounds
Of despair
And sorrow.

This came in response to a comment by 47whitebuffalo and a poem by whimsymimsy, and others too I think. Linked by weathers and events, we fugue and echo, screen to screen….

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Under Heaven

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2013| 13 Comments »

1
The underside of heaven
A grey rolling, folded softness
Pushed gently, refiguring the light.

Messenger birds slide between worlds.

Settled and slow, layered in shells of skin,
Webbed, skeined, we solidify, objectify,
Await outcomes, anchor the ineffable.

2
Soon, and suddenly, there shall be green leaves.
A day or two of sun, a change of wind.
This pale stretched time will melt.
Hatched and brilliant will be the morning sun.
We shall remember what we have forgotten
And forget the simplicity of folded light.
Birdsong, bright edge and shadow;
The scent of hyacinths, the scent of mown grasses;
The roar of beauty as time flickers.
A brimstone butterfly in golden morning.

3
These words: a map back to my soul
Perhaps for another to discover
Where cold ashes still mark the place
I could not remain.

These words: a map back through dream to memory,
A resuscitation of hours and senses.
What is lost, gathered again –
A tide scouring, reforming the sands,
Never to be the same, though not so much changed.
The roar of time as beauty flickers.

4
Rain-wet morning
Cool on my brow
The blessing of doves

The blessing of doves
Soft chanting from treetops
Grey, heavy clouds

Grey, heavy clouds,
What is there missing?
Only the voice of the cuckoo.

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Peace (haibun)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , on April 14, 2013| 16 Comments »

Here are a couple of haibun inspired by the Ligo haibun Challenge for this week
(http://yourligo.weebly.com/haibun.html)

PEACE

The rising wind scours the walls, all four. Swings down and sings in the chimney, brightening the small flames. It is late. The cats are attentive, but unwilling to stir. Content will the small silences of the house. If I wait, the tumble of the day will subside. Thoughts will scatter, settle, lilt into corners like leaves do in autumn. Perhaps one or two shall remain to keep the company.

afterglow of single malt
bees dozing in noon sun
something important, forgotten

PEACE 2

They turn so carefully, the cats. First one way, then, after some thought, the other. Winding up to relax. Taking just the right angle for air, for warmth, for watching. Not a hair out of place, their senses, too, sleek and flowing.

still rivers of wind-
inside the house
not silence, but listening

fire roars
sings and whispers
longing for wind’s freedom

slow, long voices
wind and rain-
dream language

soon the fire will falter
though the fast winds run
we turn, fall into dream

**

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Etiolated

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 11, 2013| 4 Comments »

Surely it cannot be sustained,
This comfort resting on the back of lies.

Etiolated, we stretch tall and wan,
Straining to leave behind every root, even.

Hungry for withered light,
This forced flicker of cloud vapours, this promise of better,
This regurgitated psychology.

Every home in each mausoleum city:
A crowded tomb where the living stumble mummified,
Salivating new updates.

All the small gods gone,
Growing potatoes and beans in hidden valleys, forgotten,
Resigned to wait.

Only the blustering bullies remain, the greedy,
Insistent on their protocols, their visions for growth.

A short experiment. Forced fruits. Temptation
Of full ripeness turning to ash, turning to dust.

Make way. Make way. We study the death of stars,
Anaesthetised, unaware of irony.

Remove from us our craft
And we shall all become beggars, lost, drowning sorrow
In rainbow-stained pools, slow and viscous folds.

They stretch tall and limp, loud, enabled.
Their magic: monotony and ennervation.
Their ropes, their chains: the promise for better times.

Inertia, the slow, wearing away, the blocking of roads,
The pinching, the slighting.

We retreat from day, back to our tombs.
Too tired, even, for our own dreams, we collapse into parody.

Etiolated, we stretch thin and will soon wither.
Redundant.

Somewhere near,
The small gods dig rocky soil and wait.

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The Great Ones

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 11, 2013| 3 Comments »

THE GREAT ONES

We make our own monsters,
Feed them and sustain.
Dark mirrors
That crush, embitter,
Defining right,
Ripping nerve from muscle
Leaving insensate force
To rule and chain.
Their names
Will live forever
While the quietly good
Dissolve back
As if never.

Their rise is ever
Our failure.
A choice,
A strong dream
Promulgated, given,
Over-ruling a more
Delicate path.

(The willows with their wicks of flame,
The hollow, tumbling call of the owl,
The sky’s gentle rain, fingertip chrism.
The hearth cracks as it cools).

The demons we have cast out,
Those we despised and disowned,
They rage free now, running the world.
Exultant, sure, unconstrained,
They know the fertile, dark earth,
They taste the mellow, crumbled humus,
The undigested decay of hopes,
The ephemeral, hesitant prayers
Laced through with doubts.
Wherever they step,
There is the cooling shadow
Of their triumph, the withering
Of breath, the tunnelling of sight.

(On the still air of morning, dew and mist,
A wood pigeon sails, glides, broad-keeled,
Down to its new nest, its new mate.)

Fire of mind spits and blusters,
Fire fanned and racing, consuming
To continue, eating itself, moving on.
Ashes, dust, smoulder, we eat all, move on.
A bitter combustion lacking all restraint,
Lost in itself, howling, ever hungry.

(The six lokas gently dance,
A play of blossoms, syncopated motion.
Gentle rattle, the bone ornaments,
As rainbow dakinis sway cloudwards.)

The rebels refuse to see any ineffable now.
Enough, they think: a trick that breeds complacency.
The will of Heaven: a slave chain.
Deceit they know: deceit they expect in all.
Their flowers that flourish are the bloom of pain,
The mistaken identity, the immortal secret.
Inchoate, needing all, it grows in secret,
Displacing order with hierarchy,
Growing its own executioner.

These are the Great Ones,
The Immortals, draped in gore.
Do not turn away nor shudder.
Only a clear morning gaze will cool them.
Only a tear-fall of bright dew will wash.
Refuse the spark to fury and fight.
Refuse the glory, refuse the judgement.

Our medicine. What shall be our medicine?
Measured poisons, a taste of death,
A return, a clearing of spaces,
An emptying, an unwinding,
A gesture of removing fear,
A small laughter, a shrug.

What shall be our medicine,
What our poison?
Stillness is an action.
Silence an answer.
No choice, still a choice.

Still the choice.
Remain,
Unhindered.
The roaring fires extinguish themselves,
A transmigration of souls.

**

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The Celtic Tribes of Britain

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , on April 11, 2013| Leave a Comment »

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Here is a map of the main Celtic tribes of Britain. The areas vary from map to map, but this will give you a rough guide to what is generally accepted as accurate. There are many smaller subgroups named in Classical documentation about which we know almost nothing….

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The Giving of Names (7)

Posted in Uncategorized, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on April 10, 2013| 5 Comments »

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7
VOTADINI

Sun, becoming burnished, cherry red,
Rolls up that hill,
A golden road to golden day.

This is our land, none better
For our long days,
As days stretch and darkness glistens.
A rich land for rich hearts.

We rise upon our high, green seats,
Our green thrones, rise towards the sky,
Lifting the land, a cloak, a wing, a song.

This vast curve of life:
A shield against all dismay,
A pool, heaven reflecting.

Islands arise from the morning,
Hearth fires radiate into the dusk.
This is our birth,
Rolling up the glorious hills.

*

I forgot about this one that I scribbled down a few days ago as dawn came up.
The Votadini were a tribe inhabiting South East Scotland up to the Firth of Forth, present day Borders and Lothian regions.
Their territory is characterised by big hilltop enclosures with large walls and banks ,(examples are Eildon Seat, Yeavering Bell and Trepain Law in East Lothian, which was probably their primary seat until it moved to Dun Eidyn (Edinburgh) in the 5th century).
The name probably means ‘fort dwellers’, though has also been interpreted as ‘those of the wide places’. Their name becomes transformed into the Early Medieval British kingdom/confederacy Gododdin ( ‘w’ sounds change to ‘gu’ in many Celtic tongues), well-known for the Welsh/British poem that records the disastrous defeat they suffered at the Battle of Catterick.

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