Tag Archives: friends

Borderlands Renga

IMG_3645What the land says

*

Morning sun

warms crumbled earth

relief from frost heave

 

I hold it in my hands

it holds me

 

hills made overground

by velvet tunnellers

dark soil workers

 

home to the unseen

and the spectacular

 

a rusty horse-shoe, half-buried

 

O larch, cone

and whisker of you

nubs of dusted red

 

ash trees do it for me

sometimes, especially

 

fluid hardness of wood

 

leaning into, leaning on

a steady place to start

bones and barks both bend

 

hollowed, clothed

folding rock and living humus

 

the burn’s law carves a groove

divides a field

opens up earth’s skin

 

 

*

sunlit current between the banks

silent cross-currents within me

 

aching for the river’s touch

to be closer

to my open hand

 

telegraph pole floating down in the flood

 

the stream tumbling into my right ear

drifting from my left

 

glistening water

passes under the high bridge

carries thoughts downstream

 

shadow of a fish

playing with light

 

steepness

a water world

wagtail

 

too thirsty to write a verse

above the river, I drink

 

above is below, flickering

skittish dipper flashes

stone to stone

 

today’s green umbrella

sheltering last week’s rain

 

earth route, sea bound

 

the water continues

sure in its course

holding to uncertainty

 

 

 

*

around the shadow of my hat

grass glows

 

in an auditorium of green fire

burning off

winter’s residue

 

furious and ferocious me

I lie down and rest

 

bliss – a line

scorched between

need and no-need

 

sun-grown leaf, grain, fruit

 

this stone below me, slow

this light on my face

 

a constellation of solar systems

scattered over

the dandelion meadow

 

red absorbed

sleepy cushion after lunch

 

furnace of microbial life

 

flowers

photosynthetic factories

forging the sward

 

 

*

feathers in my pocket

song in the air

 

crows – two in the uplift

corks on an unseen river

your wings, my home

 

take me up, thermals

so that I may see

 

the nothingness of being

that lives by breath

 

ripple in the pool, rustle in the tree

 

tickling my cheekbones

songs of blackcap, chiff chaff, jackdaw

 

drowsy afternoon

a chance to listen to air

sifting memories

 

my mother’s bloodroot

 

a wave of tiny combustions

the wave arranged in patterns, rhythm

 

cow-breath gorse-breath

blowing the flute

of the secret valley

 

 

 

*

where the skylark is –

even to the ten thousand galaxies

 

this pen settled in the saddle

of thumb and forefinger

widening to describe all this

 

space curves

there is a tree, a wall, a house

 

a network of human habitation

 

soft sow shape of Cheviot

stretches out asleep

over all those centuries

 

distant granite whaleback

 

in the distance

between thoughts – a space to fade to

 

sky full of bird paths

each flown invisibly

opened and closed

 

bear’s garlic, shepherd’s purse,

Persian speedwell

 

blue harvest

 

slip through

follow the fold of sky

return

 

 

 

*

the me that has no thoughts

the other quietly watching

 

a way to be back

along the boughs

a root home

 

with all the twists and turns

still there is the green

 

can we meet the tree?

sometimes I sense it

and so must she

 

tell me what I am

and through me sing

 

a group reflects

a hawthorn dances

I listen

 

preoccupied by the thinking

we forget the knowing

 

delusions like crows on a fence

 

arthritic old thorn

teaches silence

to sapling ash, oak, gean

 

ten thousand green eyes

turned skywards

 

what a day of embrace!

tree of heart’s desire

hold our grief, our trust, our uncertainty

 

alive to this place

 

tangled in and out of shadow

risk yes risk joy.

 

 

A walking renga

from Borderlands 3 at Burnlaw,

Whitfield, Northumberland,

on 23rd April, 2017.

 

Participants:

Jo Aris, Melanie Ashby, Michael Van Beinum, Matilda Bevan, Neil Diment, John Fanshawe, Jane Field, Linda France, Kate Foster, Malcolm Green, Sharon Higginson, Geoff Jackson, Martha Jackson, Georgiana Keable, Virginia Kennedy, Linda Kent, Martin Lee Muller, Karen Melvin, Tim Rubidge, Geoff Sample, Torgeir Vassvik, Gary Villers-Stuart, Rosie Villiers-Stuart, Nigel Wild, Richard Young.

 

Borderlands 3 was a gathering of Northern Networks for Nature.  On Saturday we were mostly indoors, listening to excellent speakers, sharing thoughts (and fantastic food – thanks Martha!) and watching and listening to a ‘salmon fairytale’ from Norway.  On Sunday we went outside and walked down the valley as far as Bridge Eal, stopping along the way to consider the elements and write renga verses.  This renga is the fruit of that walk in that place on that day with those people.

 

 

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Home & Gardens

When I get home I want to do everything at once – listen to the radio, read the Sunday paper, watch my new DVD (David Attenborough’s Kingdom of Plants), eat, drink, write, go into every room to remind myself of what I’d left behind, text my nearest and dearest, read my mail, edit my photos etc etc etc.  A terrible burst of simultaneous desires after sitting behind a wheel for three hours.  In the end I settle for unpacking before having a cup of tea and some crackers while I listen to Simon Armitage’s play The Torch Bearers on Radio 3 (part of this year’s FreeThinking Festival at the Sage which I missed, being away).  I say I listened but it didn’t really go in (apart from his recurring motif of Lunaria annua  – Honesty – which did make me prick up my ears).  My mind was just too full of motorways and trees and gardens and all the different beds I’d slept in while I was away, all the friends I’d stayed with.

Jackie Hardy, haiku mistress, in Sheffield, who reminded me that Basho (1644 – 1694) was named after the banana plant that his disciples planted outside the hut he’d moved into to live a more solitary life.

 by my new banana plant

the first sign of something I loathe –

a miscanthus bud!

Jan in Oxford (whose key I’ve managed to bring home with me…), who left on Friday morning to spend the weekend at Alice Meynell’s (1847 – 1922) house in West Sussex with her friend, the poet’s great-granddaughter.

Alec Peever, my longtime friend and collaborator, who lives in Ducklington in a house almost as old as the Botanic Gardens in Oxford (1621).  I collected the slab of sandstone I’d found in my garden some years ago that he’s carved for me: my translation of the name of this place – ‘Stanley’.

My namesake in ‘rural Bolsover’ (currently in need of protection from various plans for development – supermarket/garage/housing), with whom I took the horti out of culture and went to see A Taste of Honey at Sheffield Crucible (raw and compelling, spiced up with a live jazz trio) and visited Harley Gallery – Wendy Ramshaw’s wonderful poetic Room of Dreams.  Ramshaw designed the gates at Mowbray Park in Sunderland, where Alec and I worked together in 2000.

At this time of year it’s always the trees that leave the strongest impression and I’ve been ‘woodbathing’ as much as possible, breathing in all their goodness (particularly at Harcourt Arboretum), whilst mourning the loss of the ash trees in Denmark and possibly soon Kent and the threat from the dieback fungus spreading further (52 cases reported nationwide so far).

That’s the last of my travels for the next few months.  Now I just have to find the words to describe all these different Botanicals, the wonders that I’ve seen…

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