Troy

It was I who brought
in the wooden statue, which
hid the poisoned gift;
charmed/lulled Laocoon before
he even dreamt his nightmare.

29 June 2008

I wrote this in the middle of the night. I haven't written about the divorce situation for a very long time, but it has been a bad week in many ways. I have heard depressing news about the fall-out of last year's events, which I suppose have triggered these feelings of guilt by association. I originally called it "By Association", but "Troy" is starker, and totally clarifies the image for those who may not be aware of some of the story...

The Mouths of Babes?

Two weeks before
my 50^th birthday,
my son and I discuss
“10 Years Younger” –
a make-over programme.
I say I’d love to have all that beautification.
He says excitedly:
“You could tell them you’re 17!”
I am overwhelmed
by the agenda-less/agenda-free/unthinking/innocent compliment.

24 June 2008

The conversation actually took place last Thursday on the bus, on the way to the music Academy, but I turned it into something today, when Paula and I met for one of our "creative writing workshops". We decided on the topic of aging and "big" birthdays, as she is going to be 40 in August. OK, so it's totally self-congratulatory, but I think I'm allowed to be vain every now and then! As you can see, I am completely undecided about the final adjective. I wanted to convey the fact that what affected me wasn't so much the compliment, but the fact that I knew it was totally sincere, because it seemed so spontaneous, and he wasn't angling for anything. Not too sure about "overwhelmed" either. I did consider "bowled over" and "knocked over", but Paula felt "overwhelmed" was best...

Funeral Procession

The sobbing sound of slow drums
would call us through the bamboo forest.
And shuddering,
we would leave the playground to watch
the red coffin,
carved from a single tree-trunk,
pass,
carried by men
draped in robes
as white as bones.

20 June 2008

This is based on memories of my childhood in Taiwan, when I was at Chinese school. A small forest of trees (not bamboo, but I needed to suggest the oriental setting!) separated the school from the main road that led to the cemetery up the hill. Funeral processions (no idea which religion: Buddhist, Taoist, Confucian?) used to pass fairly regularly, and even though they terrified us, we cld not resist going to watch. For those of you who don't know, white is the colour of death and mourning in the Far East, not black. I've no idea why I thought about it at about 3am! Maybe the Chinese poetry reading I went to a few weeks ago has stirred something up! I'm not too keen on the title, but it'll have to do for now. The second sentence is too long, but I haven't thought of a good way to break it up yet... I also originally had "aching" instead of "sobbing", but I used that in "Calligraphy" (17 February 2008) a while ago, and the alliteration is probably more effective?

Living in the Past

I sew hairbands from
silk ribbons, bought by the yard
on the market stall.
My son plays the piano.
All that’s missing is gaslight.

11 June 2008

I managed to squeeze this one into a tanka too (see previous poem). I seem to be churning stuff out at the moment: it probably means I'm sacrificing quality for quantity, but I can't stop myself! I originally just called it "Hairbands", but didn't like that, and wanted something that reflected the "olden days". I rejected "Victoriana" and "Harking Back" and "Time Travel", but I don't really like the current title either. Any ideas?

Contrast

We speak of memory
and photography. She is
calling me from a
laughter-deafened winebar. I
am sitting on the toilet.

11 June 2008

I managed to cut this down to a tanka, by saying that "memory" is two syllables. Pat and I had been texting back and forth about a new Chinese restaurant she'd just tried, and I was just stepping into the loo, when William came rushing up with my mobile, saying "Do you want to speak to my mum?" to the person at the other end. It became obvious after a while, that it was Pat, trying to engage him in some polite conversation, before speaking to me. I said I cldn't chat for long, as I was desperate for the loo, she said she didn't mind if I talked to her on the loo, as other friends did so all the time. She said she'd got bored texting, and wanted to talk to me. From the background noise, I guessed she was at Grape Street, and was bellowing at her to try to be heard over the ruckus, but she told me she cld hear me better if I spoke normally, which felt very strange. I have no idea how we got on to the esoteric subject of photography: we covered whether a good photographer can still take good photos with a bad camera (yes, certainly good compositions, but exposure and lighting might still be a problem...); how important post-production is; whether one shld actually take photos to capture memories at all (she mentioned a short story by Calvino (?) about taking photos on a beach, which she felt was relevant here); is sight the most important sense in memories (smell was important to both of us); the link between my poetry and photography (see my profile!), etc etc. I was, of course, struck by the ludicrous contrast between our respective locations (mine in particular!) and the elevated subject matter...

I don't really like the title, but that's the best I can come up with right now.

Picnic in Knole Park: the pictures 2...

The picnic from another angle. You can see the ham in this one! Unfortunately, this was the best that I cld do with my point-and-shoot camera, and the tablecloth and food are over-exposed in both the photos!

Picnic in Knole Park: the pictures...

Gilly and Lynny holding the Prosecco mentioned in the poem I posted on 6 June. I think you can see the asparagus, and the strawberries, but it doesn't look like the ham had been put out yet!

BTW, the labelled bottle in the middle is in fact, my home-made, elderflower cordial, mentioned in poems of 23 April and 1 June!

No More Heroes

A Spiderman soft
Toy lies discarded by a
Garden wall – useless.

8 June 2008

A few days ago, when I was walking to the shops, I saw a virtually life-sized doll or soft toy of Spiderman, lying in a tangled heap on the pavement. I found it unbearably sad. I wrote two slightly different versions, as I wasn't sure if the one below made it clear enough it is a toy, but at the same time, it feels more poignant?

Spiderman’s soft and
Twisted limbs, lie discarded
By a garden wall.

Found in Translation

The Chinese poets recite in Mandarin,
Before their words are translated into English.
Through the forty-year fog
Hazing my bilingual childhood,
I clearly glimpse
“Grandma”, “I like”, “500”, “the sun and moon”, “now”, “children”.
The rising-falling voices
Peel away the layers of growing up
To uncover the little girl
Who did not dream in her mother tongue.

7 June 2008

I won free tickets via The Poetry Society to a reading at the South Bank Centre of Chinese poetry in translation. It did not say in the publicity, whether the poems wld be read in Chinese first, and the man at the desk had no idea either. I was really pleased that they were, because how a poem sounds is also very important to me. I was struck by the fact that I was actually much more affected by the poems in Mandarin, even though I cld only understand the odd word here and there, than the English translations. I get the same feeling when I watch Chinese films with subtitles. It's something about the combination of familiarity and distance, I think... I don't really expect this poem to mean anything to most people (a bit like the Knole Park one I've also just posted), but it was an important moment for me... I was very unsure about a lot of the word choices, my first draft was:

The Chinese poets read in Mandarin,
Before their words are translated into English.
Through the forty-year fog
Clouding/hiding/hazing/veiling/wrapping my bilingual childhood,
I clearly glimpse
“Grandma”, “I like”, “500”, “the sun and moon”, “now”, “children”.
The rising-falling voices
Peel back/away the layers/skin of adulthood/growing up
To reveal/uncover the/a little girl
Who did not dream in her mother tongue.

So any comments wld be welcome!

Picnic in Knole Park

The white damask was spread over the tree-stump;
The orange and gold china plates contrasted with the asparagus;
The home-cooked, clove-spiked ham was finely sliced.
We toasted two birthdays
With Prosecco,
Then it rained.

We scooped up the food,
And swooped beneath
The most densely canopied linden tree.
Wrapped for warmth
In checked table-cloths,
We fed strawberries to the deer.

6 June 2008

Four of us: Lynny, Pat, Clare and myself, (who had all been to boarding school together in Sevenoaks, where Knole Park is situated), plus Lynny's partner, Gilly, celebrated Gilly's 44th, and Lynny's 50th birthdays, by having a picnic in the park. Clare had organised the whole thing, and drove us all there. We all had to provide different parts of the meal, and Clare had also brought along all the plates etc. I'd had no idea it was going to be so posh! It was already looking a bit threatening weather-wise, when we arrived, and we had barely laid everything out, before the first drops of rain fell. Luckily, we were able to find shelter under some nearby trees, as it quickly became torrential, and continued to pour for the rest of the picnic. We did of course, get soaked taking everything back to the car, but we all agreed that it was a much more memorable occasion than if it had just been a lovely, sunny day... This isn't really a poem of relevance to anyone who wasn't there, but I'm putting it up anyway!

Prey

Behind my sunglass
Mirrors, I watch the wolf men
Watch me as I pass.

5 June 2008

Maybe it's because I'm wearing summer dresses or something, but I've suddenly become aware that I'm being "ogled" rather a lot. The title has a double meaning, I suppose, as I am also catching them at it!

Unrepeated

In the doctors’ surgery,
I hook my finger in the door handle.
It bends back to almost-breaking point.
I remember my mother’s story
Of her twig-snap, childhood moment
In a Cambridge department store –
And slow down time:
History does not repeat
Itself.

4 June 2008

Tried to fit this into a tanka, but the concept was too long! Not sure about either possible title... My mother often used to tell us about various gruesome accidents she had as a child, and their weird (mad?) doctor. Apparently, after my mum had fallen off her bike, and her arm had loads of gravel embedded in it, the doctor just bandaged my mum's arm up really tightly, with out cleaning it or picking out the gravel! My grandparents apparently finally realised something was wrong, when the smell of rotting flesh became over-whelming!

Elderflowers: The Gathering Thereof

Batch 1: 17 May 2008

The wide-eyed children
clustering around the ladder
In the playground:
“Why are you picking
them flowers, miss?”
“Has Mrs Stevenson said
you could pick them flowers, miss?”
The patient explanation to each one:
“I’m making elderflower cordial.
It’s like squash.
You add water to it,
and it tastes like the flowers.”
“Yes, of course!
I would never pick them without
Her permission.”

Batch 2: 27 May 2008

The school is closed
For half-term,
So I try the alley
near my son’s new school.
He’s seen white flowers there,
but isn’t sure if they’re
elderflowers or hawthorn.
In fact, they’re both.
An old lady with a hearing aid:
“Are you making wine or cordial?”
“I’m just making cordial.
I looked at the recipe for wine,
but I was frightened
by the mention of exploding bottles.”

The Nigerian street-sweeper
bellows into his mobile phone.
Then, when the conversation is over,
Silently uses his litter-picker
to pull down
the best-blossomed branches
within my reach.
He keeps going
till my bag is full.
“Thank you so much.
You’ve been really helpful!”
Smile. Nod.

[On the way home,
I buy a kitten.]

1 June 2008

Obviously a sort of "sequel" to "Elderflower Cordial: The Making Thereof" (23 April 2008). Again, very different from anything I've written for ages, both because it is a sort of narrative, but also because I use dialogue. I think the last time I did either, was when I was about 18! The dialogue probably sounds a bit stilted, but is actually as close as I can remember to what was actually said... The 2nd, day in particular, was a very strange, but good day: I had a dentist's appointment, because my temporary crown had fallen out on the way home from a Eurovision Song Contest Party; and because it was a bank holiday weekend, I'd had to wait 3 days to see the dentist. The hole in my tooth felt as big and as knobbly as the ceiling of King's College Chapel... I'd already got an appointment to put in the permanent crown on 2 June, and to my joy, the dentist checked to see if it had come in yet, and it had, so not only did I not have to go round with another temporary crown for a week, but I cld cancel the 2 June appointment! I then went to pick my elderflowers, and had the two nice experiences with the old lady and the street sweeper. I was struck by how doing something unusual makes people talk to you. On the way home, I passed the pet shop, which had a sign up saying "kittens", and just cldn't resist having a look. I think I succumbed to taking one of them home, because we'd stayed the night after the Eurovision party at my friend, Lynny's, house, and they had a litter of Siamese kittens that very evening, which had made both William and I feel horribly "kitten broody"; and I was feeling "full of love" for the world, after my happy experiences, and wanted to have something to pour it onto... I'm not sure if it wld be better if I dropped the kitten bit, as it probably makes it less focused, but my feelings about all the events are tied together...