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!