Categories: uncategorized
Date: 02 September 2005 11:38:36
Couldn't make it to the Wibmeet, unfortunately, as it involved finding a part of the campsite and a flag - note to self: next year, arrange to meet up with someone who is likely to be able to see detail more than 20 feet away. Heigh-ho.
Anyway, a generally good time (apart from a few depression-related moments of stress, which seem to be on the increase at the moment). Good talks from Naim Ateek and Eyal Weitzmann (sp?) on peaceful resistence and architecture in Israel respectively. Duncan Senyatso gig on Monday very good (apparently I was dancing - please don't tell anyone). An interesting session on writing for prayer.
Couple of weeks back went on the CWM Europe (reformed churches' umbrella organisation) holiday week at Llangrannog, where there were some sessions on poetry writing (Hello Lucy, if you're reading this). Which means - you have been warned - that I've got back into writing. Here's a few recent bits. Buggered if I know what they're about...[(c) me 2005, obviously] Feel free to comment.
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BORDERS
And all shall have fences,
defences, templates and pigeon holes
carved with vapour trails.
And all shall pencil in competing interests
with tragic marker diplomacy,
spirographs, Tipp-Ex and telescopic sights.
and shall chequer the acquifers
with architecture and politics,
spot checks, bilingual signs.
And shall cartographers cement
the weaving threads and elements
of skin and trade? Blood
does not separate without violence,
does not come apart as easily
as states of independence.
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THE VIEW FROM HERE (written after 2 glasses of wine, a state in which I find I am a poetical genius)
Beyond the occlusion, people are dancing
shadows and movements.
Outside the cateract, heroic acts are performed,
acts of love and care.
Past this shattered prism, prisoners are released;
God catches the eye of the blind
and winks.
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PROLOGUE TO "A HISTORY OF THE WORLD"*
The sick man slept as he ruled us.
When his house fell,
others came and painted the land red.
Poor and slow to organise,
we lost out,
became proxies for a bigger problem.
Pillar and post rejected us,
our sharp claws
drew too much blood, drowning our tears.
Our losses are intangible,
our gains
a foothold on dust we always owned.
Our pain is unimaginable.
* this is a longer cycle of poems that I've been working on for about 10 months, but I've only just written this bit.