The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Monday, 15 February 2016
notes, and a February prose poem from me
So I notice the number of blog visitors has reduced in this prose-poem month. Even my Russian would-be spammers have gone a bit quiet.
Is it the form I've chosen, or the lack of variety, or – get down, ego, get DOWN! – the absence of my own writing or input?
I have been thinking about the direction of this blog, and the way it lurches through a variety of topics. Is this 'a good thing', or should I be more focused?
I know people seem to like the fact that I'm willing to share personal stuff about life, love, death. You'll have noticed, if you're a 'regular', that I have periods when what I post is introspective psychospiritual examination, often quite personal, but I like to think with broader application to the way we 'do' both our living and our relationships.
Then there are the posts about place and the spirit of place, deep ecology, the idea of reciprocal relationship with the other-than-human, and natural history – birds, tree lore, plants.
Often it's to do with 'the bardic arts' of myth, story and poem.
Frequently I write about a rural lifestyle, and growing things (this incorporates sustainable living with minimal suffering to others; a big concern of mine).
Occasionally, it's political, environmental, or philosophical.
Sometimes it's about pilgrimage, in one way or another – this journey of our life, undertaken as consciously as possible.
A few times a year I write about a course or retreat I'm leading or have just led, or share with you excitement about a new publication of mine.
Then on occasion I write the '100-words-from-here' thing – it's a way of holding the thread, and making sure that I do write something on a day when I otherwise might not (and therefore an example for you writers! – Write anything; write something.)
Recently, in between writing about breaking my arm and my time in Brittany, I seem to have written more 'ragbag' blogposts, where I cover many subjects; usually this is when my creative energy is deeply absorbed into another project. Surprisingly to me, these are often the most popular of my posts.
So, I'd love to know if you can be bothered to tell me: what do YOU like on the blog? What would you like to see more of?
And now for a small prose poem from me; back tomorrow to another of the imaginative contributions that are still coming in.
Like many of my poems and prose poems, this is A Version: a piece that's already in print, as a poem, but that I'm still chewing at. It's a section from a long poem with mythic undertones called 'Entering the Wood', in Bardo, which I think came out in 2011.
February is coppicing, spring-cleaning the wood, remembering line, vaulting, architecture, thinning hazel scrub to let in summer when it comes
the pattern of our saws, their dissonant harmonies – weak sun on our backs, thin feather of smoke, and the showers of rufous catkins around our feet
the mallet’s knock, its echo
on the road the erratic pulse of traffic
we think of tidying our lives
© Roselle Angwin
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