Tag Archives: poetry

On the road to nowhere

the road to nowhere

On the road to nowhere

They have gone, one by one
taking with them
their carefully packed
suitcases
into which they have put
important items,
bits of life they
did not
want to forget

as they went, each one shut
the door behind them
a gesture saying,

I am not coming back,
what is left 
is for you to sort out

 

A Poetic language

Wales is called the land of song probably  because it’s language is liquid gold that spills off the tongue in musical cadences.    For non-welsh speakers the sounds are hard to explain but ‘ff’ is prounounced ‘f’, ‘dd’ as ‘the’, ‘w’ as ‘ow’, ‘y’ as in ‘oo’ and ‘ch’ is hard as in loch not ouch

The Town Council in Brecon has just invested in  a poetry trail and this one is by a friend of mine who also writes in English.

Mwylachen y Mynydd literally the Mountain Blackbird is the Welsh name for the Ring Ouzel.
A translation – for those who want it
Flash of black,
loud singing
princeof rock
in silver torque

Here is one from his collection The Meaning of Flight
written in English

Twyn yr Hyddod

I’ve had enough of elegies
but must have you know
that mountain where I used to run
marking bounds at the edge of breath,
how its roads exotically wind
among the skirts of the hill,
its acres of snapped stone
hard turf and whin
ignore the long slopes’ fall
to where the pit no longer is.

His thrown ash has left no scent or mark.
The smell’s of nothing but bright air.
And for a sound
hear a skylark, who
forgetting she’s a cliché
always on the brink of falling, climbs
singing up through daylight
just far enough to break your heart.

I thought I’d like to share some of Chis’s poetry  if you want to visit his site its
http://christophermeredith.webs.com/

Cityscape

City scape – Fox

Sodium harsh city night
chiascuro light and shadow
tensing at the edge of flight
soft padding steps that echo

city centre neon flare
suburban executive boxes
sink estate edge of despair
playgrounds for urban foxes

I prowler I of dark places
quiet courts, tower blocks,
weed infested empty spaces
anywhere you think to look

shadow brushed stillness
a suggestion of fox, alert,
nervous, night time witness
to the city’s secret heart

night bus rattles past
no hopers, drunk gropers
disappointed party goers
one more kiss, one last
chance at happiness

silent footed I pace down
shadowed streets
I cartographer I
mapping sub-urban urban
psycho-geography
whiskers stippling the air
scenting out hope and fear

rough sleeper, entrepreneur,
slack eyed insomniac
doesn’t matter who you are
my questioning breath
has stirred the hairs on your neck

I vulpine I, slide through
the dark alleys of your mind
in between your thoughts
the eyes glinting in your pysche
I am sensed but never caught
the shiver down your spine

jig jogging along
scritch-scratch city
never sleeps; everyone
all strung out, wired in
dancing to the tune
of the cash machine,
the get out of debt motivator
you’re in too deep
no-one on your side
high flyer, low roller
scrabbling for a ride
on the fast buck escalator

I watch you all through
the cracks in the wall

I urban shadow fox I
soul scavenger
Don’t look over your shoulder
I right behind you…

Memory of Adlestrop

Small offering from me in aid of National Poetry Day – enjoy

addlestrop

Memory of Adlestrop.

I have been there and other places
where time halts and no-one
comes or goes in the space
before it blows steam,
picks up speed, moves on

places left behind become
litanies of cracked concrete
broken fences, corrugated iron
infinities of rust and a thousand
subtle shades of dereliction
valedictions we have left among
buddleia, willow herb, meadow sweet
words drowned in birdsong

and sat by the sea….

Took the seashore road and sat and watched the sea cropped

©2014 Ade Grandis

Took the seashore road
and sat and watched the sea
A bird became a butterfly
and landed on my knee
Who was the alien
whose land was it
Whose sea ?
She waved a wing tremulously
not sure of anything
the whole world swaying
And I not sure of anything
agreed with everything
that she was saying
As the pollen from her wings
flowered down on me

Lawrence Ferlinghetti  (from: Far rockaway of the heart)
Check out the online exhibition at
http://immaginepoesia.jimdo.com/exhibitions-on-line/window-for-took-the-seashore-road-by-lawrence-ferlinghetti/

Exploring the view from the other side of the needle

eye of the needleQuantum physics, climate change, the origins of language, surrealist art, poetry, justice and inequality.   At first sight you might say it’s quite difficult to see what they all have in common, what single thing unites them (other than that they are all interests of mine which you could be forgiven for not knowing).   The connection is that they are all intimately connected to the way in which we see the world, the edges and horizons of our thought landscapes.

Growing up in a small rural community where the prevailing norm was Presbyterianism  the only variation being what shade (strictly dour to reasonably cheerful being about the stretch allowed) my family of committed eccentric heathens made token sacrifice of the youngest member attending Sunday School.   I was not committed to the experience and was often the recipient of a whack with the bible, this being the Minister’s way of recalling wandering attention to the subject in hand, however out of those long dreary afternoon sessions in the chill of the Kirk even in midsummer (and you don’t want to think what it was like in the depths of winter) one image took possession of my mind.   The phrase about it being ‘easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle’ as a way of describing something impossibly difficult.  The picture it conjured was one of a large number of ancient Egyptians in white loin cloths against a backdrop of pyramids and bulrushes  endeavouring in vain to rope haul a camel through something resembling Cleopatra’s needle (an obelisk on the embankment in London)

It was only much later in life that passing through the eye of the needle came to represent for me a way of expressing the process of liberating the mind from preconceptions. Enabling oneself to see not ‘ought’ but ‘is’. What Buddhist philosophy would probably call ‘clear thinking’. What is represented by the Fool in the Tarot deck. It is no coincidence that the Fool is assigned the number 0. The most magical and fascinating of all numbers. The The Fool is the most powerful of the archetypes represented in the deck, the one who has stepped through the eye of needle. The realisation that everything is nothing and nothing is everything which sounds like crystal bollocks but is actually a necessary prerequisite for invention and innovation, for making unlikely connections and for understanding how and why the world is as it is.

The image at the top of the page is of Cardigan Bay on the West Coast of Wales, known for it’s seals. The photograph was taken by me late one evening and is not what it appears at first sight. The seal is in fact a piece of driftwood. Walk past and it mostly looks just that but from one angle with the light catching it it became something else. The point is if you simply look at it as drift wood, don’t walk round it, you don’t find the one thing that makes it something other than the ordinary. You have to see it from the other side of the eye of the needle.