adventure

found poem, London, autumn 2014

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When was the last time you had a first time?

I forget where we were.

Desire or restlessness?
Sheer frustration inspires new design;

I can’t remember where we were, I mean.

Design solves problems.
Robin Day cleverly extended two short pencils lives
by joining them together
with a piece of metal tubing.

Every stone tells a story;
not a multiple choice.

I had a strong interest in housing,
the relationships between our homes and ourselves being a particular area of fascination.
However, this is an emotive subject and managing the enormity of the scope has probably been
my biggest challenge.

Bringing joy to everyday.

Now my heart turns to and fro,
In thinking what will the people say.
They who shall see my monument in after years,
And shall speak of what I have done.

everything that is letting happy in and other things life don’t give itself

Membership makes a difference.
Charity was born of the marriage of Poverty with Abundance,
and certainly it cannot come into existence
without the presence of the two,
side by side.

Unite in good cheer.
Engine rooms this way.
Make bold moves;
hop on hop off.

And the eyes of them both were opened,
and they knew that they were naked,
and they sewed fig leaves together,
and made themselves aprons.

take extra care of children

You never know what you are going to find.
I had to look at everything.

Notes on locations:  This is a more complex poem than the previous found poems. In order, the source texts are from: advert (Bakerloo line, Paddington, southbound), poster for concert, posters at Design Museum (DM), DM, overheard fragment of conversation, Robin Day studio replica at DM, advert, exhibition subtitle, James Christian quoted in DM (abridged), poster, Inscription on Hatsheput’s obelisk (DM), scrawled answer to question ‘What is good design?’ at DM, writing on a wall at Tower of London museum, quotation on fence around building site near Stonecutter Court, Starbucks poster, Sign at Tower Bridge, scrap of paper at DM, Routemaster Bus, Genesis 3:7 quoted at ‘Woman Fashion Power’ exhibition at DM, sign on tube, two fragments of David McCandless’s talk for the Royal Statistical Society, pattern on a scarf (DM).

packing

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Soon,
I am going to have to pack my thirties away.
(It’s a good thing I am a neat packer.)
Large things first, wrapped in tissue,
lightly scented with nostalgia
a boyfriend
a break-up
faint spritz of –
– just what did I wear?
cards tucked into shirts and
memories of burning most of them
at the beach.
(and to be honest at home too in an
oven-proof dish I later had to throw away.)
I fold in the kite
that would not fly away
pink tail.

I tenderly lie
memories of Lucy on the bed
and gaze; how to store?
how to keep in perpetuity?
wrap in vintage lace she would
have loved, retrieve the tiny
silver heart from the cancer ward
where I took it in advance
to show her that
love goes ahead.
And round them tuck
snapshots, carrying her coffin,
loving her daughters through grief and
someone offering me a lift.
(I’d worn heels, of course I had.)

Do I let a blackness be stored there?  Will its smell
permeate happier scenes?
On consideration I put a
tiny sniff of it
in an air-tight pot, in case I need to
uncork it to remind me
to treat myself gently
when I attempt the impossible.

Hmmm half-full.
It’s time to navigate
the conception of a dream.
Do I pack what is yet unfinished?
Or keep it out?
I give it a shake, see what
might fall away.
I pack a meeting, a moment,
and several encouragements
in a gold leather bag,
easily retrieved at will.

And so some of the more
cumbersome objets:
Two weeks of terror in Bali,
a surfboard and a rat,
incessant hum of air-conditioning unit
unmaintained for decades.
Pristine dawn sea and sky
breathtaking, divine;
curl them round a friendship bracelet,
a sarong never actually used.
I wish I’d got those billabong trousers
like a surf chick.
Ten birthdays in a tube,
pearl pearl pearl
loved loved loved.
Cards, presents, flowers, cake
(one year three cakes, a triumph).

Oh, I turn around and I
had forgotten that.
One evening spent
in the neonatal unit with
my friend and her husband
while her baby died
(nearly),
and several trips behind the
locked doors of the mental health unit
reassuring her
that we were still alive,
really, feel my hand, it’s not
the afterlife just yet.
I pack it with the lavender heart
I gave her to tell her
love is real
love is real
love is real
and which she happily returned.
The lavender can hold its own against the smell of death.

And now precious days,
hours, years:
Two weddings,
two nieces,
two nephews
and all packed in with the sound
of laughter, singing and tiny baby cries
and the sh sh sh
of new parents’ futile attempts
to guarantee a night’s sleep.
One pair of 3D heart glasses
one sound of string quartet
one afternoon long cuddle,
one fleeting glimpse, two,
three, fleeting fleeting all.

And now I drop in camping trips,
post break up, glorious community
weekends, packing one house,
growing another,
two piano exams and
hours of practice,
tens of running trips
hours of pilates (dog accompanied)
years in my very favourite café
squeeze squeeze in and around
every gap crammed
telephone calls without
end or size, mountain moments,
haircuts, dresses, concerts,
and I haven’t even mentioned
work!! Oh how oh how will it all fit?
Should I take
something out?

It’s too late, the lid is closing,
what’s there will stay there;
what’s not will just be
left behind.

found poem – Paris, spring 2013, translation

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But he brought to everything the gaze
of a superior artist, sensitive to the secret
poetry of the real and able
to express it afresh.

In life we do things, some we wish we had never done
certain things can be told
some we wish we could replay a million times in our heads
of course with words
but they all make us who we are
others with gestures
and in the end they shape every detail about us.

but there are moments which leave us speechless
if we were to reverse any of them, we wouldn’t be
the person we are.  So just live, make mistakes
completely lost and disorientated
have wonderful memories
at a loss to know what to do
but never ever second guess who you are
where you have been, and most importantly
where it is you’re going.
it’s here that dance begins.

Poetry is an extreme sport.

Notes: To bring out the contrasting voices in the main part of the poem, I have italicised the French voice.  I think this is a better option here than changing the layout of the poem, as I did to bring out the contrasts in the found poem from Stockholm.

For locations, see original poem.

found poem – Paris, spring 2013

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Mais il portait sur toute chose le regard
d’un artiste supérieur, sensible à la secrète
poésie du réel et sachant
l’exprimer dans un langage inédit.

In life we do things, some we wish we had never done
certaines choses peuvent se dire
some we wish we could replay a million times in our heads
bien sûr, avec des mots
but they all make us who we are
d’autres avec des gestes
and in the end they shape every detail about us.

mais il y a aussi des moments où l’on reste sans voix
if we were to reverse any of them, we wouldn’t be
the person we are.  So just live, make mistakes
complètement perdu est désorienté
have wonderful memories
on ne sais plus que faire
but never ever second guess who you are
where you have been,
and most importantly
where it is you’re going.
à ce moment commence la danse.

La poésie est un sport extrême

Notes on locations:  Musée de L’Orangerie, street, Merci store (quotation from Pina Bausch), toilet door (really).

ten things I love about blogging – seventeen day review

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OK, so I know seventeen days isn’t a conventional review period, but I am brimming with reviewing thoughts about writing my extraplorer blog, and having missed the more traditional one week and fortnight review moments, I can’t wait any longer.

Here are my top ten:

1. Somewhere to share my writing ~ I have been writing a journal since I was sixteen, poems since I was six, and all sorts of other bits of writing, but I have not really had a space to share it.  I have read one or two things to close friends, but then some of my attempts to share things have met with a wall of silence, and this has made it feel hard to believe that what I am writing is ‘real writing’.  By setting up this blog as a series of fragments, I have been able to hop over the hurdle of ‘real writing’ and just write, which I love.

2. Writing ~ I can never understand authors and writers who say that they hate actual writing (or even sometimes that ‘everyone hates the writing part’).  I absolutely love it.  For me it is like falling in love, and hearing beautiful music, and watching children play and the dawn when the snow has just fallen.  I love love love it.

3. Readers ~ Of course this is ridiculous, but somehow when I decided to start the blog, I had forgotten that people might actually interact with it.  I had readers in my mind’s eye, but I had forgotten that readers would jump out of there and turn out to be real.  It is quite amazing that people are reading what I write (see point 1 above).  Thank you so much!

4. extraplorer ~ I also love the name extraplorer, and now I have had the idea for a secret blogging identity, I have had some follow ideas like making little cards with ‘extraplorer’ on them to help people who would like to read something like this to find it.

5. ‘Penscratcher theme’ ~ What a great word!  The minute I saw ‘penscratcher’, I knew it was the one for me.  I love the word and I love the layout.  I love customising.  It’s so fun being able to say ‘yes’ to this and ‘no’ to that (and much much easier than designing a website which I’ve had to do for work and was laborious and very time-consuming).

6. Paying attention to things ~ This is one of my favourite things about writing – it helps to encourage you to pay deeper attention to things, and it also helps you to be brave.  There is a reason that a pen also connects with a sword and with a scalpel and with a torch.  It makes it possible to go deeper into things, to venture into dark places and take a look around, to understand more and even to do battle for things that are important (like beauty, and hope).

7. Learning about blogging ~ Now that extraplorer exists, I would like more people to be able to see it (again, if they would like to).  It’s fun to check our tips and work out what I might be able to do (and also helpful to be clear about what is not possible, given my other commitments).

8.  Becoming more creative ~ Having a space to write is making me stretch out creatively.  As I wrote before, creating found poems has been immensely joyful.  I’ve loved starting to think thoughts in writing and then follow the thought to the conclusion.  I love having a thought pop into my mind ‘passion opens doors’ and to have a place to explore it.

9. Secret identity ~ I feel a bit funny that I have not told all my own actual (lovely, fun, kind) friends about my blog, but the chance to try something in a totally fresh place is very invigorating.  For a while I worried about it in case I was not being brave enough, but no, I think sometimes a new land is an important place for growth and transformation.  It is a liminal space.

10.  Being connected to a new world ~ I’ve been a bit reticent about social media use because I feel sad when it’s used badly, and I feel protective about myself.  I use it for my work, but we could say I am a mixed-speed adopter.  Writing extraplorer has made me comfortable with taking time to find my place, my path and my pace, and taking the time to find out how to be wholehearted means I am really loving it.

So hooray for blogging, hip hip hooray!  And thank you WordPress for making something wonderful and fun.  And thank you people who are curious about extraplorer…