found poems

Today while walking, I realised I had the components of what I will be calling a ‘found poem’. Found poetry is often compiled from a single prose text, but rearranged into verses and stanzas, but my found poems (hopefully there will be more than one) will consist of elements discovered during a day or few days in a foreign city (or home, come to think of it).

I have very much enjoyed making my first found poem.  The ‘true’ version of the poem is in English and French, but I will also translate it.

Oh, such a happy day!

passion opens doors

(Once again I am trying to write thoughtfully without including all the details of my life in it and once again the details crowd round the door demanding to be let in and moreover I can’t actually write without them.)

It should not be surprising that facing fears has interesting consequences, but this week I have been surprised by something:  Passion and bravery open doors, literally.

My piano exam is getting nearer and so being away for work has a downside: few hotels have pianos.  And even fewer have pianos in a place where they can be played unheard.

My desire to pass my exam, and to grow as a performer has led to some interesting choices this week.

Firstly, something quite amazing:  in the time since I was last at hotel number one of this business trip, the hotel has acquired a piano.  Moreover, it can be played by guests (so long as their playing is ‘sure to delight’ others, as a small accompanying sign puts it).  Another colleague plays the piano and he is braver than me.  One evening, he started playing, for people to sing to.  This made me braver.

His passion held open a door for me to go through.

So I sidled along onto the piano stool, and then played a piece for my colleagues.  Without any music.  I cannot emphasise enough how a year ago I would not have considered doing such a thing.  There were errors and I was quaking (more inside than out these days, but still).  I felt afraid.  It was magical.  There was an intense feeling in the room as my playing made me more vulnerable than they are used to seeing me (I normally look quite competent).

However, what was even better is that I had brought my piano exam music with me just in case I found a piano.  This time it was preparation that opened a door.  Combining preparation with passion and courage, I decided to practise during the lunch hour.  This meant that I was practising (and making mistakes) as tens of people walked to and fro past me (I didn’t check if this playing met the ‘sure to delight’ criteria, but no-one stopped me).  Some of them came and talked to me and some of them didn’t.  Those that did talked about their own creativity.  Now my passion opened doors.

At the second hotel there was not a piano.  So I decided to ask if there was one nearby I could practise on.  I have to say I had zero hope of there being a piano.  After all, I reasoned, who in a city has a piano that visitors can just go and play?  But I thought I would ask anyway and see what happened.

The hotel recommended the conservatoire.  I was excited!  I couldn’t really believe that the conservatoire would let me play their pianos, but I was in an unknown city and it wasn’t too far away so I went as part of a morning of exploring.  I walked through a grand courtyard and heaved open an incredibly heavy, ornate wooden door, and pushed an inner flimsy door and I was in a shabby reception.  I made my request (I speak the language, which helped I think), and to my astonishment, the receptionist said I could probably practise if I returned later in the day.

And so I have just spent an hour practising at the conservatoire, with the sound of genius-level music accompanying my walks through corridors.  My passion opened literal doors to an experience that I would never have believed I would have.

And I have found out about a free concert there tomorrow.

And the kind receptionist has telephoned a piano shop on my behalf so that I can practise tomorrow when the conservatoire is fully booked.  (And of course, it turns out that the piano shop is round the corner from my hotel).

Passion opens doors.

out the back

I have made it
out the back
drenched, half seeing
inert from sustained effort –
wave crash wave crash
crash again.

Salt water in my
ears eyes hair nose mouth.
I am meant to be
here to catch
my wave.
I can’t face it now.

The paddle out has
terrified and
exhausted me.
I beg the sun to shed
a ray on my
frozen hands.
It doesn’t.

I keep one eye
warily
on the horizon
lest an errant pilgrim
should catch me out.
I would be done for.

Breathing and
lying flat, a hidden
alchemy restores my
senses, turns despair
to quivering hope.
A wave! Perhaps I
could consider it after all?

I lurk, trying to look
interested, but
in fact avoiding any
drift to the take-off zone, wish I
looked braver, but
don’t.

I wish I had a
fruit pastille.

For the first time
I am aware of
other surfers
like me, probably,
looking braver than
they feel.

But all of us are
out here, waiting.
I sit up, salute,
and turn to make a
full assessment:
sun, sea, wind
position, rhythm,
sets, self.

I inch forward,
put myself at risk
of drowning,
paddle gently,
invite adventure
with a tentative
inner nod.

The wave heaves me
back and then
thrusts me forward.
In a moment I will
tip
out of control again,
at the mercy of
instinct and
every hour of practice.

Sensation of falling…
Will I make it or wipe out?

thoughts about things – fear

One of the things I have been learning to confront recently is fear.  I am very lucky to have been brought up in a secure, happy, loving environment, so fear is not my default inner mode.  Of course I have normal fears like snakes, rejection, pain and loss, but overall, it is not something that bothers me that much.

This offers a luxury that not everyone has; embarking intentionally on journeys, adventures and projects that you know will be beyond you and at some point will entail you facing a fear.  And if you want to embark on big adventures, it’s also worth practising facing small fears so you will be prepared when a big one strikes (like Walter Bonatti and his friends sleeping on their balconies in midwinter to prepare for their summit bids).

(Aside:  Writing this has already taught me something about my thinking; it is very situational.  I don’t think about things in the abstract but in the contexts in which they take place).

So situation one is playing the piano in front of people.  I played and performed fairly happily as a child, but when I returned to playing the piano after a big gap, I found that performing actually terrified me.  Now, this was quite interesting in itself; I did not feel fear when thinking of performing.  I sat quite happily in the audience of the ‘concert’ organised by my piano teacher while her eight year old pupils played for their mums and dads.  Only at the very moment where I took my place at the piano did I fear an overwhelming woosh of terror causing me to  a) be unable to see the music b) shake from head to toe (including fingers) and c) feel physically sick.  Even playing to my own mum, I would feel the whine of inner fear spreading out from somewhere to everywhere.

(Aside:  Writing this has also taught me another thing about my thinking, it’s anchored in my personal experience.  I tried writing it as if it was an objective thing, but this doesn’t seem to be possible).

From tackling this fear I have learnt some useful things:  Fear is just chemicals and it is not just chemicals.  There is a physical reality (chemicals), but the physical reality does not capture the felt experience of fear.  I could probably take something to diminish the chemicals, but there would still be something happening within me that is important.  Secondly, fear can be explored and this makes it diminish.  I don’t know if it’s the exploration (understanding) or the familiarity (recognition), but repeatedly putting yourself in micro-situations of fear helps diminish the fear.  Then, and this was the most interesting finding, I felt less fear when I had learned about the composers of the pieces I played!  How funny; it was like by getting to know the people involved in the fear-provoking situation (even though they were historical figures who I would never actually meet), I felt less fear.  Finally, being told that I did not seem terribly afraid helped to reduce the fear.  Somehow, the embarrassment of looking afraid increased the fear (see, fear’s friend shame has tried to sneak in to the limelight for a moment).

(Aside:  I have learnt another thing about thinking about things.  I am interested in what I have decided to call the ‘felt experience’ of things.  Lots of people can write scientifically about fear; my own findings are not all new.  But the wholeness of the felt experience cannot be summed up in phrases like ‘exposure therapy’, ‘adrenaline rush’ and other terms, even though those can still be informative.)

There are a few other contexts that I might write more about another time; surfing in Bali (two weeks of terror), fears that you should not face, fear and timing.

Now that I have made these other categories, I am going to put the piano-performance fear in the category of ‘fears you should befriend’.

I have learned that understanding fear is part of the process of growing courage.  And courage is essential for growing a deeper heart.  I have learned that you need to have a reason for facing the fear that is bigger than the fear itself.  Wanting to bring joy to other people by sharing beautiful music with them is helping me to face my fears of performing.

Wanting to grow our capacity to love is the reason for confronting fear.