courage

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).

thoughts about things – fear, courage and tenderness

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Today as I was walking along, I realised that the breakthrough moment of becoming a pianist and being brave to play the piano to other colleagues had actually started much earlier than I had identified.

It all started on the ballet retreat.

To sum up, I discovered a ballet retreat, signed up for it immediately, and then (after months of patient waiting) there I was, a total beginner, doing three hours of ballet every day for a week.  And the rest of the time, I drank tea and ate chocolate in bed, reading.  Oh, and I played the clunky piano I found in a room that was mostly uninhabited by other guests.

Somehow, I now realise, this mixture of rest, beauty, gentle movement, strong movement and tranquility allowed me to connect to some deeper part of my own feelings and real me.  Playing the piano for fun (and practice) during the retreat was completely different from playing it at home at the end of a tiring working day.  I was not on guard in any way; my defences were down.  And some hidden, ancient part of me took advantage of this temporary truce to peek right out and join the rest of me. And I think that that increase in substance is what is showing in the rest of my playing, increasing boldness and expression.

And perhaps its also showing up in other places, in my writing, in my work, in my friendships.  It’s really quite intriguing, and very joyful.

Perhaps we need to encounter tenderness to discover the courage to face our fears.

passion opens doors

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(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

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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?
…