Proust and Quotations

I was reading ‘How Proust can Change Your Life’ by Alain de Botton this evening. He included this quotation from Proust
One must never miss an opportunity of quoting things by others which are always more interesting than those one thinks up oneself.
Strangely, this was a very timely quotation for me. I’ve been struggling to find inspiration to write more poetry lately – all my creativity seems to be chanelled into the garden these days. However, in conversation with a fellow poet over coffee on Saturday, I suddenly remembered that years ago I used to keep notebooks that were used for scribbling down ideas,quotations,doodles etc. The quotations were sometimes transferred to cloud shaped pieces of paper and blu-tacked to a wall in the smallest room in  the house. These often triggered a poem or a piece of flash fiction.
Why had I stopped using these notebooks? When did I stop? I can’t remember but this evening, I took down one of these notebooks from a neglected shelf  – a beautiful hand-crafted one with hand-made paper pages – some of them still blank!This will now be put back into commission …

Counting days – searching for sanity

I set out to try to write at least two pieces per month  on my blog. Well we all know about good intentions and where they lead.

However, today is the last day of April and this will just meet the deadline. I have been following Jan Fortune’s Alchemical Musings and her latest contribution reminded readers how important it is for artists and writers to keep going in these days of unrest where there are wars and famine, poverty and suffering in so many parts of the world. Art, she reminds us, is important.

I would add that tending plants, nurturing seedlings, dividing pot-bound unhappy plants, awareness of the state of things in our gardens, verges and hedgerows is also important. It is important for our own well-being as well as the plant world.

Whne the world seems to be spirally down into chaos, when the political and economic news is pretty dire wherever we live, then for me the place to find solace is in a garden.

‘Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts‘ Rachel Carson
I came across that quotation in issue 341 of Resurgence & Ecologist (November/December 2023.) I keep backnumbers of these to refer to.There are so many articles worth keeping, quotations worth remembering and art work to inspire, that I can always turn to these when in need of reassurance and inspiration.

There are some places that I go to to when I feel my batteries need charging. My own garden is one where I can get lost in a more sane world as I spend time in either the green house or the different’rooms’ in the garden. There are wild places along the coast or up in the hills and there are some gardens which have an almost magical effect. Glenwhan Gardens, Dunragit is one such place. Here we see an area that has been transformed from moorland into a garden that transports visitors to a world where worries and fears fall away or can be seen from a more realistic and manageable perspective.

Learning to be Patient!

I am learning that it’s no good being impatient when gardening. For a start, the weather dictates a lot of what can be done when, and then there are the inevitable seeds that don’t germinate quickly.

Waiting for seeds to germinate is like waiting for inspiration when given a topic for writing a poem. If it’s not a topic that inspires straight away, then it pays to let the subconscious work on it for a while rather than sit staring at a blank page or screen.

The wildlife pond project is a major development for my garden. The initial stages of preparation are now completed thanks to more than a little help from my friends! I now need to measure it up for the liners. However, the rest of the garden has been given priority this week and so the measuring up and ordering will have to be done when I get back from a short break.

But this shows the progress from last month –

It’s not possible to see how deep the deep end is, but it’s about two feet (60 cm).

This garden has many ‘rooms’ and there is one corner which is in need of some attention but, in spite of my neglect lately, there is a lovely snake’s head fritillary blooming, lemon balm has survived, the wild garlic is almost restricted to the plantpot and the primulas that I thought had died have recovered this spring. Maybe the Buddha has had some influence …

After a busy day in the garden, I’m finding it harder to concentrate on writing in the evenings. Juggling what needs to be done and constantly having to prioritise is a dilemma familiar to many.  Getting up an hour earlier and going to bed an hour later isn’t really the answer. There’s a limit to how long energy will last!

However, the thought of going on a train journey for the first time in many years did trigger the following –

Waiting

for my connection –
the train now arriving at platform one

is not my connection.

People come and go, talk of people that I know,
trains come and go to places I don’t know.

I’m still waiting for my connection.

This recurring dream – what does it mean?
I wait, and wait      for that connection.

Digging

One of my favourite poems is ‘Digging’ by Seamus Heaney. Kenneth Steven referred to it last Friday when he was reading from two of his latest books (‘Seeing the Light’ and ‘Atoms of Delight – Ten Pilgrimages in Nature’)  at Kirkcudbright Book Week.
He commented how, as writers, we very often have to dig deep, dig back into our memories for treasures of those moments in time that inspire us to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. (I have found that both of his latest books are inspirational too.)
But these days, I also find myself enjoying the physical digging – digging with a spade, digging turfs to mark out the outline of what will eventually be a wildlife pond.

In a world so full of death and disaster, I find I need to turn to the natural world  to sow seeds, to see the reassuring seedlings develop. It’s a comforting situation to be able to grow much of the food that you need, to enjoy observing the progression of the seasons as snowdrops herald the first signs of spring and then the reliable sequence of crocuses, daffodils and tulips following on.
It will take some time to establish a pond, but I look forward to attracting more wildlife to the garden – watch this space!
In the immediate future, I have to wait for this rather wet spell to come to an end so that I can move more turf and then start to investigate just how difficult it’s going to be to dig down at least eighteen inches – that will need my pick axe for sure.
However, on these wet days –

‘Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I’ll dig with it.’

And sometimes, I’ll ‘dig’ with my laptop too!

Childhood Dreams

An article in the current edition of Mslexia has triggered thoughts of my childhood – that, plus the death of Dave Myers – one of the ‘Hairy Bikers’ TV chefs. He, like me was born in Barrow-in-Furness.
I can remember being ten and my class teacher asking me what I wanted to be when I grew up – I quickly replied  ‘Iwant to be an author’.
I always liked writing – making up my own stories and making books. I can’t remember learning to read. It seemed as if I always could. Unlike the world of numerals, the world of words was magical.
I do remember being moved from one class in the Infant School where my aunt was headmistress to another. The reason? I didn’t understand, but I clearly remember being unhappy because I didn’t know anyone. I hid behind my then faavourite Ladybird book , reading a story about a squirrel.
I had learnt then, that reading a book could take you away from the discomforts of the real world into another that felt both safe and interesting.
When I anounced that I wanted to be an author, I assumed that I would write stories for women’s magazines (I was an avid reader of my mother’s ‘Woman’ and ‘Woman’s – or was it Women’s? Own’. I had already penned or rather pencilled my story ‘Anne and the Artist’ and offered it up to my mother and her sister for editorial comments. I didn’t send it off anywhere …
There was also my grandma’s ‘People’s Friend’ but until my older sister moved to live in Scotland when I was twelve, I didn’t know much about that country – apart from the fact that my grandma had married a Scot and she had also fallen in love with Harry Lauder.
I did  think that I might aim higher and write ‘proper books’ – but knew that as I wasn’t at a boarding school I couldn’t add to the wonderful escapades that girls had at the ‘Chalet School.’
Maybe, I could set my sights on being another Enid Blyton – I loved the ‘Secret Seven’  books and the ‘Famous Five’ series. I had my own gang who investigated strange goings on down Park Drive . We met in a garden shed and had our own badges and an initiation ceremony.
Many decades later, I still love both reading and writing, but life led me along the road – like my mother, aunt and brother – of being a teacher and later training teachers, support staff , teenagers and voluneer tutors how to best support children and adults who were struggling with reading. Not quite the life I’d envisaged at ten, but I’d also had a few ‘off piste’ years making miniature china, living on a tiny island for two years – all of which might add to the memories that one day get recorded.
in the meantime, (now living in Scotland) I’m mostly concentrating on writing poetry – some of which is published in print and  online. This is an example of my latest …

Left on the Shelf

You don’t know what it’s like, do you?
What it’s like to be ignored, while
others get all the attention.

You don’t know how it feels when
years go by without anyone, I mean,
anyone, giving me a second look.

You don’t know how I yearn just
to feel the touch of someone’s hand
gently caressing me, running

their fingers down my spine. (Look),
don’t dismiss me after a quick glance,
give me a chance. I could be the one

you wouldn’t ever want to put down.
I really could turn out to be the one
that’s your all-time favourite book.

February!

In the past, February was never one of my favourite months but now, I see it as an optimistic time – at least where the natural world is concerned.  There are leaves beginning to show on the Hydrangeas, bulbs are adding colour to the garden as Crocuses and Daffodils brighten even the misty mornings.

Here we see more geese down on the merse as thay recognise the shooting season is over. It’s so heartening to see the sky filled with skeins of Barnacle and Pinkfoot geese circling round before settling on their chosen feeding ground. The call of the geese is such an evocative sound that takes us back to the time of ancient ancestors. Hearing their call – the only sound to break the silence (we’re too far away from traffic noise) we could be stepping back in time – gazing over the merse, to the distant hills where some branches of my family originated.

Geese in Winter

sketching the glow of dawn sky
geese scribble their route westward

thousands – skein after skein
head for inland grazing

later –  they return
with their wild evensong

before settling on the merse
for another winter’s night

 

 

Imbolc and Snowdrops

One of the many attractions of this hidden corner of south-west Scotland, is that spring comes early. Now, at the end of January, the snowdrops are beginning to open and by Imbolc (tomorrow) the more sheltered areas will be covered in drifts of these delicate signs of hope.

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As we first drove up into this corner of Scotland in 2001, I couldn’t get over how so many verges were full of these delicate flowers. After the dark days of winter, to drive past miles and miles of countryside alight with these glowing terrestrial, life-affirming signs, told us that that here at least, all was mostly OK.

Now, more than twenty years later, the world is indeed an even darker place. Whichever way we look, there are war-torn countries, there is famine, drought and refugees dying as they desperately search for a better life. There is poverty, instability and more. Above all, we are facing the reality of living on a planet that we humans are not taking care of properly.

It is oh, so easy to get depressed, to give up hope. That is why, images such as the woods and verges, gardens and hedgerows full of snowdrops are an uplifting sight. And we can be thankful that the season of Imbolc brings us these lights in the darkness. We can feast our eyes and hope …

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On a Clear Day

Today was one of the best kind of days we can get in winter – frosty, sunny and with clear blue skies.

For the last twelve months, I’ve had to concentrate on keeping a rather large garden from becoming an overgrown jungle. While it was relatively easy for two of us, finding myself suddenly promoted to ‘head gardener’ has meant a time consuming steep learning curve.

Whereas before we would find time to get out and walk a few miles at some point every day, that just hasn’t been possible. The garden was taking priority, especially on fine days.

However, a year has gone by and there have been no disasters, so I have decided that this year, I am really going to make time for walking. Today was the first day to put my walking muscles to  the test.

The weather couldn’t have been better – it would have been a perfect day to get to the top of one of the Southern Upland hills, but that would have been a bit risky as I’d no idea how much stamina I still have. So, a relatively modest walk was a good test to start with. At the end, instead of feeling tired, I felt I could do it again – although maybe with a break for lunch!

Now I feel confident to tackle a more ambitious walk – hopefully before the garden becomes more demanding and we get more clear frosty days to tempt me up into the hills.

Getting the right balance into the days is definitely work in progress – the evenings at present are spent writing and reading, the days given up to work in and around the house and garden with the obligatory trips for shopping. Meeting friends for coffee is however a good way of avoiding a hermit like existence and a necessary way to keep the balance right. The years of Covid reinforced how much we do need the stimulus of other folk in our lives.

Online interaction with like-minded souls via workshops is a great way to keep in touch with people all over the world and that is a ‘Good Thing’ that did emerge from the lockdown period. Meeting up for sessions on writing haiku and other literary focussed opportunities have added valuable additions to my life that I’ve learnt is important to find time for. And a walk on a clear day is definitely time well spent!

Another Year!

2023 seemed to fly by in some ways and yet looking back on this time last year, it does seem that a lot has happened. Certainly there have been many changes all over the world and not for the better. Our planet is not in a good state – for many reasons.

At Christmas, I was given a beautiful book ‘365 Poems For Life – An uplifting collection for every day of the year,’ compiled by Allie Esiri. The poem for today is one by Mary Oliver

I Worried

I worried a lot. Will the garden grow, will the rivers
flow in the right direction, will the earth turn
as it was taught, and if not, how shall
I correct it?

Was I right,was I wrong, will I be forgiven,
can I do better?

Will I ever be able to sing, even the sparrows
can do itand I am, well,
hopeless.

Is my eyesight fading or am I just imagining it,
am I going to get rheumatism,
lockjaw,dementia?

Finally, I saw that worrying had come to nothing.
And I gave it up. And took my old body
and went out into the morning,
and sang.

This poem seemed very appropriate for me today and, I suspect for many of us who are all too familiar with the concerns expressed above, as we age. It is all too easy at the turn of a year to think back and have regrets or to worry about the future. How much better to do neither of those things, but to savour the present, be fully in the ‘now’ and appreciate being alive. Whether we can sing well or not – just sing!

Hooked on Haiku

I can’t remember when I first came across Haiku. It was certainly a long time ago. Recently I have spent much more time thinking and reading around this intriguing subject.
What is this form of poetry? Basho – who must be the acknowledged master of this form, described it thus –
Haiku is simply what is happening in this place at this moment.
What appeals to me is the simplicity  – how much can be said with so few words. Images are immediately conjured by these verbal snapshots of a certain time and place. Some may think it is too minimalistic. The same criticism has been made of certain modern composers – Cage and Glass for instance.
There is no doubt that some bad haiku can be churned out with more thought given to the counting of syllables than anything else, but then there are plenty of bad sonnets and villanelles etc. as well. It’s all too easy to focus on the restrictive element of certain forms.
Recently I attended an inspirational Zoom session, organised by the Scottish Centre for Geopoetics &  featuring Gilles Fabre –  editor of Seashores – an international journal to share the spirit of haiku.The latest edition of this – Volume 11, published last month by The Fishing Cat Press is equally inspirational. It includes a tribute to the late  Kenneth White – an extract from Eyes Wide Open – on the haiku path, also published by The Fishing Cat Press.
It is a well known saying  ‘when the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear’. It can also be said that when one is ready to learn and develop something , then opportunities – either in the form of books seeming to leap of the shelf in a bookshop, a workshop or a ‘chance’ meeting materialise.
I’m certainly very pleased that these days, I have been given a number of opportunities to get to know more about haiku and understand  and appreciate this simple, yet not so simple, form of poetry. The natural world, spirituality and philosophy – all encompassed in seventeen syllables!