today’s site: writing about wild london

thenewnature.co.uk

 

Easter day: forgetful in Carouge

Thankfully I had bought some pears, which came in a paper bag.

today’s inspiration

It seems that when you meet Czesław Miłosz, there is no looking back. And every time you happen upon someone else who loves him your love for him grows. It is a community of wonderment and of deep serious gratitude, and so much more which would take a lifetime to express. And so I will be quiet and share instead…

 

 

you stumble into…

If  you stumble into a room full of poets you will find
a little something written by me

Here is a lovely review of this beautiful publication

t h a n k    y o u

the blade of grass

the blade of grass

I must be careful, very careful
not to knock the droplets of melted frost
which rest on you. The day will doubtless take them,
but for the moment I must be careful
to wonder.

What happened in the night that this morning
you are so honest?

Why Poetry is Not A Luxury

If ever you have been in doubt of the importance of art, or in the importance of poetry, then please read this article, shared with me this morning by a dear friend and written by Eliza Griswold:

Why Afghan Women Risk Death to Write Poetry.

(And I am of course reminded of Audre Lorde)

today’s listening

(and yesterday’s too…)

If ever you feel….

Whilst I’m really not into giving advice-via-blog, I just had to share this piece of extraordinary research.

If ever you feel as if you are pushing a very large boulder up a very steep hill (/mountain), then take a glance at this. Recharge, then keep on keepin’ on!

Radio Loving

THANK YOU Barbara Ford for including my new poem The Saucepan, The Bowl, The Spoon on KHEN radio’s Poets and Minstrels show yesterday, which had a special focus on Colorado poets, or poets who had spent time in the state. It was amazing to hear my poem read alongside poet friends such as Laurie James and Craig Nielson, and to discover (nearly hundreds) of other poets I had not heard of.

Barbara is a true guardian of poetry. I say this, not because she flatters my ego by reading my poetry (!) but for her determined and unrelenting celebration of poetry itself. Listening to her show, even from thousands of miles away, you feel an urgency to discover, to keep discovering all the mountains of poems you do not know, and to re-read all the ones you do.

Why not tune in, next Thursday, wherever you are.

Verdi’s Otello Opera North

After watching Verdi’s Otello at The Grand theatre in Leeds last week, I left remembering why I love opera. With a score as sumptuous and as well-known as Verdi’s, Shakespeare’s Othello casting its shadow beneath, I did not expect to be moved. I felt, taking my seat in the stalls, that it would be like watching the Titanic: the very certainty of its genre, of its being tragedy, provided some comfort – I couldn’t imagine that anything that definite, would really succeed in having an effect.

Imagine my surprise therefore, when I found myself crying, unable to control my emotions. As I watched Otello kill his beloved, and then himself, I felt the deep sadness, frustration, and wordless tragedy of injustice. Opera North must be celebrated and recognised for its triumph.

I challenge you to watch, and to remain unmoved.

I was born to love,
and to die

Desdemona, Verdi’s Otello