Living Between Eclipses

With Old Things

August arrives bringing a solar eclipse on 12^th August and a lunar eclipse on 27^th August. Apparently the first eclipse brings to the surface matters around home, family and spiritual growth, while the second is about tribe/community and values. The after effects will ripple out for another six weeks, so the actual turning point may not occur immediately. Whether or not you pay attention to such things, there are certainly seasons in life when everything seems to be gently rearranging.

David went to the skin cancer clinic at the end of last week for his regular four-monthly check up. Apart from being given some cream for a few dry patches of skin on his face, he is fine. He’s only got three more years left and he will be in remission. Perhaps these are small steps, but they are taking us in the right direction.

The choir we sing with had a successful summer concert at Chelmsford Cathedral at the weekend. All seats were sold out the evening before the event. People were paying to stand and watch on the day too. Singing to a full house gave all of us singers a tremendous boost. It was one of those lovely events where everything went well. We were raising money for charity and donations are still trickling in, but the total collected so far is four thousand pounds.

We have a week’s rest from rehearsals and then start practising for our Christmas performances, including old numbers like “White Christmas” as well as well-loved carols. Somehow, the choir manages to leap from summer to the festive season without missing a beat.

With the concert behind us, David and I are quietly enjoying the lazy days of summer. He is reading old mystery books from the 1930s and I’m back to revising another old manuscript, so I can republish the book as a second edition. This one may have a slightly different title from the original. It’s a small change, but it’s likely to help the collection reach a wider audience.

The book I put together using works given to me by various people (called Unclaimed Voices) didn’t go down well with one contributor. This week, my eccentric friend claimed that she has no recollection of having written anything. When I told her it was only last month that she was asking about it, she replied that she must be more batty than she thought she was.

She also said she didn’t recognise my voice in my poems. She told me that I don’t talk like it, so I shouldn’t write like it - hmmm. I think it must have been one of her grumpier days. I’m lucky she has been part of my tribe for four decades and I value her presence in my life, so I don’t mind her stating her views, even when they are curiously detached from her usual supportive self. Perhaps age and the weather are having an impact.

Her comments did make me wonder if anyone writes exactly as they speak. I think the answer is no and probably more so for poets, since we tend to distil language. Most people would recognise Shakespeare’s voice or Mary Oliver’s voice, but I don’t believe either of them wrote as though they were chatting over a cup of tea.

Among my books, there are a couple that are my favourites. I don’t know if writers are supposed to love all their creations equally, but “Out of Stone” is special for me. It’s probably because it’s about change, margins and thresholds, which has become even more apparent with its recent revision. The poems have been distilled and the order rearranged to lead you to liminal spaces and beyond.

This week I have chosen two poems to share. Both of them are from “Out of Stone”. The first one is the opening poem and the second one is the closing poem. I think they make a satisfying circle.

PEBBLE
In a pebble is the story of earth,
of fire and storm,
shifting rocks and howling wind,
battling across the landscape
until the creative rage subsided.

It is only a small stone
flecked with copper
and scarred with dusty fissures,
polished by salty seas.

It is ancient, emerging from the deep,
yet not moving too far
from the rich seam that birthed it,
holding secrets waiting to be told.

It whispers of night and day,
changing skies and falling rain,
it tells of the hot sun and cool moon,
wheeling across the heavens.

ROCKFALL
Thoughts create
ripples in the universe,
masterpieces on earth.

Thoughts lead to many places,
down into the depths of oceans
or out to other galaxies

Beyond our here and now,
was there an entity
that thought us into existence?