Waiting Spirit

Along your journey's road
I have shadowed you,
Unknown, unseen
A deep wishing well

Along your dark pathways
I have watched you stumble,
My open arms at ready
a downy field of light

Along your starlight stepping stones
I have watched you dance unlimited,
free as a spirit wind
In search of unknown galaxies.


Poem by Eileen Carney Hulme  My modified painting 16" X 16" on canvas

The Lake Isle of Innisfree W B Yeats

This poem by W B Yeats was on my mind when painting this. I was listening to Mike Scots fantastic CD ' An Evening with Mr Yeats ' on which he adds music to Yeats poetry. This poem invokes the vision of a cottage by Lake Innisfree. Maybe my cottage is a bit grander than the cabin in the poem but I hope my painting captures the spirit of peace.
Here are the first few lines.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there,of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

Do look up the rest or buy Mike Scots CD.

Poetry with passion

Last Friday night I went to a poetry reading evening at The Picture Framers Art Gallery in Forres. The day before I had been in to see Graham about some picture framing and while waiting I picked up a poetry book by Eileen Carney Hulme. I read one, then another and just had to buy it.

The next night at the poetry evening (which was excellent) this lady was there and although she didn't read any of her work it seems she was mentoring some of the other poets. Anyway the following poem by Eileen Carney Hulme is a typical example of her work. Does it resonate with you?

Indian Summer

 

Like a deep blue wave

of passion

you shore into the room

where I sit waiting quietly,

open-booked.

 

We have moved through days,

loss, pain

to hold this moment,

this picture postcard seascape

of gentle harbouring.

 

You say

'I knew you were here

I could smell you'

and effortlessly I sway

to seal my fate.

 

You taste of ocean,

avenues of grassy dunes,

like a magician

you pluck a tiny pebble

from my hair-

 

Ancient survivor, sun kissed

on this summer afternoon,

unconditionally

I step out of my dress

into your dream.

Exit Life

After Simon Yate's lecture mentioned in the previous blog, John and I were chatting about the risky nature of his (Simon's) life. From that we talked about our own lives and the part risk played in defining our most ' alive ' moments. Here is the poem ( or is it prose? ) that John shared with me. I suspect this is quite an old poem from the ' stiff upper lip ' period as now it is quite fashionable to show emotion and sentiment. However it contains the truth. Also from a Buddhist perspective it is the refusal to accept that life is changing and flowing that causes suffering. So I say take a risk and live.

RISK

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.

To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.

To reach out is to risk involvement.

To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self.

To place your ideas and dreams before the crowd is to risk their love.

To love is to risk being loved in return.

To live is to risk dying.

To hope is to risk despair.

To try is to risk failure.

But the greatest hazard in all life is to risk nothing.

The one who risks nothing, does nothing and has nothing - and finally is nothing.

He may avoid suffering and sorrows,

But he simply cannot learn, feel, change, grow or love.

Chained by his certitude, he is a slave; he has forfeited freedom.

Only one who risks is free.

Author Unknown.



Ghost of Tomorrow

Another poem by Phil Cornelius from his book Shadowlands.

Ghost of tomorrow.

I am known here among the stones and bones of this soulless place.

I am the shiver in the wind; the tremble of panic in the wild bird's cry.

I am the silence when the mist rokes in; the shadows in a cloudless sky.

I am the shaft of light as the storm clouds clear.

The rustle in the heather that draws you near.

I am the smoke of past fires hung low on the breeze.

The sound of the ocean coming down from the trees.

I am the one behind who's never there,

Unseen echoes in the cold night air.

I am the spite in the rain when the East winds squall.

A glimpse of tomorrow through a hole in the wall.

To learn more about Phil Cornelius's work go to www.philcornelius.co.uk 

Did Yeats see Elementals?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NCSePtGLl8Y 

From the Waterboys new albumn ' An evening with Mr Yates ' Do listen. The title is ' The Faery's Last Song '  This albumn is Mike's homage to William Butler Yeats.

Mike Scott. Waterboys. W B Yeats

Here is beautiful track from Mike Scott's latest album. An Appointment with Mr. Yeats. The title is ' Before the world was made ' ( To Jackie ) Very moving. Connected straight to my emotions.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dtyrgAgaGDM  

Love is the Master. By Jalaluddin Rumi

Love is the One who masters all things;
I am mastered totally by Love.
By my passion of love for Love
I have ground sweet as sugar.
O furious Wind, I am only a straw before you;
How could I know where I will be blown next?
Whoever claims to have made a pact with Destiny
Reveals himself a liar and a fool;
What is any of us but a straw in a storm?
How could anyone make a pact with a hurricane?
God is working everywhere his massive Resurrection;
How can we pretend to act on our own?
In the hand of Love I am like a cat in a sack;
Sometimes Love hoists me into the air,
Sometimes Love flings me into the air,
Love swings me round and round His head;
I have no peace, in this world or any other.
The lovers of God have fallen in a furious river;
They have surrendered themselves to Love's commands.
Like mill wheels they turn, day and night, day and night,
Constantly turning and turning, and crying out.

Number One Poem

IF

By Rudyard Kipling.

This has consistently been voted Britain's favourite poem. No wonder. If facing a difficult decision, if feeling in need of courage, if taking a risk, then reading this poem may make you more resolute. It connects with my emotions, especially as I have taken risks and experienced gains and losses in my own life.

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream-and not make dreams your master;

If you can think-and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they have gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: ' Hold on!'

If you can walk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings-nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but non too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And-which is more-you'll be a Man, my son!

The Bright Field

The Bright field

I have seen the sun break through
to illuminate a small field
for a while, and gone my way
and forgotten it. But that was the pearl
of great price, the one field that had
treasure in it. I realize now
that I must give all that I have
to possess it.
Life is not hurrying

on to a receding future, nor hankering after
an imagined past. It is the turning
aside like Moses to the miracle
of the lit bush, to a brightness
that seemed as transitory as your youth, 
but is the eternity that awaits you.

R S Thomas

They will not look here

Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw-
For he's the master criminal who can defy the law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard the Flying Squad's despair:
For when they reach the scene of crime-
Macavity's not there!

T. S. Elliot

The Cherry Tree

This poem by A. E. Housman from his epic 'A Shropshire Lad ' is one of my favourites. It is written from the viewpoint of a young man of twenty who has woken up to his own mortality. He realises that he will only see so many springs and therefore goes to look more intently at the cherry blossoms. As I am considerably older than twenty the knowledge of my own mortality is even more acute! However it makes me more mindful of beauty and this precious human life.

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now

is hung with bloom along the bough,

And stands about the woodland ride

Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my three score years and ten,

Twenty will not come again,

And take from seventy springs a score,

It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom

Fifty springs are little room,

About the woodlands I will go

To see the cherry hung with snow.

Judgement Day

This is another wonderful poem by Phil Cornelius. I hope you like it.

Judgement Day

We all stand alone on judgement day.

If we have a God then perhaps we'll pray.

But no one here is above the rest.

When storms blow in we all face the test.

No time for self pity, no cries of remorse.

Fate charts the waters and luck sets the course.

If those demons slink out from a restless night.

Have the guts to stand and the will to fight.

And when death comes to take you to some other place.

Walk out to meet it with a smile on your face.

Shadowlands

Another marvellous poem by Phil Cornelius.

Shadowlands

Let's steal away and make no plans.

Let's drive all night through Shadowlands.

Let's dance together on a moon washed beach,

Some place the waves,and the dawn, and the ghosts can't reach.

Let's chase the clouds beneath startled trees,

Let's drive forever on this midnight breeze.

Let's steal away and make no plans.

Lest we wake too soon from Shadowlands.

Leaving

I came across a marvelous little book of poems and photographs in an art gallery in Grosmont when guiding recently on the Coast to Coast path. I was very moved emotionally by the quality of the poems by  Phil Cornelius. He deserves to be famous. You can buy the book called ' Shadowlands ' on line at www.philcornelius.co.uk  Here is one poem called ' Leaving '

Leaving

One day I will leave this place.

I will blow through the trees with the rain

And listen as the leaves fall like snow.

One day I will talk to the mountains

And they will smile.

I will shelter from the beat

of a butterfly's wings

And hear spiders walk.

One day when the tears and the fears

And the years have slipped away,

I will light a fire on a beach.

The smoke will take me to the stars

And I will be free.

On Wenlock Edge

This is one of my favourite poems from The Shropshire Lad by A E Houseman. Very Buddhist in it's reference to impermanence and a good one to read when overwhelmed by life's troubles. It will restore a sense of perspective to any problems.

On wenlock Edge

On Wenlock Edge the wood's in trouble;

His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;

The gale it plies the saplings double,

And thick on Severn snow the leaves.

'Twould blow like this through holt and hanger

when Uricon the city stood;

'Tis the old wind in the old anger,

But then it threshed another wood.

Then 'twas before my time, the Roman

At yonder heaving hill would stare:

The blood that warms an English yeoman,

The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.

There, like the wind through woods in riot,

Through him the gale of life blew high;

The tree of life was never quiet:

Then 'twas the Roman, now 'tis I.

The gale it plies the saplings double,

It blows so hard, 'twill soon be gone:

To-day the Roman and his trouble,

Are ashes under Uricon.

Your Breast is Enough

This poem is by Pablo Neruda The Chilean poet and Nobel Prize winner. I love his poems. The way he uses words to conjure up mental images is so distinctive. This poem is from Twenty Love Poems published in 1924. It translates quite well into English but is even better in Spanish. If you can speak Spanish it is worth looking it up in the original language.

Your Breast is Enough.

Your breast is enough for my heart,

and my wings for your freedom.

What was sleeping above your soul will rise

out of my mouth to heaven.

In you is the illusion of each day.

You arrive like the dew to the cupped flowers.

you undermine the horizon with your absence.

Eternally in flight like a wave.

I have said that you sang in the wind

like the pines and like the masts.

Like them you are tall and taciturn,

and you are sad, all at once, like a voyage.

You gather things to you like an old road.

You are peopled with echoes and nostalgic voices.

I awoke and at times birds fled and migrated

that had been sleeping in your soul.