April Poems and April Showers ‘April is the *month *mixing memory and desire.’

I wrote a poem 10 years ago to this day to celebrate the wedding and life of my mother and father. Yes, it was the royal wedding of William and Kate and it was also the 10th anniversary of my mother’s death. I wanted to celebrate their lives as ordinary, but extraordinary working people. It was also quite hard to have a special remembrance on that day as there was so much wedding joy and fervour. The poem came to me and is for Dverse poets too who always inspire me.

https://dversepoets.com/

I remembered the wedding of my mother and father in 1946. With all the hope of post war and darkness turning to light. Which maybe it did for some but gradually as there were some tough years in the 50s. My parents’ desire was to be able to move forward and have a family and so they did. My mother talked about her wartime experiences but my father spoke very little. He was a quiet man. They lived with little money to spare but we happily went on holidays camping all around England, Scotland, Cornwall, Wales and finally over the channel to Germany ( West, then) and the former Czechoslovakia, Austria, Hungary and France. Although there may be problems there has been a lot of reconciliation and there is more hope for cooperation.

This April 2021 we welcome three babies to three special families that we know. Lets hope we will all cooperate for the world all the young ones deserve.

Small Wild daffodil, hooped daffodil, early April

A friend posted about what makes you proud of your country as she did not feel proud. I responded with the way my parents helped me love my country by being connected to people, places and nature but to be also aware of the wrongs done. Love does not need pride but honesty.

April 29th 2011

On this very special wedding day of Kate and Will

Where hope and joy draw in the crowds

I cannot help but feel so strangely still

As I remember 10 years ago to this day

The day you finally had to go from me.

But on this very special day

Another wedding comes to mind

Your wedding day when you were yours

And yours was George

In love through years of fear

The darkest hours of war

Calm, confident without your parents near

You made your vows to George forever.

June 1^st 1947, another frugal time,

And if the knot was not of the sacred kind

Your true love echoed through my growing years

No rows were seemingly heard,

As you and Dad in worked hard without a word.

In closeness and in love without the tears

Worked for the common good.

You met dancing at the palais.

You met again and were serenaded,

His warmth and voice,

Accordion to entertain with,

Through those long dark, blackout hours.

You waited till the war was ended.

Your hope was for a world mended.

You lived in peace for the common good

With friends and family to surround you

Cycling away for your honeymoon

To the hills and vales near Ifracombe.

You made me love the countryside.

 Leading on Harley D for Sunday rides

With Stan and Muriel to Polesden Lacey

West Wittering for breakfast by the sea

Riding the bike through wind and rain

Putting up the tent with its old A frame.

Nights alone when children came

And George went off to Drury Lane

But you were never one to complain

You lived your life through love and pain

You lived your life adventurously

You walked through life most cheerfully.

I was teaching at the time and all my classes had a go at love and hope poems. We had a day off for the wedding so I felt I should write a poem too. Perhaps it helped me get back into my own creativity as the study of major poets could be overwhelming. We were studying at A level the likes of TS Eliot and Chaucer! If we look at their different poems with April as the focus we gain different perspectives for this most changeable month. It has also been a very changeable month for those suffering from the pandemic. Some countries emerging from a tough lockdown and others suddenly hit hard with more tragic deaths. It is also a very difficult month for breeding birds and other creatures. The weather can change from icy to heat and back with deadly consequences.

‘April is the cruellest month’ is the first line of T S Eliot’s The Waste Land. But it is clipped and should be*

‘April is the cruellest month for breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

And we finally come to the end of the sentence meaning with a full stop and some enigmatic use of enjambement or run on lines. T S Eliot’s poem is a powerful reflection of a society broken by war and religion. When studying this poem at a much younger age I was told it was about the feelings of alienation in modern society. A society just over 100 years ago. But TS Eliot also knew his Chaucer and the welcome refresh of April showers

‘Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote’

Droughts in March in Chaucer’s time? In the UK April has been one of the driest and I think warmest in this part of Europe. Just now we have been blessed with some rain but certainly April has been changeable as there was snow at the beginning and lots of cold frosty mornings.

If you have written any April poems do comment and give me a link or ping back and I will visit and look at the ways we have all been reflecting on April 2021. Or write one as if being caught between the softness of Chaucer’s April and the harshness of TS Eliot’s Waste Land. Change I feel is key to both and to April. Or just the mix of memory and desire.

Down by the Navasola well and blessed with water in April, ready for the dry drought months ahead.

Loving and leaving Andalusian blue skies. A Ghazal poem for Al Andaluz, land of light

Church and plaza bajo in the village of Valdelarco in the Sierra Aracena

I have lost track of time with the wonders of spring back in Spain. Lots of time spent walking, talking, working the land, making cheese, yoga and Tai Chi. There has been little time for writing as I rush to get an irrigation system working before my return to family and wedding bells for my older daughter.

  I was introduced to ghazals and the poet Ghalib from my sojourns in India and Pakistan. That was some years ago now and I remember the time when all the Pakistani newspapers on the front page honoured a well loved poet and throngs of people came out to mourn the loss of this important poet. A ghazal is to be heard, sung and responded to immediately by an audience. It is often about love, loss, longing for an earthly delight or the sacred.

 Now I live in Andalucia, famed for its light and clear blue skies but also its history of many conquests and settlers: Roman, Visigoth, Islamic, Sephardic Jews, Christian and many others. All with songs and poetry of loving this land of light! And for many the sorrow of being forced to leave.

This is an attempt of writing a ghazal for the Dverse poetry form challenge. Notes on the Ghazal form traditional and contemporary can be found at Dverse.

 

 

 

 

Ghazal for Al Andaluz

 

Andalusian sky, land of light, with bright songs of deep blue.

On leaving I wonder how long will I long  for my return to you?

 

Remains of roman towns remind us of our constant defeat by time.

Wild wolves that roamed far extinct but all we do is long for you.

 

Passion tempered by conquest built on stones from the past.

Sevilla, Granada, fortresses that fight for me to stay with you.

Night brown hues touch the flesh of delight. What will tear us apart?

Defend this land of light, for so long as I can be here with you.

Poems for paradise, gardens to die in, tall palms shade intense light.

Rare richness of water, fountains for life, we long to return to you.

Foliage to ferment in, fronds to fan breezes, scents to seduce,

Water to soothe the smooth skinned sadness of life without you.

Calls from the minaret fade in the falling of the soft glow of light.

Ojala, obrigada, al andaluz, may we not be long away from you.

 

What dreams, what failures slip without sense from our sight.

Beauty of blue, land of  sharp light, we must not betray you.

Inshallah, with God’s gift we will return to your light.

Dark is the earth we till as we gaze right into the blue to see you.

 

Arbutus Unedo berries.

The associations came to me on a bus travelling from Aracena, our town in the mountains, to Sevilla, city of beautiful gardens! These were then put into couplets and the first two lines chosen to repeat in some way. In the last couplet there is reference to my first name Georgina which has connections with the earth and farming, a tiller of the soil  and my second name Jane, gift of God! And ‘right’ of course.

 

I always feel a sense of loss when leaving and wonder about when we will return, Inshallah, God Willing we keep healthy and young at heart and can ‘rage against the dying of the light’ so we can enjoy more time in our own wild woodland in Andalusia, land of light.

winter trees by the ivy perimeter wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I am posting late but will do my best to read more ghazals on the Dverse Mr Linky links.

 

Poetry Pantoum for Dverse. Childhood Memories Revised

Here is my revised version for the Pantoum following Gina’s suggestions to include interlocking rhyme. Am not sure if I lose some spontaneity or if the poem or is just different. However the aim of these month long attempts at different forms is to try and revise based on helpful comments. I have always been a strong advocate for the redrafting process and have many revisions of my novel too. This was interesting to try out so feel I should now update. It has also been an interesting journey into memory and childhood. I am perhaps reliving some of this as I watch my granddaughter, now 18 months.

The former post is below this one with more comments on the Pantoum form and links to Dverse.

A The sounds of childhood reverberate, 1

B The love, the loss of carefree years. 2

A The young child needs to stay awake, to wait, 3

B So she may sleep without those fears. 4

Stanza 2

B The love, the loss of carefree years. 1

C A black cat purring comfort on the bed.2

B So I may sleep without those fears,3

C The deep Harley revs reverse the dread. 4

Stanza 3

C A black cat purring comfort on the bed, 1/2

D Fear of loss no longer forms a tear 2

C The deep Harley revs reverse the dread 3/4

D My father’s voice, my mother’s near. 4

Stanza 4

D Fears of loss no longer form a tear 1 /2

A No need now to stay awake, to wait. 2. /

D My mother’s voice, my father’s near. 3

A The sounds of childhood reverberate. 4

Reflection

E The lilac tree in bloom in Spring.

B The love, the laughter of childhood years,

E In the garden of games with songs to sing.

B But sadness for some just bring back tears.

B The love, the loss of childhood, fears.

A Learning to be awake to patiently wait.

B With the past in its place without the tears

A The sounds of childhood reverberate.

Comment from Gina ‘your interlocking lines worked, rhyming would give you better flow, you can chose to do the traditional abab or try aabb or abba’

If anyone is still reading I am happy to read any comments and will respond in kind as soon as I can. ( Not on wifi till beginning of April)

Former Version below

Dverse poets are exploring different forms of poetry each month and my challenge is to try and write one. I missed the sonnet but managed the Rubaiyat and now for March the Pantoum.This form originated from Malaysia and was used by famous French poets e.g. Victor Hugo and Baudelaire and in current years the Flower Drum Song is an example! This form has an interlocking and repeated line scheme. 

https://dversepoets.com/2019/02/28/18102/  link to Dversepoets.

Gina presents for Dverse  about the form and gave us some line schemes which I decided to keep in but have have still managed to get confused by. But I have tried to interlock.

‘The interweaving of repeated lines in a pantoum suits the poem particularly well to ruminations on the past, circling around a memory or a mystery to tease out implications and meanings. The change in context that arises from the addition of two new lines in each stanza changes the significance of each repeated line on its second appearance. This gentle back-and-forth motion gives the effect of a series of small waves lapping on a beach, each advancing a bit farther up the sand until the tide turns, and the pantoum wraps back around itself.’  By Gina for the Dverse prompt. Gina’s blog is https://alifelesslivedblog.wordpress.com

I also read a few from the early posts of others and loved the nature one by Kim at writinginnorthnorfolk.com. This was certainly evocative with images of waves lapping, sanderlings feeding  at the edges of the sea and the mystery of migrating birds.

The Clock of Tides and Stars (revised)

I wanted to try a nature poem but the page was blank and I began to think about childhood memories and the page began its first line. The memory has been triggered also by some discussion with my daughter about leaving my granddaughter with me for a few days this summer. We both discussed some of the anxieties felt as a child when parents are not nearby! I would lie awake waiting for my parents to return with our wonderful family cat on the bed, always purring. From the first stanza the second and fourth lines became first and third in following stanza. The penultimate or fourth stanza reuses lines from the first. The last stanza seems extra and in couplets but perhaps is the reflection or not needed. Any comments greatly appreciated.

Childhood Fears

The sounds of childhood reverberate, A

The love, the loss of carefree years.      B

How long will I stay awake to wait,       A

So I can sleep without those fears?               B

Stanza 2

The love, the loss of carefree years.     B

A black cat purring comfort on the bed.  C

So I could sleep without those fears,         B

The deep Harley revs brrrm loud and clear.   D

Stanza 3

A black cat purring comfort on the bed,    C

Those fears of loss are put to rest.                           E

The deep Harley revs brrrm loud and clear.  D

My father’s  voice my father’s near.             D

Stanza 4

Those fears of loss are put to rest,                          E

No need now to stay awake, to wait.            A

My mother’s voice my mother’s near,           D

The sounds of childhood reverberate.          A

Stanza 5

A lilac tree smells sweet in Spring

In the garden of games with songs to sing.

The love, the laughter of childhood years,

For some those years bring back the tears.

The memory and writng the poem has made me reflect on childhood memories and how the feelings created can still impact on us as adults. Sometimes we refuse to remember but I think it is important to understand our childhood as a child and from a more understanding and healing adult perspective. I was fortunate to have many positive memories but we all have to come to terms with our negative experiences.

Below is one of the early motorbikes my father had after the Second World War. The one I remember more is the ex Belgium police bikeHarley Davidson, with Surrey sidecar to fit all the family( and dogs) in! 444DXB registration, imprinted somewhere in my brain, along with all the trips to the countryside on Sundays. This with camping holidays and pets were the foundations for my love of nature.

With love to Tigger our family cat on his birthday; Valentine’s Day. A tribute to the world of Cats.

This is a haibun for a very special love between human and animal. A haibun is a Japanese form of concise prose usually connected to nature as with the writer Basho and his  travel journey ‘The Narrow Road to the Deep North’ The haibun should end in the famous Japanese poetry form of three lines, a haiku. This though is quite personal and may stray or wander like a cat.  Thanks again for Dverse poets being the inspiration behind the form and Robert Frost for opening the first line of haiku.

Golden Days

Our golden cat departed from us on a Friday,appropriate perhaps as the Japanese call Friday, Gold Day. In the morning the cat and I meditated together and there seemed to be a deep glow and connection. He sat on my lap and purred a bit. As I came out of my silence he got up to return to his dying. We helped him a little. Autumn leaves were falling fast and there was rain, sun and tears. When the vet came the cat was calm and ready. We had to be too. I was strong enough to dig a garden grave. I didn’t think I could but he had given us so much strength. He had been a survivor but his hours on this planet are less than ours. Over my lifetime I have been blessed  with many cat hours, four cats, one  cat at a time. The black cat Blackie of my childhood I remember coming through the slightly open sash window of the Victorian terrace house from a small yard full of my mother’s flowers, honeysuckle and lilac tree,  to sleep and calm me in my room. The brown long haired one, Shandy, came when I longed for a cat when setting up my own home. She was from the RSPCA, abandoned, possibly pregnant. One Christmas the cat came with me from her Northern home to London but didn’t go back. My mother bluntly said “I’ll miss her more than you!” I gave in to my mother. My only kitten, the only one we named, shimmered with us in a pretty delicate way for three years until she, Shimmer went missing. Heartbreak round the local roads, searching, searching. Never knowing.

And then came Tigger, or Mr Tig. We never changed his name. Nana Violet knew some folk who couldn’t cope with a boisterous, bouncy, growing fast, ginger kitten. We knew we could and he came to stay and stay, through my daughters’ childhoods, teenage years to fully fledged human beings. He watched over them. He wasn’t always kind and his wild side loved to hunt. He loved his outdoor life, the garden, up the apple tree and round his block, over and under fences, across roads, and dodging Diwali fireworks. But most of all he loved the three of us.  And others too he would meet and greet. He managed Theo’s childhood with his loving but independent ways. She learnt how to understand cat. Through adolescence he maintained a careful eye. He would come in for the night! ‘Be more dog’ Josie once said. He purred on her phone. When the dog came he moved upstairs but soon the golden ones became friends but the cat food remained up high. We never knew his birthday but nominated February 14^th 1998 knowing then that this was a special love between humankind and the animal ones. He stayed with us as long as his body could for almost 18 years. I have written this tribute to Tigger today, Valentine’s Day 2016, a Sunday, always a special day for remembering those we love and hoping we all grow stronger in that Love of all loves. Life on Earth.

Nothing gold can stay,

But in this world for a while,

We must learn  to love.

 

 

 

 

Coddiwompling through Dorset England. For Dverse Poets

This poem is inspired by Dverse poets Dverse and the strange word coddiwomple. This seems to be defined as English slang but as I had never come across this I was gripped by a resfeber feeling( travel fever)  to see if I could find where the word had originated from. It’s not in the Oxford dictionary yet, unlike lolly gagging! However it has a kind of ancient ring to it. Maybe a cross between a cod piece and a wimple.  I am travelling through Dorset to visit a friend. Dorset is stunningly beautiful but has so many strange, odd and rude sounding place names. I always want to find out more.It is also a place for going on a literary tour with Thomas Hardy and others. But most important perhaps in the struggle for equality is Tolpuddle.

For me it’s not where we travel to but how we travel anywhere. Hopefully then our minds can be opened to different experiences and understandings.

If you coddiwomple in Dorset as I am doing now

You pass by place names so fun and strange.

Some will tempt you back to visit

Some will remind you of the past

Some will scare your wits away.

Fiddleford is one where maybe someone fiddled by a stream

But what they fiddled may have been a dream

If they could happily wander up the the river Piddle

And excuse themselves with just a little widdle

Dorset farming folk out in the cold.

From Roman times in Blandford Forum

No slave could ever make a quorum

The ancient chalk giant at Cerne Abbas

Still well endowed with great prowess

His private part gives hope for future births

Dorset folk of old from Celt to Roman bold.

Down to the coast to find a woman’s love

For her lieutenant looking out to sea

Lyme Regis, royal and proud

Among the fossils of prehistoric swamps

Ammonite from Jurasiic Times.

Dorset fossil hunters find a kind of gold.

To roll along on paths through Hardy’s  heavenly hills

Farming folk and friends of Tess

Characters in dark distress

Obscured within the depths of native woods.

Good folk must prevail for Dorchester jail.

The devil never far away with rocks thrown down

To make Old Harry and Aggleston

Places like Dewlish are devilish and Grim’s Ditch

Makes the Pokesdown goblins twitch.

Dorset folk beware the uncanny in the air.

But now in modern times when we’re coddiwompling along

To pass by Puddletown is easily done

We go too fast on the new highway

And can now by pass the place of martyred men

Tolpuddle and its meeting tree

Dorset folk who wanted to be free.

From coach window travelling to Dorset.