Gardoussel Writers

Another cheerful one...

2008-10-30T17:33:00.003Z

I don't have any achievement or Olympic poems, but wanted to post something so that you know I am not dead!

Slipping Full-length Down My Life

Your head is just breaths away.
I wait for you, for formality -
spent too much on sentiment.

I want to use your life, write down your spine.

It’s summer now. The sun
speaks in long shadows and
all the flowers are white.

You read me by scars.
Do you remember writing them?
I watch the end of the sun catch your ringless finger

and could kiss you.

I want to put myself in your thoughts.
One last time.

Article

2008-10-15T13:20:00.003+01:00

Hi all,

Do you remember trying to help me with an article for the city's daily newspaper, the Leicester Mercury? I was pipped at the post by another writer who did something similar, so I found another subject and my article was printed in last night's issue. I don't get any money for the articles but I have to admit it's nice when the lady at Asda's deli. counter says, "Aren't you that woman who writes in the Mercury?"

"OLYMPIANS

The Beijing Games have finished, all of them; the Olympics and the Paralympics. What a shame it is that we have to differentiate between the two.

I don’t follow any sport but thanks to the existence of wrap-around media, it’s impossible to be unaware of what is happening in the sporting world and like everyone else in the country, I was thrilled by the winning Olympians and especially enchanted by the smiles of Eleanor (Ellie) Simmonds and Rebecca Adlington. Incredibly, both of these young people were double gold medal swimmers.

It is the aim of our nation to include people with disabilities in all aspects of life, wherever possible; in education, on transport, in shops, in competing for jobs. The system is not foolproof but it is the intent that no one should be excluded from the main stream because of an accident of birth or for any other reason.

The slogan for the Paralympic Games is, “One World : One Dream”, the same as for the Olympics. So why are two separate sets of Games held? It would be silly to suggest that athletes compete with each other, but why aren’t the Games held concurrently? The 25 Paralympic events could be slotted into the existing Olympian programme. The Paralympians would then get the support, the media coverage and the plaudits they deserve. They are as brave, as talented, as dedicated and as hardworking as the Olympians. They should have equal treatment. I doubt it would be beyond the ingenuity of the Olympics Committee and the Paralympic Committee to organise, if they so chose. The Paralympics should not be the ‘follow-on’ Games. This seems to dilute the efforts of the athletes, which is unfair. People are said to remember only the one who came first in a race, never who came second. This year, thanks to Ellie, the nation knows who came ‘second’. As a Team GB spokesman said of her, “Everyone has taken her to their hearts.”

This year, over 4,200 athletes competed in the 13th Paralympic Games. If the Games were combined, there would have to be greater facilities to cater for the athletes and their families and supporters. We know the 2012 Games in London will be expensive. Can we therefore spend less on fireworks and more on inclusion, according to our nation’s aims?

On a breakfast television programme recently, the news presenter said to Ellie, who was sitting next to him on the sofa, “You gave us so many golden moments at the Games.”

She was not the only one."

2008-10-07T19:05:00.002+01:00

Is it only me and Glen who are joining in with this whole 'write to a theme' self-appointed task? Personally, I loved Glen's posting and I had a lot of fun writing my own... I would love to see some other thoughts on the subject. Anyone game?
sharon

on the theme of 'achievement'...

2008-09-28T11:10:00.001+01:00

Swimming in Sanity

Daylight needles my eyelids
against a hammering of birdsong.
Morning lays down a row of nails across my forehead,
still shiny from dreams.

No alarm is required
to break the moon of my sleep.
Serintatis splits quite effortlessly
with no holy man’s help.

The act of eating must come first,
then bathroom matters,
feet in a line like a blade,
that’s the order I must follow.

Purse. Car. Shop. Postbox.

High tide floods these shores
at the cast of each greeting,
my replies are the skin of a fish,
make, break eye contact,

fold my hands over all wounds,
tread water, tread water,
above all smile,
these things too must be ticked off the list.

I remember now.
This is how they said
it would be when
normality was achieved.

Achievement

2008-09-26T10:54:00.005+01:00

If I were just a little taller,
I could cause havoc with the Universe.
I would reach up and flick the moon
from its socket,
see it skitter across the night,
a twinkling billiard ball;
maybe pocket it down a black hole.
I could rub the glitter from the stars
erase them from view,
then dust the red planet,
and pull it closer,
to hang it on an arm of the Milky Way;
an early Christmas tree bauble.
I could snuff out satellites,
between my finger and thumb
and hear the world’s communications
reduced to white noise.
I could laugh as every vehicle
travelled round in its own decreasing circle,
the drivers lost.
I could wear the blue and white Earth as a ring,
like cheap costume jewellery;
such is its degradation,
it doesn’t deserve a gold setting.
If I were of a mischievous frame of mind
I could achieve all this,
if I were just a little taller.

Glen

Group topic

2008-09-24T20:16:00.002+01:00

Lovely to see some people putting stuff on the blog. And Abi, well done again!
Sharon, thanks for your sweet comment on my post - the piece makes me feel a bit like that too, sort of sad in an enjoyable way. Only trouble with posting on a blog like this is that I keep thinking "Oh, I could improve that...."

Glen, I enjoyed your post - I like the idea of you going into a bookshop determined to overcome your "quirk". I know what you mean about finding out that words you thought were innocuous in fact are not - I remember finding out something similar in an on-line dictionary of Cockney rhyming slang. Something everyone always treats as merely funny is actually quite blue when you know what it means. It might even have been berk, I can't recall. But I was sitting in the office and I had to quickly close down the page before anyone saw the definition...

Anyway, Group Topic. In honour of Abi's achievement, how about Achievement?

Book Shopping

2008-09-23T12:12:00.002+01:00

I had a great day last Thursday. I spent the whole day trawling round the bookshops at Hay-on-Wye. I dragged John into each one, found the corner with car and motorbike books and left him there knowing he wouldn't move until I was ready to go.

I bought A Dictionary of Obscenity, Taboo and Euphemism by James McDonald. Thought I might be able to overcome my 'small disfunction'.

I found that the one swear word I do allow myself, DAMN, is not as innocuous as I'd thought. Apparently it was once a strong word, widely avoided in conversation and could only be printed in a disguised form, for example as D***. Bowdler, in his famous expurged version of the works of Shakespeare (1818) found it necessary to amend the line from MacBeth, "Out, damned spot!" to "Out, crimson spot!"

And don't even ask about the word, 'Berk' which I always thought meant (only) a foolish person.

Glen

group exercise?

2008-09-22T11:12:00.002+01:00

Well, Barbara and Teddy have both suggested putting forward a topic or theme for us all to write something on to contribute to the blogspot (if we want to of course - entirely optional). Are we all up for it? Anyone got a suggestion they want to put forward?

How to Pour Madness into a Teacup

2008-09-19T16:02:00.002+01:00

I have been chastised by Sharon for not posting, but until now haven't really had anything say! Today however, I heard that I have won the Cinnamon Press Poetry Award and have a contract for my first collection entitled How to Pour Madness into a Teacup. The title poem below:

How to Pour Madness into a Teacup
“September rain pours on this house…”
Sestina, Elizabeth Bishop

She hangs her tears at the front of the house
cuts the rain in half and puts time
in the hot black kettle. She sits in the kitchen
reading the teacup full of small dark tears;

it’s foretold the man in the wood
hovers in the dark rain above the winding path.
The man is talking to her in moons,
she is laughing to hide her tears

and with little time, she secretly
plants the moons in the dark brown bed.
She shivers, thinks the man is watching
as the jokes of the child dance

on the roof of the house. Tidying
she carefully puts hot rain in the teacup
sings as she hangs her tears on a string
and watching the dance, thinks herself mad.

A piece written at Gardoussel

2008-09-15T20:25:00.002+01:00

This is my piece from that week. Perhaps my favourite of all the things I wrote.

In summer when they opened the swimming pool early three of us would go together. Tall beautiful Sue, Annie, cheerful and competent at sixteen, and me. The open-air pool was painted an unlikely Mediterranean blue, an illusion complemented rather than spoiled by glimpses of green English trees above the white-painted changing rooms and cafe. At that hour it was usually just us swimming, all angular hips and ribs in the bracing water. Afterwards we would cycle through the park to school along an avenue of flowering chestnuts.
That hour of sun-drenched freedom was the more precious because of the coming day of classrooms and lessons. One morning with time to spare we wheeled our bikes beneath the trees. Huge graceful branches arched down towards the grass, and Sue reached up to a flowering candle, her bike held upright in her free hand. Annie with her own bike stood beside her, blonde to her dark, both barelegged in flowered cotton skirts. I can see them now, poised for a moment in the sunshine, the road curving away from them.

2008-09-10T22:02:00.003+01:00

a poem from our week - following up on Tedd'y suggestion that we each post something written during our week together. Here's mine.

Papillon de Nuit

Your thin silhouette
flickers in the doorway,
a coil of smoke morphing in the shadows.

Your once-eager hands,
then careless as swinging shutters,
shift edgily by your side.

My mouth ached for you once,
your lips mating hungrily with mine
in butterfly kisses.

In a Paris hotel room,
my transformation.
‘Don’t ever fly away’ you said
wrapping me in your legs.

But such dusty beauty is brief.
You wanted only the colours of my wings
and promises of spun silk.

Now you hover at thresholds
in the thrash of the night,
seeking out eternal brightness,
sizzling under naked bulbs.

Perfect Week Cake

2008-09-09T15:00:00.001+01:00

(Note: this recipe is very easy, suitable even for beginners)

Ingredients:
500g creative talent
10 level tsp silence
large slab of unsalted support
laughter – as much as you have in the cupboard
1 sweet American, thawed
large dollop of good-humour and laughter
1 charming couple, unbroken
liberal sprinkling of hammocks

Method:
Put couple to the side. Pour rest of ingredients into a large green area with plenty of private spaces for contemplation. Mix gently. Fold in couple carefully and continue stirring until mixture is perfectly smooth. Turn out into a well-ventilated classroom. Bake in a moderate oven for 40 mins. Don’t leave to cool – eat while still warm. Delicious!

2008-08-20T13:21:00.002+01:00

Not much reading or writing - just a lot of driving. The sun shone brilliantly while we were in the car and scooted behind thick clouds whenever we emerged - even for a "comfort break"!

Albi is a joyous restful place, bit like Sienna, all red stone and fading sun. Managed to hit the cathedral just at the point when they were holding their bi-monthly organ recital. Almost converted! Hilarious meal in v.posh restaurant where they encourage their clients to watch what is happening in the kitchen by seating them facing a huge picture window showing chef in full regalia etc.

Turned out to be more like a M. Hulot's Holiday with everyone in chaos and the food arriving (at the wrong tables) very very very late. Long confabulations (probably with screaming - but they weren't stupid enough to make the whole thing audible) by all staff - waiters, chef, sous-chefs, boss, bosse's wife and washer-upper over which dish applied to which table. Three hours for a meal with toddlers underfoot causing even more chaos than the kitchen. Now back to our chaos at home - why didn't we clean up BEFORE we left?

Hey, just had a thought. Why don't we each post one short piece from our course-work on the blog as a sort or reminder???

Let me know.

Love to all

Teddy

2008-08-19T17:15:00.004+01:00

10 mins at Café du Nord.
It’s 10 to 4 in St Andres de Valborgne. Thrum of bikers heading down the road, leftovers from the rally, maybe. Children’s chattering and clattering, the well-bred murmur of French conversation nearby. Ah oui… merci.. un petit peu… there’s something delightfully prim about French voices. Here come the bikers again. Metallic promenade. Flip-flop of waiter’s footsteps as he brings and collects glasses. Sudden laughter. The missing element – the clack of boules - introduced now to this village symphony.
It’s the sounds that define this place. More than the porridge-stone church, the slim pale buildings or long river wall with its daubs of gaudy geraniums, more even than the leafy pollarded plane trees or wooded mountain backdrop crowding close at every turn, I’ll remember the noisiness of rural French life. The river and the wind never stop rustling, the village goes about its business with the volume turned up.
Church bell chimes 4 times.

crysse morrison

2008-08-17T16:07:00.002+01:00

Day 1 : post-Gardoussel

Intended to hit the ground running by buying 'Summer with Monika' but fell at the first fence; no intention of paying £25 on Amazon! Thank goodness for Borders. I bought Collected Poems for £9.99, which includes Monika. Much better value. All I need now to start dipping, is a glass of red.

Regards to all,

Glen

A postcard from Gardoussel

2008-08-15T17:51:00.002+01:00

The writing holiday now at Gardoussel is the 9.08 from real life. Calling at friendship, creativity, natural beauty, relaxation and realisation. There is a buffet car serving delicious Ayurvedic meals and a trolley service for red and white wine, tea, coffee and herbal drinks. Due to arrive at reinvigoration central at 16.08. Please do not place obstacles in the way of your dreams. Take your reserved seats, this train of thought will be departing shortly.