Thursday, 12 December 2013

2 WELSH STORIES

1.
On a day-off from kitchen duties, Chef did me a packed lunch and bottle of red for my walk up the mountain : Cader '68. Cool estuary early morning blue sky start. Shorts and shirt. Great to get going first time into Snowdonia itself. Soon no sign of habitation - just sheep and dry stone walls and always the mountain above and just walking without stopping to reach the top. Plenty of energy fuelled almost from the start by picking at the packed lunch. I'd stop only momentarily to keep sight of what i thought to be the peak just some 2,000 odd feet above sea level and i had started at sea level. After a couple of hours of pleasant walking it began to get hot. It always looked like the summit was just over the next stone wall. It never was. There was always a further little hill and another stone wall. Eventually it seemed like time for a little red to quench my thirst. i had thought i would open bottle to celebrate arrival at summit. The bottle went down in just a few full gulps. i felt great as i continued over a stone wall...up the next hill...through a gate...staring sheep...over a stone wall thinking i must surely be close to top of Cader. And eventually i think i got there in my estimation. With good directional abilities i started down the mountain. Couldn't wait to get into Barmouth on the coast and started thinking of refreshment at a pub. Was i thirsty! Didn't loiter to admire the view from the top. Was i drunk! i came down that mountain at speed. My arms swinging high like windmills but somehow balanced with no thought of falling. i guess i was running down the mountain with no notion of drunkenness. Just euphoria speeding me down the mountain footpath. In town i bumped into Paul the porter from the hotel where we worked. We went into the nearest pub together. 3 pints each of Double Diamond downed in about half-an-hour before closing-time and for some reason i did not feel at all drunk. Paul was droning-on in his cockney voice about Chef's problems with getting a girl-friend...why don't those waitresses fancy him he asked.
2.
Katy was an art student from Stamford and only arrived at the hotel half-way through the summer season. She looked great in her blue check waitress gear. Keen to make friends she came down to the cove on the estuary with me one afternoon. We did not broadcast the fact. No big deal. The cove was some half-a-mile from the hotel on the Mawdach Estuary. i think we talked about art and the poetry i was writing. Mostly we sat quietly on the bank and dreamed our own dreams. So peaceful. So quiet. We stayed all afternoon only returning to go back on duty for the evening shift. i was a kp and loved it when Katy shyly came in and out of the kitchen with her orders from the dining room. But did not enjoy Chef's fat leering manner. Towards the end of service Chef said to me = Enjoyed yourself down at the cove with Katy this afternoon did you. And how would you know, i asked. i saw you, he said. And where were you, i said. I saw you from here he said, I was looking through the telescopic sights of my rifle. I often shoot rabbits of an afternoon when i'm not playing pool.
* * *

Wednesday, 11 December 2013

TEN WINDOW "POEMS"

"The window is a fragment of the world suspended in the world, the known adrift in mystery. And now the green rises. The window has an edge that is celestial, where the eyes are surpassed."
Wendell Berry - WINDOW POEMS.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
* * * * *
Golden GOJI Hermitage
in the morning
of
11/December/2013
*
 



Friday, 6 December 2013

4 ONE MORNING

1
of
good cheer -
pure prayer
&
the radio on
2
a spare moment -
questioning
heaven & earth
3
no slackness -
just
nothing required
4
empty bowl - 
getting-on
with it
*****
End of November 2013
 
 
 


Friday, 22 November 2013

TOWARDS A CLASSIFICATION OF BIRDS

(1)
Bird's way -
to sing
for all
it's worth
every day
 
(2)
Bird's song -
rooted
in
the garden's
architecture
 
(3)
Bird's singing -
adds dimension
to both
branch & bush
 
(4)
Bird's concerns -
not
what you
might imagine
 
(5)
Bird's chapel -
an amalgam
of
sun  stars
moon & cloud
 
(6)
Bird's fragrance -
like 
that
of
a rose
 
(7)
Bird's imagination -
allowed it
to fly
away

(8)
Bird's dreams -
often
walking
on the moon

* * * * * * *
 



Thursday, 14 November 2013

Playing with a poem & foto from 1980

AH YES
What 
interests
me
is flow -
not like
a river
that
flows
by itself
more like
the next
link in
the chain
round
your neck -
silver
links
as i
go along.
They said
you were
beautiful.
i
had not
seen/
was not
looking
for it.
*
*
*
*
Golden GOJI Hermitage
the evening of
thursday the fourteenth
of November
2013
******************


Wednesday, 13 November 2013

A METAPHOR

Today, i gave-up sugar...not that there was so much of it to give-up!
My older brother, on hearing, from time-to-time that i'm gonna give-up alcohol, says = "There's nothing to give-up!"... in-as-much-as, i consume so little of it in the first place.
BUT...to give-up SUGAR! Is that possible? Where would one still find sweetness? But it's no good clinging to that over-processed, ultra-refined, beautifully packaged, or latest, wonderful, artificial substitute that one just cannot do without. No good clinging, period......JUST BREATHE - YOU ARE ALIVE......
There is nectar in hearing the rain beating on the conservatory roof tonight. Do not look for sugar or sweetness outside of yourself. 
i remember the Egyptian proverb my mother often used to quote to me = "OM YUSSULL, YOM BUSSULL" = One day honey, one day onions.
The sweet nectars will come and go......The rain stops and starts......
Golden GOJI Hermitage
22.38hrs
13/11/2013
*

Friday, 18 October 2013

NIGHT SWIMMING @ DYFFRYN 1968

Drove up the coast
leaving the estuary
@ BONTDDU
for the dunes
& the sea
@ DYFFRYN

Under shadow
of HARLECH
we gazed
@ shooting stars
& danced
in phosphorescence

Driven by whisky
laced with coffee
our fires flared
in those soft-skinned
mid-night waters

& MAGGIE
flies
like a bird

she
flew
like a bird.
*

(Written in the early hours, Golden GOJI Hermitage, following a "chat" with JOANNA WALKDEN HARRIS in Melbourne, Australia.19/10/2013)
* * * * *

Tuesday, 27 August 2013

"WE ARE STARDUST, WE ARE GOLDEN..."

A great tenderness felt
for a fly
on my knee
this cool August afternoon
as it rubs
its legs together
and i do not move
or swat it away...

And i felt
a great tenderness
a few days ago
towards a baby bird's
frantic flutterings
as it quickly regained
the open sky
on entering the room
where i lay...

And in the dark
on my back
looking thru the skylight
around mid-night
on many nights
a great tenderness
towards the stars above...

And on the radio
Joni Mitchell sings...
"we are stardust
we are golden
and we gotta
get ourselves
back to the garden..."

And the rhythms
of my heart
more settled
as i feel
a great tenderness
towards this soft body
and all that is...
Golden GOJI Hermitage
Twenty-seventh of  August
2013
*************************

Saturday, 27 July 2013

7 "OLD ONES" from CATTISTOCK

[1]
electric fence
sparrows
on stems

[2]
small snail slides
out of bucket
on a hook

[3]
a cat has
found the sun
amongst nettles

[4]
abundant nettles -
no gloves
no soup

[5]
amongst the ivy
room for just one
on the stone bench

[6]
even on
twisted limbs
harvesting apples

[7]
we lead the horse
to the water
and bolt
the stable door

* * * * * * * * * * *
Golden GOJI Hermitage
27 JULY 2013
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

MEMORY OF VIOLETS... to (the memory of) my father.

That scant cluster
of violets
beside one of Radipole's paths
has prospered along
a stretch of several feet
in just the few years
since you passed.
You would have returned exultant
 to have seen them so
these past years
as i do.
And the blossoms
of your own flowering?
4 children from your seed
&
3 for the next generation
of which
2 survive.
But assuredly
living-dying
like a memory of violets
is an endless
flowing and flowering
in and of the cosmos...
Golden GOJI Hermitage
14/3/2011 - 27/7/2013
*********************
 
 
 


Tuesday, 18 June 2013

AUTOBIOGRAPHY : EIGHT

SUEZ 1950/1 ?
* * *
Our four-bodied family returned to England from Egypt when i was four years old. i have no memory of my father - who was always carrying me - up until this point in time. Apparently, he was always "rescuing me from my baby tears and fears," and the trials of prams and crabs...orchards and sandy beaches. He did not think i should be left to cry.
I remember we are staying with my mother's sister and her husband, in a small bungalow called "PENSELWOOD" on the  Burseldon Road in Southampton, where the honeysuckle grew at the front door... and where the coffee-grounds were emptied ritually at its roots each day.
I think my brother and i slept on the floor in the front-room.
I remember my brother and i going into the bedroom occupied by our parents.  Our father is the only one in there - lying on the bed. We clamber onto the bed and into his arms. One on either side.
I recall warmth and the sweet smell of sweat.
I remember wetness from his skin to mine as i nestle close to him.
* * *

Friday, 24 May 2013

DO(UGH)GEN : NEWSFLASH

"We" are fortunate to have found - in an old bread-bin -  "INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE FAKER-BAKER". DO(UGH)GEN, as you may well be aware, kneaded to know the TRUTH from an early age. This essay is believed to be from his long-lost work = SHOBOTENZO - thought to have been written in China. While we are not - due to copyright reasons - allowed to reproduce this, the elements are as follows :-
BAKE JUST TO BAKE.
MAKE BREAD IN A ROOM THAT IS WARM IN WINTER, COOL IN SUMMER.
EARLY MORNING IS BEST.
SI(F)T QUIETLY.
DO NOT TAKE A RISE OUT OF FELLOW BAKERS.
RESIST THE KNEAD TO TWIRL A FLOUR.
DO NOT GO OFF HALF-BAKED.
KNEADING (TO KNOW THE TRUTH) IS ESSENTIAL.
* * *

*

* * *
 
 
 


Friday, 10 May 2013

BREATH PERMITTING






********************
*
(Typo in poem #5...should read = PERMITTING, not PETMITTING, as printed. i looked at proofs 4 times and did not notice.)
*


Thursday, 2 May 2013

OVER THE GATE : 7 POEMS : 2013

 
1.
time to sit
to look out the window
listen to music
& read
other people's poems.
 
2.
back to the view
but good to know
it is there
at a turn
the sweep of the bay
the fort
the island
& an ear
for the music.
 
3.
leaves fell
& my girl spoke
of "acorn trees"
would that we were
beating the bounds
with willow wands
& turning stones
we turned on
bands of coloured flax.
 
4.
over a flat roof
the crackling pitch
and melody
of "bricc fair"
 
a phonograph
shadows and bicycles
hoeing the land
gentle furrows
 
the table
in half-light
an evening awash
over stones.
 
5. ribbons (1)
hop-scotch &
long shadows
of her
across tarmac
stoops to pull
at socks
ribbons fall
pattern of
held hair
uncoils.
 
6. ribbons (2)
something to keep
with me
all day
twirling them
around and around
in the pockets
of my coat
red and blue.
 
7. for Larry Eigner
views of the
world close-in
a morning of mists
and chimney-smoke
a poet's plan
to go to Swampscott
& peep over the gate.
 
*
 
Golden GOJI Hermitage - 2nd MAY 2013
 
*
* * * * * * *

 



Tuesday, 2 April 2013

"LANGUAGE IS A DEVICE TO TAKE THE MYSTERY OUT OF BEING." Anon.

1.
winter's pale notes
occupy my contemplations

2.
tranquil moments
caressed with kindness

3.
silence
no conversations
express the mystery

4.
reverie
allows daydream
in clear light

5.
eyes beckon lips
imprint a smile

6.
primitive hands
put together
kindness savoured

7.
possessed by beauty
complete beatitude

8.
morning light
it hurts
to look

*******

31st December 2011/2nd April 2013
Golden GOJI Hermitage

*******

for SOSHIN

Ruminating on Ryokan
or the Great Matter
Boiling a kettle
but not for tea
Apples growing
outside my window
It's so good
to be writing
to you again
Tell me about
the Three Wheels Temple
Tell me
where you are.
*
June 1999/April 2013.
*


Monday, 1 April 2013

HERMIT DAYDREAMS

(1)
W/OUT WORDS
SMALL LIGHTS
LEAD THE WAY

(2)
QUIET STEPS
IMMENSE INTERVALS
ON STAIRS

(3)
SPRING NIGHT
CONSIDERING
BIRDSONG & RAIN

(4)
MOMENT BY MOMENT
EXCURSIONS INTO
THE NIGHT SKY

(5)
HERMIT DAYDREAMS
NOT LOOKING
NOT LISTENING

(6)
ONLY GOD COULD
STOP THESE THOUGHTS
STOP THIS MUSIC

*
(Golden GOJI Hermitage / APRIL 2012/APRIL 2013
*

Thursday, 28 March 2013

VIOLETS AT RADIPOLE LAKE

Alongside one of RADIPOLE's many paths, is a place where violets grow. They appear late-winter as a sort-of harbinger of "our" spring. LATE-WINTER/EARLY-SPRING are rather blurry terms these days. In FEBRARY "we" thought SPRING had come, only to be plunged into COLD-WINTER as EASTER and APRIL arrive together this year. And COLD is forecast until the END of APRIL! Beware, you visitors to "our" shores from the antipodes!
My father, dead, seven years now, would love to see these VIOLETS, on his walks. AND now, i go in his stead and remember.
i have a feeling i will be too late to see 'em this year however. Far too late! Seems like a forlorn expectation. Plenty of narcissi...plenty of 'em...
 
 
......I do not see the violets. i look as i progress along the path towards the spot. I LOOK. Then I do see 'em. Just a few, clinging-on for me. They are there. THEY ARE THERE STILL....


 
*

 


Wednesday, 27 March 2013

STINGY ARTIST NEW YEAR GREETINGS 2011 - 2 POEMS

TWIGS
TRIMMINGS
WINTER-WOOD
FROM
CHERRY
BLOSSOMING
STILL
ON
COMPOST
HEAP
*
STILL
BEAUTIFUL
STILL
FLOWERING
FLEA-BITTEN
ROSE
ON
A
SINGLE
STEM
*
*