January – Every Day A Few Words

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Over the last few weeks I haven’t been writing very much, and I was beginning to feel a bit worried about this.

But I know part of the reason is that I’ve been more focused on the visual arts recently. I took a few art classes at the end of last year – and I loved it!

I needed to give time to this and find out whether it was just a passing whim, or the start of something new. I’ve worked out that this new learning in drawing and painting is something I want to pursue so that it can become another way to explore my world and to express myself.

And then – thanks to a connection on Instagram and Twitter I was led to Jackie Morris’s suggestion to write a few words every day – just 25 words, no more than 50 – handwritten. She describes this at the end of her January 8 blog post on http://www.jackiemorris.co.uk/blog/more-than-home-from-home/

 

I’m trying not to stress over how much, or how well, just to write. This feels like both a challenge and an aid. Its all about noticing the world around me and writing a small observation, a reflection.

I started posting my small writings on Twitter and Instagram, but I think they belong here too. I’ll include photos when I can, and who knows – a few drawing and paintings might even start appearing!

I’m happy to use my first “few words” for my January calendar – I’ve been a bit slow getting this year’s calendar off the ground.

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reflections on 2017

Sunday 31 December 2017

Thoughts on the past year:

2017 was a busy year at work, the winter was long and wet and gloomy, and this might be part of the reason why I didn’t get as much written as I’d hoped. There were achievements this year, and sadness too, as I said goodbye to my black cat of seventeen years. The arrival of a new ginger and white fluff bundle helps redirect the love.

I’m slowly becoming more confident to read my work to others. The first steps on this journey began at the very end of 2016 in a writing workshop, and then continued into 2017. I began recording my own readings and posting these with some of my writing.

In November and December of 2016 I took part in a writing workshop. I was initially quite nervous once I realised that many of these were people who wrote for a living, people who had been published, and so I saw them as “real writers”, and I wondered whether it was really the group for me. But they were welcoming and encouraging, and I stuck with it. The plan was to gather ideas and information about one particular day, and then we would meet a few days later and write.

We met in a small de-consecrated chapel and wrote quietly for a few hours. My result was in a piece of work that came quickly and fluently, and the form of it surprised me, a hybrid piece, a poem interspersed with brief pieces of prose. It. It was as if I could hear different ‘voices’ taking turns to speak through the poem.

Version 2

When it came time for us to read our work (if we wanted to), I knew I had to overcome my nervousness. When it came to my turn, my hands were shaking, my voice was breaking, and I stopped and started over, reading right through to the end. It felt like the scariest, most vulnerable thing I’d ever done. Feedback was positive, and I was pleased with myself for sharing it.

But after listening to the others in the group, I realised most people were writing prose, I wondered if I should be doing that. I tried re-writing it completely as prose, but I missed the sound and shapes of the original piece. So I rewrote it again, bringing some of the poetic elements back into the work. We met again early in 2017 after we had all spent time reworking our writing, for further feedback.

I enjoyed this experience of working as part of a group, and beginning to overcome my nervousness in reading aloud. This was also a lesson in trusting myself, and learning not to be too influenced by others. It was a struggle to finish this piece, and it held my attention during the first few months of 2017. I was so engrossed in the initial focus on the moon that I continued working on a series of moon poems “this imaginal space”.

A weekend workshop with a different group in February continued to boost my confidence, with my writing, and provided another opportunity to read aloud in front of at least 50 people. Nervousness was shifting into excitement and I read one piece without hesitation, without fear. I was buzzing afterwards with the joy of it.

In the last few weeks of 2017 I took a series of art classes. I challenged myself to try the thing I’ve always wanted to do but never felt I was any good at – drawing. It was a revelation! I discovered that with the right tutor, techniques modelled and explained, drawing was in fact something I could do. We explored different media, and I fell in love with oil sticks (oil paint in solid form). The visual arts have always held a special place in my heart, and if I can actually create in that form as well I will be a happy woman.

I’ve spent the last two weeks clearing the spare room to make a creative space for writing, for drawing and painting. I’m naturally a bit of a hoarder and I’ve spent hours and hours sorting and throwing things away. I’ve found a few scraps of poems written in past years and buried among receipts and banks statements and other domestic paperwork. One in particular gives me an insight into my feelings all the way back in 2004 (some 13-14 years ago!!!) just a couple of years after I had begun living in my current home. It seemed that I was finding the green I was surrounded with somewhat overwhelming and that I was questioning my ability to describe it. What it did show was my desire to write was surfacing again. Now that very green is at the heart of my work.

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I took to Instagram like a fish to water in 2016, and in 2017 it continued to be a source of inspiration and another forum for sharing with the world. A friend is encouraging me to try podcasting or youtube.

I continue to wonder about self publishing, and I’ve explored different layout options including photographs. I’m wondering now whether any of my own artwork will be good enough to include ??

My thanks to everyone who has taken time to read my work here, and for your encouragement and positive comments.

I hope 2018 finds us all well and looking forward to another creative year.

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Take care

Claire xx

December 


relax, walk, watch the sun set 

It’s that time of year – two more weeks of work – then the summer holiday. This is the time of year when I have time to slow down, and reflect. It’s the time of year when I used to explore new ideas, try out new pursuits. 

What I’m proudest of this year is that I’ve made time, taken time, for personal interests throughout the year – specially the latter half of this year. I’ve started drawing and learning to paint. I’ve noticed that as I shift into this visual world my writing has gracefully taken a back seat – but I’m sure it’s going to surface again soon. 

What I’d love for next year is to find a way to combine paintings and text into artworks that balance both sides of my soul. 

your body tells me

all is quiet and peaceful
the white body stretches
fluff and tufts and curls
pink underbelly revealed
sleep takes time and
a commitment to stillness
its all an illusion of calm

when awake, the furred paws reach out
desiring but sensitive to touch
pleasure quickly shifting
to irritation and reactive bite
slowly I’m learning how to connect
keep a firm pressure
just the head and scruff

when awake, the stomach leads, curiosity follows
with long, late night explorations
returning early morning
tousled, leaves hitch-hiking in the fur
strolling in like some careless wanderer
fresh from gallivanting about the neighbourhood
an opportunist, a pathfinder, a rapscallion

you have a history that I’ll never know
for now all that matters is that I am patient
and learn to understand your unique nature
there is an energy around you that I’m trying to read
and if I sit still and watch
your body tells me everything I need

fire walks on snow

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©clairegriffin2017

(Prisma app used with original photo of the newbie)

emptiness

there is an emptiness
my memory cannot fill

the room is quiet, the air is still
you will not cross this floor
nor cast a shadow

but you will meet me in dreams
a tall dark woman with golden eyes
cloaked in velvet, brushed with star-light
you will lead me through the wild world
to the hiding places under trees

I will follow you
my heart beating in time
with every breath and silent step
and we will sleep
curled together in the night

©clairegriffin2017

in memory of Frida – my wild gypsy queen – gone to wander among the stars
16 or more years – she came to me as a street-wise, street-child who would not be held,
who would fight for her freedom to roam the wild places
a canny little thing – never once, to my knowledge, in a fight with another cat,
but I did find her watching once or twice
after a year or two of patiently letting her have her way, she walked in one day,
made eye contact, and decided to be more approachable
she loved to be brushed, she’d let her claws be trimmed without a fuss
she had a few health problems – hyperthyroidism, flea allergy, and later kidney problems
she had a love of ice cream I put down to a deprived childhood
during the last night of my handsome Thomas,
she stayed up all night, keeping vigil with me
and after he passed she became closer, snugglier
she’s been by my side constantly these last couple of years while I’ve read and written
my way into a deeper understanding of myself
this little shadow, this feisty willful girl – she deserves to have the best of times
in this new, mysterious chapter of her life

November

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reach out, feel your way, unfold into the unknown

be beautiful in the moment

be wild and brave in uncertainty

Last xmas I made this calendar, writing intuitively in response to the photos I’d chosen.

I had no idea then that these words would be the best I could say to farewell a brave little soul as she leaves this world to find her way in a new one – to “ramble the stars wild-hearted and wondering” (as suggested by @sarah.patience.elwell)

Last night, of all the possible nights, the thin veil parted to let this little one cross over. We talk of Samhain as a time when the spirit world walks among us. Perhaps this is also a time for the living to cross over. A time when all the energy and effort spent trying to stay alive is released and the spirit is freed to move on.

Farewell my dark gypsy queen, my feisty willful companion.

 

 

 

 

becoming my own myth

I dig into the dirt to plant seedlings, sweet peas
imagining them winding their tendrils round stakes
pulling themselves up to the sun before bursting into flower
my fingers hold the earth aside, then press it down to secure a fragile stem
as I start to make another hollow
I push my hands deep into the earth
and …

I am searching for the way back into my past
I am searching for some evidence of belonging
something that will connect me
I pull my hands from the dirt
and all I can see is longing

this land is rich in story
every mountain, tree and bird has name and meaning and myth
but do the stories of this land belong to me?
my ancestors were far, far away when first these tales were told
and now, do the voices of this land speak to me?
and if they do, can I claim them as my own?

born here, four generations or more, but far from the source
disconnected by time and distance, origins lost
those who chose to leave their homes to start again so far away
some thrived, some were broken
I’ve had to learn the names of my family and my birthplace
instead of breathing them in as a babe
the stories of my people didn’t come to me first hand
I’ve never heard them spoken
I can only read the sleeping words
and imagine them rising from the page

there seems no other choice than that I must become my own myth
send my roots down deep into this rich soil
until I feel connected

I would become green-fingered from the feet up
to become a root-knower, stem-lifter, seed-gatherer
I would understand the alchemy of gold to green

but for now

I am become
the memory of the fair-haired child, lost and fearful,
except when barefoot, running wild in her imagination
I am become the troubled woman, seeking security, trying to refuse the easy road
the intentional woman, trusting instincts, curious and creative
who discovered she needed to birth herself
time-shifting to lift and shelter the memory-child,
who tells herself stories,
writes herself into the past and leaves the door open to the future

I listen to birds
and watch the dance of trees
I learn the language of dreams
I have no myths but the ones I tell myself

I dig into the dirt
to plant new life in the soil
I pull my hands from the earth
and now all I can see are stars and flowers

©clairegriffin2017

It’s taken a month to write this – one of those pieces that demanded to be finished before I could move on to something new.
I’d been thinking about those whose forebears moved to another country, and their descendants. There can be feelings of disconnection from the ancestral country, questions which aren’t answered by knowledge of the place of birth. This is the case for me.
I’m aware of some of the Māori history and myth of Aotearoa New Zealand, but not being Māori, I wonder if those stories can also be mine.
And yet, I was born here, I have no-where else. My people came from Scotland, Ireland, and England, and while some of the myths and histories of these places resonate with me, I can’t quite own them. I don’t belong there – my southern Pacific upbringing in this nation has shaped me into a very different creature. I’m not British, I’m not European (although I understand this is used to define origins/ethnicity), and I can’t quite claim the stories of those countries as my own, not in any living, contemporary sense.
I have the added difficulty of a disrupted family history. So this all starts to sound like a question of identity. The stories our ancestors tell help to form our sense of self and belonging. As a Pākehā New Zealander, what are my stories, my mythic tales to explain my place in the world? I want myths that belong to me, that are born of this land.
The late Michael King wrote about Pākehā identity and culture, and this could be the time for me to read his work on this. Strange that I’ve never explored it before now.

 

 

a Tui in the rain


your black body lands on the green

sunlight strikes
and you flash emerald, turquoise and bronze
white-ruffed like an Elizabethan prince
outrageous elegance in this suburban garden

you pluck a purple berry from the Māhoe tree

I imagine …
you keep a ball of soot and sap tucked under your wing
and on rainy days like these you bring it out
spit berry juice over it and knead it into paste with one clawed foot
ready to make your mark

if I held my hand still
would you slip your beak into my skin
and ink your name, engrave a permanence
a sign of allegiance for the nights when you are hidden in the trees

I imagine …
writing a sonnet to your dark beauty
while I compose, you shriek and chortle
you fill your belly with violet pearls
your white bib staining amethyst
before taking wing to sing oblivious in the secret wood

©clairegriffin2017

quiet rain

in the still morning
quiet rain works its way
down through the branches
one drop embracing another
until heavy enough
to slide off edges and drop from buds
to fall to the green beds below
shaking leaves awake

the bush comes alive
as each small union of sky-tears
leap toward the earth

 

©clairegriffin2017

seedling messages

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If this be the secret runic alphabet of plants – what message does this seedling tell …?

Off and on today, I’ve found myself fascinated by shadows and reflections.

Today is a day of sun and wind and I’m staying inside to play with the light, and to read about the dark places. I’m choosing where to sit carefully – I need the light and warmth. I don’t want my thoughts to be swept away in the cool spring wind, so I’m keeping windows closed.

I saw the shadows cast by this tiny seedling, and I started wondering about runes and secret alphabets and the messages we might discover.

Next step – to consult my book of runes.

Some of the shapes look similar to:

runes

 

gebo – partnership, a gift
• union, partnership – but remember to retain separateness in unity
• the interplay between the conscious and the unconscious (very pertinent since I’ve just started reading about myth and psychology and Jungian archetypes)
a gift of freedom from which other gifts flow

uruz – strength, manhood, womanhood, a wild ox
• termination and new beginnings, life energy released in a new birth
• positive growth and change – may involve passage into darkness, opportunity disguised as loss
• the wild ox carried heavy loads – learn to adapt to the demands of a creative time – humility is called for – learn how to serve

nauthiz – constraint, necessity, pain
• dealing with severe constraint – including the limitations we cause ourselves
• identifying our ‘shadow’ areas (there’s Jung again), including the weaknesses we project onto others – the message being to work with the shadow – recognise challenges as opportunities
• restraint is required – reconsider plans – restore balance – take time to put right the relationship with the self

algiz – protection, sedge or rushes, an elk
• transition, time of new opportunities and challenges – the message being to control emotions during this time
• the protection of the warrior is like the rustle of grass, the horns of the elk – keeping space open
• be mindful, observe, don’t try to escape life through denial

(“The Book of Runes” by Ralph Blum, 1985)

So – what messages were the seedlings giving me?

This is a time of beginnings and opportunities, but not without challenge. Explore your inner and outer self, the conscious and unconscious. Be honest about what you’re experiencing, and be prepared to face the challenges without denial, accept success with humility.

Who knew tiny seedlings could know so much?

©clairegriffin2017