Tuesday Poem: Jean Sprackland

One of the books I ordered in that lovely break between Christmas and going back to work was Jean Sprackland's recent collection, Sleeping Keys. I had previously enjoyed Jean's collection, Tilt, which won the Costa Poetry Prize, so I was looking forward to this one, not least because houses were on my mind, having spent nearly a year searching for a new house.

This collection is full of houses - leaving them, observing empty and abandoned houses, watching the building of houses. For instance, the title poem, Sleeping Keys, refers to that collection that we all have in the back of a drawer somewhere, of keys whose purpose is no longer quite remembered (but if you are like me, you are reluctant to throw out, in case they should suddenly be needed). There is Moving the Piano, in which the clamourous room fades/to a tinnitus of dust and dead wasps. Sprackland's keen observations lift ordinary tasks out of the mundane, for instance in Clearing the Drain where the clear water surges, blinding/and purging like white light. And Taking Down the Scaffolding ends What love you need/to dismatle the structure you're standing on

You can read a full poem from the collection at Jean Sprackland's website here (and there are poems from earlier collections, too). Or even better, buy the book!

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site.

Tuesday Poem: The Night Watch Song of the Charlotte Jane

The Night Watch Song of the 'Charlotte Jane'

'Tis the first watch of the night, brothers,
And the strong wind rides the deep;
And the cold stars shining bright, brothers,
Their mystic courses keep.
Whilst our ship her path is cleaving
The flashing waters through,
Here's a health to the land we are leaving,
And the land we are going to!

First sadly bow the head, brothers,
In silence o'er the wine,
To the memory of the dead, brothers,
The fathers of our line -
Though their tombs may not receive us,
Far o'er the ocean blue,
Their spirits ne'er shall leave us,
In the land we are going to.

Whilst yet sad memories move us,
A second cup we'll drain
To the manly hearts that love us,
In our old homes o'er the main -
Fond arms that used to caress us,
Sweet smiles from eyes of blue,
Lips which no more may bless us,
In the land we are going to.

But away with sorrow now, brothers,
Fill the winecup to the brim!
Here's to all who'll swear the vow, brothers,
Of this our midnight hymn:-
That each man shall be a brother,
Who has joined our gallant crew:
That we'll stand by one another
In the land we are going to!

Fill again, before we part, brothers,
Fill the deepest draught of all,
To the loved ones of our hearts, brothers,
Who reward and share our toil-
From husbands and from brothers,
All honor be their due,-
The noble maids and mothers
Of the land we are going to! -

The wine is at an end, brothers;
But ere we close our eyes,
Let a silent prayer ascend, brothers,
For our gallant enterprise -
Should our toil be all unblest, brothers,
Should ill winds of fortune blow,
May we find God's haven of rest, brothers,
In the land we are going to.

James Edward Fitzgerald (1818 - 96)

On Saturday night I headed over to Tommy Chang's in Lyttelton for a gathering of Lyttelton poets. The publicity material for this event stated "Poetry has been a part of the Port’s character since James Edward Fitzgerald composed ‘The Night Watch Song of the Charlotte Jane’ as he sailed across the world in 1840 to pioneer a newspaper in a wooden shack on Norwich Quay simply called ‘The Lyttelton Times’, the tradition is still going strong today." So I thought I would post the Night Watch Song of the Charlotte Jane for my Tuesday Poem this week. The "Charlotte Jane" was one of the "first four ships" to bring settlers to the fledgling settlement of Canterbury in 1850. (I think the publicity material had the date wrong!)

Tuesday Poem: The Kinds of Feelings that Happen on Summer Beaches

I spotted this poetry poster from the Phantom Billstickers in town the other day. It seemed appropriate for the season.

This is actually a song lyric. The artist Lawrence Arabia is the musical guise of James Milne.

If the words are a bit hard to make out from my photo, you can find a performance on Youtube. I have no idea how to embed this, sorry. I will try and find out, and edit the post later.

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site. This week, there is a poem by Christchurch poet Helen Jacobs, with links to other Tuesday Poem bloggers in the sidebar.

Buskers Festival

Images from the 2014 World Buskers Festival. Great fun!

More Street Art

Another in the series of large murals that have appeared around the city as part of the Rise Street Art Festival. This is just a part of a larger mural, I was rather taken by the slightly demented looking seagulls.

Rise Street Art Festival

I am on a mission to locate and photograph all the murals in the city as shown on the map for the Rise Street Art Festival. Here are a couple to be going on with.

There are plenty of blank walls in the city that need brightening up!

The Word for the Year

It's an internet thing ... or so it seems ... choosing a word for the year. I was a bit dubious about it, but in 2011 I decided to give it a go, and chose "open".

This wasn't quite what I had in mind..

So I abandoned the whole idea, and was wondering whether to try again this year, and thinking maybe not, when the word "move" popped into my head. After moving house, and being aware that more exercise would be a good thing, and wanting to move on in various ways, it seemed appropriate. Only not the earth, OK? We would like to be done with the earth moving around here.

Images from my walk of a few days back. I headed for a park which is based on a disused quarry, and walked along the track that goes up to the top and around the quarry area, with fantastic views from the top.

(For those of you in the US, I hope the blue sky will make you feel a bit warmer).

A New Year and a New Start

So here we are in our new home (we have been here just over a month now) looking out at the view of the city with approximately two tall buildings remaining. That's counting only the ones that go past the horizon. There are a few medium ones, as well. And a lot of cranes. At least we are getting to the stage where some of the cranes are putting buildings up instead of tearing them down. (I zoomed in to take the photo above, otherwise the buildings would be just dots in the centre of the photo).

Leaving our previous house of twenty nine years was a long story. I didn't really want to. After all EQC (the government earthquake insurance organisation which covers the first $100,000 of damage) and/or our insurance company were going to fix it for us, eventually. And yes, when they did, we would have to find somewhere temporary to live for several months. So we would have to move twice - everything would have to be moved out for repairs, then moved back in. Shifting here was a huge effort, but it only had to be done once. And while there are things I miss - like being able to walk about two blocks to the shop if we ran out of milk or eggs - I am enjoying the change of scenery, and the beautiful garden,far more than I expected. Perhaps it is really true that "a change is as good as a holiday".

Of course, we still have about a million boxes left to unpack...

Still, the kitchen is sorted, my little sewing room/office is sorted, more or less, and I finally feel ready to move on and have a year that isn't just about sorting out housing issues. (We looked at seventy houses in our search).

Happy New Year to everyone. Dare I say I hope to blog here more regularly this year? It seems very appropriate that this is my one thousandth post.

A Year of Finishing Things

The blog has been neglected for the last few months. That's because we had housing issues going on, and have spent most weekends looking at houses - seventy in the past year. And now we are all ready to move (well, as ready as we are going to be). Over the year, I have been trying to finish off as many unfinished projects as possible, as part of my decluttering in preparation for a move.

These little quilts have been sitting around way too long. They were a project for an online creativity group that I am part of. At the time I conceived this idea, we were taking turns to set a weekly creativity exercise which we called "Tea and Cookies". So when I saw the teacup block in Quilters Newsletter Magazine, it seemed like a good project to make for the group. I asked each participant (not all sewers) to sign a set of cream coloured triangles, and return them along with a half metre of fabric of their choice. I didn't realise quite how much work was going to be involved. The notes that came with the fabrics tell me that it was started in the year 2000. Thirteen years to completion is better than never finished!

There were twelve people when I sent them out, but the group has shrunk, so there are seven small quilts in the final set. I made each one different to make the project more interesting. The last of these will be mine and is not yet finished. The rest have all been sent to their new owners.

Tuesday Poem: Palm Trees in a Hotel Garden

Palm Trees in a Hotel Garden
... palms fan out
their fingers on the night glass
like starving children
- Susan Wicks

We stand against dark skies.
Behind a transparent wall
unnatural day where strange trees
on forked roots come and go
bearing translucent fruit
beaded with drops of water.
Sometimes they lift it
to their crowns. They are
shifting groves of many colours.
And one slumps low,
rakes his boughs
across a bank of white and black
releasing a flock
of invisible birds.

We wonder how it is
to be so rootless
not to know
those same old familiars
are always by your side.
We fan out our fingers
on the night glass
in invitation:
“sink your roots in soil
lift your branches to the cool air
always and forever
not alone.”

© Catherine Fitchett

"Palm Trees in a Hotel Garden" was first published in Takahe magazine, issue 78, earlier this year. It originated in a class by Joanna Preston, in response to the poem by Susan Wicks from which the quote at the beginning is taken.

The blog has been very quiet lately, as I have had other things keeping me busy. But with National Poetry Day fast approaching, it seemed like a good time to come back to posting a Tuesday Poem.

Wellington Earthquakes

My youngest daughter was sick of the state of the city down here, what with all the city still being in a mess nearly three years after our first quake.
And ever since she has been there, nature has been going crazy. Storms that cut the power to her flat for two days, more bad weather, and now - earthquakes since Friday, working up to a 6.5 late this afternoon.

Fortunately, a bit further from the city and a bit deeper than ours, so no injuries so far. Fingers crossed it stays that way.

Tuesday Poem: Matariki, by Kiri Piahana-Wong

Matariki

It is winter and the new year
opens its arms before me

The moon is gone
The sun has fled

I am bathed in darkness
A woman with no moon

I wander the land alone
My blood quiescent, stilled

In the darkness my words sink
like stones
Spiral into the deep

The ground is hard
My footprints leave no trace
I am witnessing the sky's
rebirthing, in the dark of the moon

His dance with the depleted earth
Her bones pressing
against the curve of the bay
Longing for the sky

I walk as if my passing matters
I walk as a witness
I let my tears fall
spiral down my arms
fall from the ends of my fingers
Anoint the earth
with the salt of the sky

And I think of the words
of my tupuna -

Tukua mai he kapu nga
oneone ki a au hai tangi

Send me a hadnful of earth
that I may weep over it

- Kiri Piahana-Wong

Matariki is the Māori name for the cluster of stars also known as the Pleiades. It rises just once a year, in mid-winter – late May or early June. For many Māori, it heralds the start of a new year.
Matariki celebrations start with the first new moon after the first sighting of the Pleiades - this year, on 22 June.

I posted a poem by Kiri Piahana-Wong a few weeks ago, but I saved this one for this week, as it seemed the most appropriate time to post it. Thanks to Kiri for permission to post her poems. Her book, Night Swimming, is available from the publishers, Anahera Press.

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site.

Tuesday Poem: Inland, by Edna St Vincent Millay

Inland

People that build their houses inland,
People that buy a plot of ground
Shaped like a house, and build a house there,
Far from the sea-board, far from the sound

Of water sucking the hollow ledges,
Tons of water striking the shore,--
What do they long for, as I long for
One salt smell of the sea once more?

People the waves have not awakened,
Spanking the boats at the harbour's head,
What do they long for, as I long for,--
Starting up in my inland bed,

Beating the narrow walls, and finding
Neither a window nor a door,
Screaming to God for death by drowning,--
One salt taste of the sea once more?

- Edna St Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

Lately we have been house hunting - so when this poem showed up in my inbox (via the daily poem e-mail from the Academy of American Poets), it seemed like a perfect choice for my Tuesday Poem this week.

Edna St. Vincent Millay was born in Rockland, Maine. She produced a large body of writing, including some of the best-known sonnets of the twentieth century, while pursuing a Bohemian lifestyle in New York City's Greenwich Village.

This week's poem at the Tuesday Poem hub is by Sam Rasnake. Also check out the sidebar there for posts from other members of the Tuesday Poem community.

Tuesday Poem: Of books and bookcases, by Kiri Piahana-Wong

Of books and bookcases

My boyfriend says that
the one new thing he's
learnt about me since
we moved in together
is that I leave my
books lying around
all over the house.

It's true. I like to
be surrounded by
books, all their
different colours and
sizes, a wall of
words.

I tell him that the one
thing I've learnt about
him is that, for a
cabinetmaker, he
doesn't own much
furniture.

I remind him of how
he won my heart by
promising to build me
bookcases for all my
books. He just
smiles, arranging the
books in towering
piles against the
wall.

- Kiri Piahana-Wong

Kiri Piahana-Wong is a New Zealander of Maori, Chinese and Pakeha ancestry. She has degrees in law and English literature from the University of Auckland, and has had a varied working life, including roles as a legal editor, sailing instructor, freelance writer, event manager and publisher.

Her book night swimming , published by Anahera Press, was recently launched in Auckland. My thanks to Kiri for permission to use Of books and bookcases as my Tuesday Poem this week. I chose it, not because it was necessarily the most representative of the book, but because it made me smile, and depicted a familiar problem - where to put all the books?

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site, along with all the other Tuesday poets listed in the sidebar there.

Tuesday Poem: Song of the Moth

Song of the Moth

Half the world is mute, or we are deaf to it.
What untranslated conversations are hidden from our ears?
Does the earthworm croon subterranean loves songs
as it tops and tails with its hermaphrodite mate?
What does the butterfly hear
through its beautiful delicate knees?
The column of ants marches without music
while silverfish, reducing paper to lacy fragments
consume words but have none of their own.

Sailing ships crossed the oceans where whales
sang arias, backed by a silent chorus.
The pioneers carried little. Tools broke,
clothes wore out. Our forebears with their meagre luggage
having to turn common things to uncommon uses
gathered bag moss cases, stiff and lichened,
to pluck the strings of their autoharps.
It was the only way they knew
to hear moths sing.

© Catherine Fitchett

Song of the Moth was published in Takahe 78 which came out last month. It was inspired by a bizarre piece of trivia that I encountered in a book on insects in the Mobil New Zealand Nature Series: the bag moth was "sometimes used by early settlers as a plectrum for playing the autoharp". I was looking for details for a different poem, but as soon as I saw this, I knew I had to use it somehow.

For more Tuesday Poems visit the main hub site.

And the Winners Are...

Thanks to my daughter for finding random numbers for me.
When I have your addresses, a copy of "The Nature of Things: Poems from the New Zealand Landscape" will be heading to Ron Lewis

And a copy of "Flap: The Chook Book 2" goes to Susan Rich (and a big thanks to Susan for hosting the giveaway this year, so it seemed especially appropriate to draw her name)

The Tide Rises, the Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls,
The twilight darkens, the curlew calls;
Along the sea-sands damp and brown
The traveller hastens toward the town,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

Darkness settles on roofs and walls,
But the sea, the sea in the darkness calls;
The little waves, with their soft, white hands,
Efface the footprints in the sands,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls
Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls;
The day returns, but nevermore
Returns the traveller to the shore,
And the tide rises, the tide falls.

- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 - 1882

I have been doing a lot of clearing out recently, anticipating that sometime (supposedly quite soon, though one never knows with EQC) we will have to pack up everything and move ourselves and our belongings out of our house for two months or more while our earthquake repairs are done.

Going through old exercise books, I discovered one in which I had written poems to read to the children (long since grown up). Among them was this one.

Henry Longfellow is now regarded as a minor poet, but was enormously popular and successful in the nineteenth century. He is perhaps best known now for his Song of Hiawatha, which, along with other long narrative poems, played a major part in his success in his lifetime. This small gem above is less narrative and more lyrical. The repetition of sounds in it appeals to me - the rhymes for "falls", alliteration such as the "steeds in their stalls" which "stamp" and so on.

Tuesday Poem has been celebrating its third birthday over the past few weeks, and many of the Tuesday Poets have contributed a stanza to the birthday poem which can be found on the main hub site. Check it out, and check the side bar for more Tuesday poets' blogs.

Tuesday Poem: Invention of Everything Else, by Susan Rich

Invention of Everything Else

Once a man offered me his heart like a glass of water
how to accept or decline?

Sometimes all I speak is doubt

delineated by the double lines 
of railway tracks; sometimes

I’m an incomplete bridge, crayon red Xs extending

across a world map.
A man offers me his bed like an emergency

exit, a forklift, a raft.

The easy-to-read instructions
sequestered in the arms of his leather jacket.

Sometimes a woman needs

small habits, homegrown salad, good sex.
Instead, she cultivates cats and a cupcake maker,

attempts enlightenment— prays to leaf skeletons on her deck.

The woman and the man say yes –
say no, say maybe, perhaps.

Neither one knows what they will do
to the other.

Perhaps they’re acorns falling

on the roof, a Sunday paper, this all-embracing
ocean view.

Once a man offered me his fortune
in drumbeats and song

tuned to some interior window; something buried in blue.

-Susan Rich, first published in Cura Journal



Susan Rich blogs at The Alchemist's Kitchen, where she is hosting the Big Poetry Giveaway this year - one of many projects which celebrate National Poetry Month in the USA. Over fifty bloggers are participating in the giveaway. Leaving a comment on any of their giveaway posts will put you in the draw to win a poetry book, mailed free to anywhere in the world.

Susan is offering a copy each of two of her books, The Alchemist's Kitchen and Cures Include Travel along with one from another poet in her giveaway post here.

Susan Rich is the author of four books of poetry, including Cloud Pharmacy and The Alchemist’s Kitchen, and co-editor of The Strangest of Theatres: Poets Writing Across Borders. A recipient of awards from the Times Literary Supplement and Fulbright Foundation, she teaches at Highline Community College (Seattle). Besides her blog linked above, you can find her web site at http://www.susanrich.net.


A reminder that I am also participating in the Big Poetry Giveaway - leave a comment on my giveaway post if you want to be in to win a free poetry book from me. Remember your e-mail address or I won't be able to let you know if you have won!

For more Tuesday Poems, visit the main hub site.

Tuesday Poem: Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven, by W B Yeats

Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

- William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

A short poem this week, but one I have loved for a long time.

For more Tuesday Poems, and an ongoing group effort to celebrate our third birthday, visit the main hub site.

And to participate in the Big Poetry Giveaway, scroll down to my previous post.

Tuesday Poem and the Big Poetry Giveaway

For the last couple of years, Kelli Agodon has celebrated National Poetry Month (yes, the United States gets a whole month, compared to New Zealand's National Poetry Day) by organising the Big Poetry Giveaway. This year it is being hosted on Susan Rich's blog, The Alchemist's Kitchen.

I decided to join in the fun, so leave a comment here with your contact details (e-mail address), if you would like to go in the draw. Edit: Some commenters seem to have forgotten the e-mail address, I will contact you if I can, either by e-mail or by leaving a comment on your blog, but if your only contact is Facebook or Google groups, I have no way of getting in touch with you as I am not on either.
I have two books to give away - posted free to anywhere in the world. Winners will be drawn in the week of May 1st.
1) Flap: The Chookbook 2 by myself and three friends
2) The Nature of Things: Poems from the New Zealand Landscape, a gorgeous anthology which has poems from a range of New Zealand poets along with beautiful landscape photographs from Craig Potton.

And here is one of my poems from Flap:

Gridlines

The city is a spreadsheet
laid on the plains block upon block.
There are some in their airless offices
who affect nothing.
Don't count on it.

In the hidden mathematics of the city
there are unexpected connections.
You might add a small number
at a crucial junction
and buses run late all over town.
Hum a tune and you might see
a single bird fly over,
or dancing break out in the streets.

And watch that girl with the blue hair,
when she enters the equation,
how it changes everything.

copyright Catherine Fitchett

For more Tuesday Poems visit the main hub site.