Posts tagged ‘meaning’

08/10/2018

Five Quotes

“And day to day, life’s a hard job, you get tired, you lose the pattern. You need distance, interval. The way to see how beautiful the earth is, is to see it as the moon. The way to see how beautiful life is, is from the vantage point of death.”

Ursula le Guin – The Dispossessed

“There is no end to the deceits of the past.”

Vernon Lee – Limbo and Other Essays

“Can the beautiful be sad? Is beauty inseparable from the ephemeral and hence from mourning? Or else is the beautiful object the one that tirelessly returns following destructions and wars in order to bear witness that there is survival after death, that immortality is possible?”

Julia Kristeva – Black  Sun

“The generation of atmosphere, the aura of the uncanny, is one of the most important secrets of magic. It contributes to the willing suspension of disbelief, the feeling that, within the circle, or in the presence of the magical shrine, anything may happen.”

Doreen Valiente – An ABC of Witchcraft, Past and Present

“Nothing ever goes away until it has taught us what we need to know.”

Pema Chodron –When Things Fall Apart

 

Five quotes to hold in mind when reading Ghosts and Other Tales (released on 26th October 2018).

Images by Gavin R Jones, with fragments from stories in Ghosts and Other Tales.

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03/10/2013

A Field

 

For years this field was lost in rain,

Unseen by moon and morning haze.

Its entropy a fade of green,

A negative beyond all space,

 

Ignored by all but heron’s wings.

It shed its paths as clues and rhymes:

Unnatural golds and hidden ways,

A loss which never formed a sky.

 

Yet here it is: a fragile myth;

A knowledge formed of what might be;

A place between; a knowing spell;

A line connecting distant hopes.

 

For once this world revolves around

This empty field, this broken crown.

 

 

This poem was written as a response to the photograph by artist Cheryl Garner. It is part of an on-going collaboration.

The photographs, with poems, can be found at:

www.thecheesewolf.co.uk/category/vicarious-journeys/

the work of Cheryl Garner can be found at:

http://cherylgarner.squarespace.com/

 

29/09/2013

Stepping Out

 

The dress was blue and never aged.

She dropped it on and felt its cool

The same as on the autumn day

She bought the dress, without his say,

 

Her week revolved around these streets:

Her home, her walk, her week of work,

The wall which held a wagtail’s nest,

The ruts on pavements, worn by years.

 

She passed his parent’s former house:

The new folk kept the garden neat.

She passed the chapel, then the pub.

She felt the village watch her walk.

 

He never said he liked the dress:

Or if he did, she didn’t hear.

 

12/05/2013

Reverberations

 

You take a step, the Earth slips back.

It’s never fair, it rarely is,

But just in case you didn’t know:

It’s in your eyes I see my life.

 

The sadnesses which came before,

The solitary walks at night,

The sleeping rough beside the cliffs

Were never yours: you gave me life.

 

I measure out the speeding years

Like feet and inches on a wall:

Each notch another pain or joy.

And so our Earth is spinning by.

 

Again, in case you weren’t aware,

In your young life there lies the point.

 

 

To Joseph

 

 

26/01/2013

A Walk to the Isle in the Marsh (Walk No. 10)

 

Is every walk a walk of death?

Across the marshes to the isle,

Traversing fears and passing ghosts,

To rise at last amongst the lost.

 

Is every site a monument:

A shrine to memory, life and love,

A locus for the wanderer’s truth,

A proof that we had meaning once?

 

Each walk may seem to set us free,

To live at last amongst the souled,

To feel the flow from earth to sky,

To be apart and yet to be.

 

I recognise the way ahead:

Each wondrous view will mark the dead.

 

 

12/05/2012

The Minotaur’s Image

 

His blank façade was made for tales:

Where nothing lives the world exists

And meanings flood to fill the space.

Where monsters lurk we build our homes.

 

The venerated beast and man:

A test to all who leapt and prayed.

Then later he was hid away:

His appetites too close, too true.

 

And in that inhumed form was left

The residue of lust and death,

The tales of innocents sacrificed,

The tales of writers, tales of pride.

 

Our monstrous elements abide

However many times we’re slain.