Category Archives: education

vakker (#wearewoman #2) 

anita orheim work From Norway, West Norway, I COULD HAVE A TRIPTYCH of three beautiful women featured in today’s post – and they are rightly in my heart. Yet I choose the ONE who opened me that wonderful door to Norge, and this is obviously my friend and photographer Anita Orheim, now Perrone.

We are Woman, creative, beautiful.

Anita Orheim Perrone e- Our friendship feels ancestral as well as creative. And when I was asked to attend her wedding to François Perrone, read at the Fana kirke, my lens was also very active on that very magical day. Moment tattooed forever in my heart.

How long now have I known Anita? Photography connects us. Our story flang brand new doors wide open when Anita asked me to cover Norway Liberation Day 2010, celebrated for the very first time in Shetland, with Norwegian Royal representation via the Norwegian Coastguards & closer to her home, via NYBAKK,  the floating museum led by the Nybakk family, which in turn became part of “my Norskie Clan”. We shared so many slices of life since Scalloway, Lerwick, and Shetland…

As many folk say, the rest is history.

 

Please visit Anita’s photographic constellation under Anita Orheim Photography

 

Today, my “Norwegian sister” lives back home happily with François and their peerie man, Alvar.

Here, to celebrate her woman’s work, as a mother in her homeworld, a poem.

 

Le Petit Prince de Norvège

The one who stops looking up at the stars forgets.

He counts clementines at Yule time on a table fit for a prince, or

a dreamer;

give him a glass that will

allow Jupiter’s moons, or the

silky rings of Saturn shine in his eyes –

smallest of things,

single filed ants along a stem,

mayflies newly born at sunrise,

dust from Lyra, or comet hairs

enlight his mind.

Let him

lie down in the meadow where

grass grows high to home hoppers,

mimmick the blackbird,

feel the elk,

befriend a rose or a red fox…

Give him

goggles and leather gloves,

map & compass, coordinates to

avoid dunes in the desert.

Show him

the Moon, the way each waves shapes the heart stone*,

the way the sun clads earth spirits,

weaves green saris in winter skies –

teach him the songs from

auroras.

And if the bridge feels strong enough,

he’ll look at you when he’s afraid, and reach for the string of his kite.

The one who keeps looking at stars will

find his footprints in the

snow.

© Nat Hall 2017

Note:

* the “heart stone”= Kannesteinen Rock, from Oppedal, off Måløy.

 

 

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world tales


On Top of the World



After the rain,

three herring gulls on

chimney pots;

now

sun’s blazing

Anderson’s slates.

In

between

two rounds of

showers,

blackbird voices,

raw

arc-en-ciel. 

young maa



out of wharf, ripples & ruffle,

it comes to dip among

brown kelp;

bobs

up

&

down

water surface

and finds solace amid

islands,

where clouds

harness silver edge

tides… Where wings wrangle

herring gull pride.

Where they

come to

feed

at

present.

The Edge

Look at the edge of your own world.
Free your heart & feet from tarmac,

where gutters offer

no relief.

Untie your boat, grab your

own oars.

Hear the call of the

waterline,

everlasting song of rollers

melts in white

sand –

some call it a desert

island,

but to my heart,

it is music.

Either side of the shining

edge,

we find our prints tied around kelp:

on the dry side of the mirror,

men have wandered among knives and

white broken

shells spewed offerings;

so few can listen to the wind,

the song of seasons inside wings

of a kingdom made of

lush Land,

where the sun rests

after crimson.
I hear you

say,

“you’re a dreamer” –

“time is money to all of us.”
I say “throw your coins to a sea, paper to oblivious

limpets..

The world you live feeds from

despair, liars and lice;

they gave you dreams as

tasty bait.

Tied to a tree inside concrete,

sea rockets smell so alien…

We imagine resolutions

and yet

shackles

locked around feet,

with their keys kept inside

boardrooms, between

the

hands of

their makers –

make no mistake,

they will not give them easily;

magpies like anything

shiny.

This world I love has its

pure gems.
© Nat Hall 2017

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entente more than “cordiale” :-)

1917, somewhere in hell, the fabric of humanity and life

I smiled tonight as, scrolling down the “Reader” section of wordpress, I found a xmas post from fellow poet & blogger Jackdaw.

One hundred years ago, London and Paris were building that Entente Cordiale, from the ashes of centuries of political warfare that engulfed generations of men to their deaths via so many bloody battles. Even though distrust was/has always been de rigueur, the two old enemies had found common ground. The necessities of the alliance system had eventually prevailed in an early 20th century torn by imperialistic competition and jealousy. Ironic, when we know it all began with a family feud between cousins who, notably, did not seem to agree on their own “gallery of toys”… Incidentally, 1917 also resonates with the entry of the US in that war of attrition, as well as the collapse of the medieval tsarist Russia…

This image, so powerful, prompted a comment to Jackdaw’s post. How humane, powerful will to defy the absurdity of war (total or not)  and show the world nations do not “hate” one another… There is light in darkness.

2017… One hundred years later

Russia has her 21st century blend of tsar under a more capitalistic etiquette, dealing happily with the world in a nostalgic way… The US have a new leader looking towards such Russian counterpart… Writing a brand new page of history that – I dearly hope – will not plunge our planet into chaos as in the first half of the last century. London is on her way alone… Somehow I would like to think that today’s generations of men and teenagers will not end up in a patch of no man’s land filled with horrors and absurdity. My grand mother’s words still echo in my head, as I still hear her telling me, as a child, how lucky I was to be born under “the right star”. By this, she meant in a period of (relative) peace in our homeworld. I still want to believe it. And I am also reluctant to be sucked in a bipolar world again. I still remember die Grenze between East and West as a teenager on a school exchange in (then) West Germany back in 1983 and 1984. Much favour a united world in which people feel “home” without (too many) fears…

Thank you, dear Jackdaw, for such blogpost. What a kiss!

May the image be plastered, like W. Owen’s poem, Dulce et Decorum Est, on every town square, national parliament, school, embassy and the UN, both in Geneva and New York.

A soldier of the Machine Gun Corps in a sheepskin coat kissing a French farm-girl under a sprig of mistletoe. Hesdin, France, December, 1917. Merry Christmas to you all. Don’t get chapped lips from all that kissing.

via Christmas Kiss — City Jackdaw

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love story

Histoire d’amour, love story. Last June I flew to Hordaland to be by their side. In nine days’ time I shall return and reconvene with this other side of the sea. I remember François speaking of belonging to the clan. I know I do, and cannot wait to step out of the plane in Bergen. Somehow it begins to feel like a Viking’s  homecoming, hamefarin.

Dear Anita and François, it is on its way to you, and should arrive a day before me. :=)

anita-og-francois Access to the wedding photobook HERE 

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from my peerie SA sister

pirates spirit Name your poison, I’ll name mine.

Tai Strike is fundraising again for a good cause. She’s a nutty one but I love her as much as I am proud of her. She is renowned for her veterinarian and athletic prowesses… From time to time, she trades her sthethoscope for a mad challenge, including skydiving.

vets_0015

This time, she is taking back to the water… And she is prepared to swim for marine wildlife.

Help her on the way, and please, just give. Thank YOU.

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Out of Our Space 

Fresh verse on offer, for pleasure, inspired by a mathematician within a fraction of seconds. This ties very neatly with Geopoetics on a more universal scale. And later thought of Edwin Morgan, the great poet from Glasgow. 


It is titled: Out of Our Space

Tell me again,

how far from our star to

the Earth?
So many zeros between

us, 

should we ignore

sleek speed of

light…

93 million miles away,

or a mere 9.3×10 to the power of 7 – 

or eight 

minutes, if

we manage to

harness

light

to

catch a 

glimpse of each sunrise.
How 

many stars,

rotating moons, elliptical rides, rings, or 

rocks 

in 

between

us and the unknown? 
Reset the clock in standard form and 

start

punching 

the right button.
Lerwick, 7 June 2016

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mapped

  My flair served me right once more. To dull Saturday afternoon, I felt compelled to find out how the world’s cartographers, marine charters and surveyors – from the Antiquities to the past century – looked at this corner of the realm.
Thule, no longer a mystery.

    

 

Through centuries & millennia, mariners have relied to hydrographic charters for navigation, and search for safe passages.

      
  I love the way those surveyors shaped the islands, and even if wars stimulated needs of monarchs – or politicians & merchants – the Dutch remained rhe champions of all marine charters! 

  
And for those of you, lucky enough to visit my local museum in Letwick, Da Gadderie celebrates the life & work of James Robertson, the Shetlander who mapped Jamaica.

  
What a fabulous insight into the world of maps
 

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