Every first Friday of March, as told by the tide, we gather, united by bond and fire, and we celebrate the return of the sun.
#smuha 2017, from Cunningsburgh, with burning at Mail Beach.
#smuha 2017, from Cunningsburgh, with burning at Mail Beach.
How I love the way she paints those flowers, poppies, coquelicots, as she knows them in Provence.
In a second #wearewoman post, I am celebrating lifelong friend I met in 1990, in transit between two life chapters, en route north, beyond the horizon…
Her name is Isabelle Garnier Foriat.Sensitive eye, accurate, meticulous in every sense of her iris,hand and brush… Please click on the two following links, ELLIA, the painter’s constellation, and ATELIER PATRIMONIUM, where the artist turned saviour of artworks.
Every visit weighs all its gold. We reconvene at spring by the shores of River Durance. Our friendship flows by Les Moulins.
I recall a poem I dedicated to the artist. Initially written in French back in 2003 and available online at Poésie Française.
Pour toi, Isa la Belle, en attendant de te rerouver dans ta constellation.
A Isa, avec tendresse.
Cézanne, écoute :
Le Lubéron s’est éveillé –
Isa la belle
A fait jaillir
De ses palettes
Un pic épeiche,
Un âne bleu –
Dans la chaleur du vent,
Ses pinceaux sont encrés ;
Dans un panier de pêches
Tout son génie est né.
Iris ou fleurs d’amandiers,
Et Sainte Victoire
Se sont comptés fleurette…
Ses mains de peintre
La magie des couleur,
Tout un plaisir
Bleutés par l’huile,
Ou l’aquarelle –
Dans ses regards
© Nat Hall 2003
I love common mouse ear, and so much so it embodies beauty a lot of us take for granted.
Yesterday, my heart marched in the streets of New York, Lerwick, Bergen, Edinburgh, Oslo, Lisbon, Paris, Philadelphia – wherever women marched along with those who love, treasure, respect them. And they were joined by a whole spirit, the one that says and reminds all that America and the free world make one.
To celebrate that spirit, fire that shines deep inside us, I will celebrate our womanhood, the way we love, look at the world and smile; and hashtag it in the title of every post.
Many women have touched my heart throughout my life journey. Let them be now known to the world. Some so famous, others, unknown.
I will begin with Victoria, the one who smiled and touched my heart – a station nurse working for USAID, based in NYC, NY, USA. Tremendously spirited, so aware of the ills from far less privileged regions from our world, and investing herself in her duties and people in her care – she, humble, unknown American ambassador of the world’s bastion of freedom and democracy . I am in awe of her beauty inside-out.
I am so proud of you, Peerie Mouse 🙂
For you, my tiger, in my own words, as a poet and a woman, and wish you well on your forthcoming tour, from my island to your island.
I already chiselled your name on
every train you take and
on every door yet to
open, on every
footbridge and rope that
suspends us in between now and
the river that divides
where I wonder how Venus shines; and
imagine the big apple,
compressed sand grains…
flower of chaos,
that little big bang from your heart.
© Nat Hall 2017
On my island, we call da mörkin, it signifies the darkness.
It is when night outweighs daylight so much our sun dares not elevate itself so shamelessly. And by the time we reach Yule, the Winter Solstice, it will just peep out by just a few degrees at its zenith. It will turn so lazy, it will just reach that “magic 5 degrees” and then returns to hide by ten to three.
Nonetheless, we now know we are on a high cliff face that will gradually hoist us back to light. This word, da mörkin, derives from its Norwegian root, mørke. Like our neighbours from the deep fjords, we light candles (though we do celebrate St Lucy’s) inside our homes and toast to Yule. A time of merriment around tables, trees and loved ones (for the most fortunates).
This year, I have adorned my home a little bit early to make sure I would be ready for Jul, Yule and aa.
With that cosmic slide into da mörkin, December deserves scents and lights, music away from gales, high tides hail stones and skelping rain that falls horizontal.
So I adorned my home with holly and pine cones to welcome Yule. Angels protect my home until Barbara and Conor decide to slip away from our shores. Like my good friends from the great fjords, I will celebrate on the 24th, with a good friend from Burra. And then repeat that Yuletide feast on the 25th in the comfort of my home, as my friend will join me in the afternoon… We shall sample a few goodies so seasonal and hope for both a little clemence from the sky. I know my Norskie friends will taste the same, as what they named Julestorm affect them too.We share that northern hellery after all… Just 24 hours delay between us.
my very best wishes for a peaceful festive season, less terror from a sickened world – light to those who need it most. Everyday I light candles to remember that darkness can be vainquished – that there is light at the end of tunnels.
a piece for Jul, Yule an aa
God Jul på deg fra meg,
Godt nytt år,
og, så fint…
Eg drøymer om ditt land,
da cast iron stove at da farm, print fae da red deer ida snaa –
da peerie owl an blackie afore da day,
frozen apple fae dy gairden.
God Jul på dere fra
whaar da gale soonds a hellery, an
da spindrift flies juist laek snø
VENNLIG HILSEN fra
In English, it notably translates:
Happy Yuletide from me to you,
Happy new year,
I am dreaming of your land,
your cast iron stove at the farm, print from the red deer in the snow –
the small owl and the blackbird at dawn, frozen apple from
Happy Yuletide to you all from
where the storm sounds so bad and vile, and
saltbuds flies like snow in
With all my love from this
island of mine.
© NatHall 2016
Yesterday, I congragated with friends and fellow writers from the Westside as well as the Waas community to say agoodbye to one of us. I loved the way his son spoke of my friend, and the way Janet somewhat managed to conceal some of her grief. The service was very poignant. I, among so many of us, will miss the good doctor who animated our monthly friday nights in Weisdale, as well as the many facets of everyone who was connected to his life. But he lives in our hearts, and his writings testify the life journey of a very brave, adventurous, life and children loving man. Rest in peace, Robin.
Weeks fly like lit gun powder; fridays tear down the pages of our almanacs like a develish, untamed child too eager to rid of school days. And the sky follows suite. Little have I noticed sunsets and sunrises shifted on the the great cosmic clock… That daylight had begun to shrink. The island now unveils those autumnal hues. A more difuse light now clads everything on the island. The sky awaken and talks again. Whereas swans are starting to flock at Spiggie, others are thinking to go… Northern wheatears, pied wagetails and meadow pipits, together with a few swallows still grace our fence posts, road verges and fields… Though they too will depart from our shores and let others replace them for the darker months ahead.
That juvenile northern wheatear will home itself south of my eyes for a few months, should it survive that great epic maiden flight south. I feel somewhat eager to reconvene with our winter visitors, whilst already marvelling at eclipse or winter plumage from some of our local avian friends. Guillemots certainly are noticeable from Gutters’ Gaet or Bressay Sound. And if observation feels rather limited during weekdays, the odd visit to harbours, lochs, fields, voes and wicks (bays) rekindles that pleasure.
And as nothing remains the same, September will vanish in flames, and let October take over. With the tenth month, I too will trade land and migrate for precious time to the other side side of he North Sea, as I will reconvene with friends and fjords. That second collection of verse demands so, as my heart does.
With October, the more prominent return of darkness… And the almanac will obey the laws of the universe.
I did not know what to expect.
Performance art instigated at Shetland level by our Shetland Library Reading Champion, playwright & artiste extraordinaire, Jacqui Clark – in which light is celebrated in collaboration with Clare Duffy & her troupe.
On the 18th night of the eight’s month, selected reading of Compass Head were broadcasted to the world via the internet, whilst being recorded in the intimacy of the stone wall with a mic in a cranny…
On a more personal note, Sumburgh Head has a very special place in my heart. The most southerly headland from da Auld Rock, the place where I twice worked as an Assistant Warden for the RSPB in the early 2000s, a place I celebrate as a poet, and share with the rest of the world. A place associated with dreams and adventures. And when I think adventures, RLS springs to my mind like a boomerang. After all, his grandfather has left luminous prints with his family of lighthouse builders! So all in all, it felt a pretty funky night to the wildest audience! Open air poetry reading… Both ethereal and fab fun!With gracious thanks to Jacqui Clark and Lucy for nurturing me at such event. Local actors are preparing with Clare Duffy’s troupe for a very special event. There is an upcoming art performance on the 28 August at Sumburgh Head. Grab a ticket and come along.
It is truly a unique experience and Project in full osmosis 🙂
Sumburgh Head, 18 Aug 2016.
Poetry & Prose inspired by people and places in the Western Isles of Scotland
Stories.... with a touch of India....
celebrating creativity in Shetland
Studio updates for Scottish Artist Douglas Robertson
~~~~~~Writing's the thing!~~~~~~ Based in Hay-on-Wye, Welsh Borders.
Chronicles from Arcania
Chronicles from Arcania
“Autumn windswept, bemused dresses in golden rags and hides it’s cache of dying suns under listless leaf evenings.."
the texture of my life
Art, Poetry, Thoughts, Photos I've taken and Random things that inspire me.
Life through the eyes of a female with Aspergers
The Federation of Writers (Scotland) is an organisation dedicated to making the written and spoken word available to the public of Scotland, with respect for diversity and recognition of additional support needs. Caidreachas nan Sgrìobhaiche (Alba) ’S e prìomh-amas Caidreachas nan Sgrìobhaiche (Alba) litreachas sgrìobhte is labhairte a chur mu choinneamh poball na h-Alba, a’ toirt spèis do dh’iomadachd agus feumannan-taice a bharrachd.
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About fantastical places and other stuff
Notes on a life
All that glitters...