Category Archives: metasaga

storm

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Provençal Sakura

I always associate the coming of cherry blossoms at the foot of the Luberon with my grand mother’s change of world. To me, she flourishes every spring, and this year, I arrived just in time, for the season is precocious.

Already most fruit trees had shed most blossoms… Only a few quince and cherry trees gave me that joy. The kitchen garden well ahead for April. I landed back at Marseille-Provence in soaring temperatures, thanks to a twist of luck that allowed me to to fly direct from Edinburgh the very morning I left my northern roost.

And what a trek across the sky 🙂

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My favourite mountain, Luberon, so majestic, as we descended into Marseille… Giono’s blue whale so bright and clear by afternoon.

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Marseille, gate to the East and Africa, Massilia-Massalia, founded by Greeks, grown by Romans, with les îles du Frioul and If in the foreground, minutes before landing. La Grande Bleue, plain and magic.

 

I shan’t forget such moments. Always a thrill from my humble seat inside the fuselage. This year, I reconvened with JJ and Monique, whom I had such pleasure sharing with again. JJ fell in love with my poetics and he is very sensitive to artists and poets. As a matter of fact, he invests in art as a benefactor. We shared beautiful conversations and he is becoming to know me much better now. Let’s see what is going to heave out of those moments of sharing. 🙂

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Ten days inside blue could be called a fantastic symphony. I reconvened with Les Huguenots, where life turns out immoveable, but also with relatives and my close friends from Pertuis, Isa and Michel, who hosted me for two days – sheer moments of pleasure.

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Two days with my lifelong friend and her clan, including her grand children. We had lots of fun jam-packed in and around their home. Moments of pleasure.

 

L’orage

Out of ten days, an afternoon tainted by grey and rain, as April strikes in any form. That heat heaved thunder and lightning in one afternoon.  Not surprising as the thermometer had soared a bit too quickly to my taste.

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The air turned more breathable, colours vanished and the whole of the sky blackened to unleash its madness. That palm tree and flowers suddenly yielded to its wrath and felt the weight of freak clocking rain.

It prompted a poem, entitled l’orage / the storm.

 

L’orage

 

En un Ă©clair,

le ciel est devenu métal, nuages de

charbon et d’acier.

Fort de ton flash, ciel

photographe,

tous les oiseaux se sont cachés, entre les fleurs du cognassier.

Sous les tuiles je t’entends gronder,

glisser les gouttes de ta colère sur toutes

les feuilles de l’olivier.

Et sous le poids de ton humeur,

toutes les tulipes se sont courbĂ©es – robes d’or et

de rouge, leurs pétals protègent

le trĂ©sor…

Le vent fait frétiller les palmes toutes luisantes de la pluie;

nettoie ce ciel chargé de cendres,

décharne un peu plus le vieux chêne.

Tu montes le ton et vide

ton sac…

Et maintenant tu t’envenimes et te dĂ©chaĂ®nes!

Son et lumières, tes perles tombent

drues, s’Ă©crasent sur tout

ce qu’elles touchent;

sacageur de bleu provençal, dans la maison

je trouve refuge, et me souviens

du mot  frisqué.

 

The Storm

 

This sky

turned metallic in a flash, with clouds tainted

charcoal and steel.

Fully charged

blitz,

photographer,

all the birds hid between the flowers of the quince.

Under that roof, Provençal tiles,

I hear rebuke land & heat;

let slide raindrops

from your own

wrath on

the

leaves of the olive tree.

Under the weight of your temper,

all tulips bowed to protect

the treasure clad inside gold and red petals.

The wind animates every palm of

the date tree

drumming snipe

style…

And wipes a sky

charged up with ash,

unloads the old oak of dead leaves.

Now, you raise your voice, spill the beans…

Unleash your wrath, torrential

style!

It felt epic, equatorial.

You, Provençal

blue

saboteur,

against my will, I seek shelter, and

remember that word,

frisqué*.

 

© Nat Hall 2017

 

Note:

frisquĂ© (Provençal) meaning “chilly”/ “cold”)

 

 

All in all, nine and half blue days, moments of pleasure, and every time, that same feeling about where I really belong.

My trek back home – to my northern roost – proved even more epic. A story of mechanical failure miraculously took me home A LATER than scheduled, but am back hame, and am happy.

 

 

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silence 

In a world full of noise,

Time out.

Silence


Rotation, collision.

Sample the joy of

outer

space.

 

Not

a trickle,

breath from the breeze,

hanging raindrop off

growing leaves;

not

a

single

roar after dawn;

not

a

single

cry from

wild dogs, hyena, cheetah,

hunter’s own –

not

a

morning

sound from the land,

high pitch crossing legs from

hoppers clung to

the meaning of

grassland…


Now 

try harder.


Not

a

sound wave, echo from your

device to

mine;

golden

smiley gone

after nine,

as am explained the rule of

Pi in

a

lesson doused by

north sun;

where

gas & dust glide and

gather,

give

birth to new stars in

cradles, in the

most

natural motion,

cosmic and bright in a

circle.
© Nat Hall 2017


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worldwide

Excellent news from Nordland Publishing! A few days ago, I received a message from a blog reader regretting not to be able to order Compass Head directly from her own island-continent, Australia. I relayed the message to my publishers in Norway, who, not only were concerned, but have now made for amends. And they did more.

Now, this geopoetics in action and in full motion. That peerie yoal has already travelled far and wide. Let it reach YOU.

“Row, row your boat” as the tune says…

compass-head-book-cover From now on, dear reader, you can now reach out to Compass Head DIRECTLY from practically WORLDWIDE, including Australia, China, India, Brazil, as well as other amazing places on Earth! So jump on the boat and, fair wind, sailors, and join in all those who have already enjoyed the ADVENTUROUS journey from The Songs from the North 🙂 Just CLICK ON the LINKs!

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in my own words…

 I write because I have things to say. When I don’t, I listen to the world – the wind, the ocean, birds and auroras – and I look up to the stars. The onpaper-and-wordse who stops looking at them forgets. The one who keeps looking at the stars will find his/her footprints in he snow. I live on an extraordinary island that feeds my spirit and imagination. Come and discover my journey, as I have lived my life with a compass in my head.

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dark land

rage au cœur

Au festin qui se prépare sans moi,
je dis, ma fois,
que tous les fruits gardent
leur goût, même
éparpillés par
la mer,
et
vu d’ici,
mon bout de terre,
dans ce ciel teintĂ© d’or et miel,
mon Ă©toile scintille,
garde-fou;

et si mes yeux défient
le vent,
s’adonnent
au soleil grenadine,
mon cĹ“ur s’esquisse Ă 
la sanguine,
Ă©coute
l’Ă©cho de ta voix
qui me murmure “chante avec
moi – croque la musique Ă 
pleines dents”

Au crépuscule tout devient bleu;

l’horizon se perd Ă  vue d’Ĺ“il,
mes pieds imprimés
dans le sable,
mes larmes
gravées
dans
les
rouleaux;

en attendant
une nouvelle aube,
je te croque entre les Ă©toiles –
quand Lyra
s’invite
Ă 
table,
je lui sourie sans
dire mot.

La symphonie peut commencer.

-/–

Raging Heart

They’re feasting without me.

To this omen I will
now say that
fruits still
taste
even if
scattered by
the sea…
And
viewed from here,
sweet tongue of land,
in this sky tainted
honey-gold,
my star
still
shines,
guardian angel;

and if my eyes defy
the wind,
yield to this
pomegranate
sun,
my heart
can be sketched with
sanguine,

listens to echo from
your voice that once whispered
“come sing with me, crunch
through music like an
apple”

with twilight everything turns blue;

the horizon forgets itself,
my feet imprinted
inside sand,
my tears
tattooed inside
rollers,

and as I wait for
a new dawn,
I etch you
high in
between
stars –
and
when
Lyra comes
to table,
I just
listen..

Her symphony can start again.

© Nat Hall 2014

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nordicblackbird’s roost – website

 nordicblackbird.com / the roost

All in one nest!
Thank you for visiting and, if you like it,
just bookmark it! 🙂

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Hairst, automne, autumn 2012

 August feels a poltergeist… 

My days well spent on a headland at the following coordinates, weeks melt like ice before fire. In less than seven days’ time, I shall taste again a degree of total freedom for a fortnight, away from bells and corridors…

Meantime, the very first month in –er also proved filled with whirlwinds & adventures of many kinds, shapes and colours. 

September, as so well sung by Roland Orzabal from Tears For Fears, “month of miracles and tears”, tainted itself with wanderings through both  dark & fantastic moments, as well as across the majestic twist into the bleakness of the isles.

Earlier on today, Paula giggled about the very fact I cannot get away from Mareel. TRUE. Since I first stepped inside this wonderful creative space,  I must confess I do enjoy it to the full!

My very first opportunity dates back to the final weekend of Wordplay/Screenplay – respectively our local Book & Film Festival. I came to see and listen to two wonderful poets, Robin Robertson & John Burnside, as well as taking part in Rodge Glass’s novel writing workshop. Such rendez-vous in such a place can only generate inspirition. Furthermore, time to reconvene with familiar faces and smiles. Mareel’s CafĂ© was packed with friends & kindred spirits. Magic time.

As a cinema venue, Mareel was first tested with Pixar’s latest blockbuster in 3D, Brave. Radical change to The Garrison. We now have a 21st Century set of auditoriums! Sleek.

 As a music venue, I was first privileged to enjoy a string of first class acts, as part of my school’s Gala Concert for its 150th Anniversary last weekend. Fantastic night that reminded of my old school’s end of year show cases. For a second, I found my heart time warped back to the BRIT School. Same atmosphere. Emotional.

As a creative space, I feel inspired by such monument. Mareel, in the Shetland dialect, means the phosphorescence of the sea. It truly shines by the Bressay Sound. Last week alone, on 4 October, Roxane Permar, commissioned with Nayan Kulkarni by Shetland Arts, led us around the building for its first illumination, as the culmination to their project entitled Mirrie Dancers. Friend & fellow artist-researcher-UHI Head of Tourism for Caithness Rachel Skene, intimately & creatively connected to Ruth Macdougall, witnessed the grand event, as part of her flying visit to my latitude. She too marvelled at the grandeur of both event & place.  Unforgettable & magic moment 🙂

But September was also crowned by reconnection with a myriad of friends, whose homes feel a sanctuary at will, as well as a wonderful day-trip to Fetlar, the garden of Shetland, as part of our annual outing with my fellow local guides.

 And what a day it proved to be! Robert, the local community officer, waited for us at Hamars Ness  and led us through a an unforgettable day. We marvelled out the island’s hidden gems; Robert’s spirit and the warmth of the local community. I must confess it was a heck of a great end of season do!

GEOPOETICAL

On a more creative note, September also gave life to a very geopoetical venture with the University of Quebec in Montreal though a connection with a trio of Canadian academics: Benoit Bordeleau, Anick Bergeron (aka Victoria Welby) and Mym Bergeron, from La Traversée,  Atelier Québéquois de Géopoétique. 

Anick sent me a Titanic glued to an enevelope, as an invitation to contribute to their DĂ©rive de Papier 2 – the Paper Titanic was born. My creative response was actually created at Mareel’s CafĂ©, as I sat with a hot chocolate, a blank page on my NetBook blended in a moment of contemplation at Hay’s Dock… le Titanic de papier quickly travelled back to the shores of the Saint Laurent without a hitch. What a fabulous maiden Stravaig across the North Atlantic. Later tweets from all three Canadian kindred spirits confirmed the success of our very first venture. Feels like a pioneering milestone, or rather a beacon.

 Anick later sent me a string of photos of the end-product for Dérive de Papier 2. First fabulous collaboration 🙂

 Our connection on Twitter has now taken a new twist. Geopoeticians from both sides of the North Atlantic unite. I very humbly feel the father of Geopoetics, Kenneth White,  would smile at such development. The duality of the tongue enables such stepping stones. Our next theme at The Scottish Centre for Geopoetics for Stravaig – our online Journal – is entitled Coast to Coast. How apt!

As we now wander through October, we begin to feel our gradual sliding towards Samhain.

Our crossing through the equinox amplified Hairst to a somewhat higher degree. As light

dimmers, the very fabric of my shore now weaves new shades.  One notices a less precocious sunrise as opposed to a lazier sunset. We have to make do with shorter days. Soon, we shall carve neap (swede) into jack-o-lanterns and celebrate the darker times that lingers in between the living & the dead…

In a few days, Australian friends will land on my latitude.

In a few days’ time, we shall celebrate the magic of my northern realm.

Within a few hours, I will explore a corner of my Nordic shore with Paula and Magnie.

Time to end this blog entry.

Time

to

celebrate

life 🙂

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