Category Archives: shore

tribal

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 Community 2017

SMUHA 2017 tribe

SMUHA 2017 Community spirit

viking SMUHA 2017 e-

 

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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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belle (#wearewoman 2)

les-coquelicots-by-isabelle-foriat

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.

isa-foriat-restauratrice-de-tableaux

Isabelle 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.

 

Regards de peintre

A Isa, avec tendresse.

Cézanne, écoute :
Le Lubéron s’est éveillé –
Maître Foriat,
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.
Coquelicots,
Cyclamen,
Iris ou fleurs d’amandiers,
Entre Haute-Loire
Et Durance,
Mont Mezenc
Et Sainte Victoire
Se sont comptés fleurette…
Pommes d’amour
Ou coloquintes,
Ses mains de peintre
Ont enfanté
La magie des couleur,
Tout un plaisir
Des yeux,
Bleutés par l’huile,
Ou l’aquarelle –
Dans ses regards
De peintre,
Crue luminosité.

© Nat Hall 2003

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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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beautiful (#wearewoman) 1

common-mouse-ear I love common mouse ear, and so much so it embodies beauty a lot of us take for granted.

We are woman, and we are beautiful.

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.

peerie-mouse-new-fringe 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

back –

on every door yet to

open, on every

brick,

footbridge and rope that

suspends us in between now and

the river that divides

blocks and

yellow

cabs,

galvanised world

where I wonder how Venus shines; and

imagine the big apple,

towering world

made of

metal,

compressed sand grains…

Beauty

born,

flower of chaos,

that little big bang from your heart.

 

© 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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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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