Tag Archives: friends

redcurrants

redcurrants.jpg Monsieur Proust had his madeleine, I have my summer berries…

Loved my Sunday yesterday. Ingirid invited a small paty of us to play with her in her garden. She is at the helm of a magical eden where everything seems to grow in both open air and in polytunnels… Just magic. A list of tasks were clearly scribbled on postcards. Ingirid pointed out two areas: peaches to be harvested from well established trees in one polycrub, and, that secluded corner where gooseberries, black and redcurrants ripen in the sun. So much flew back inside my poet’s mind. Whilst the first task was achieved at lightning speed, that latter harvest heaved a bowlful of those tiny summer gems, as well as poetics.

As in micropoetry form at first…

 

Les groseilles

petits fruits rouges, en grapes, en vrac,

entre martinets et sourires,

là où le temps

tournait

en

rond.

Redcurrants

Peerie red fruits clinging like grapes

in between swifts & smiles,

there, when time

locked in a

circle.

and then, as a poem,

 

Redcurrants

 

You, scarlet gems so well hidden.

So delicate, in

one corner of a garden, where my hands search in between

leaves, guardians of time – where

time writes fate in

chlorophyll…

I still

remember when

I first found you as a child,

crouched against earth and loneliness,

that thin mesh, invisible cage to let the sun work

miracles after each battering of rain.

You, tiny gems so well

hidden, you

are

precious stones of summer.

 

NH 2017

 

Later, a feast awaited us as we gathered in the garden to share a marvellous Sunday afternoon. I love gardening parties. So much to enjoy from such capsules of time.

Thank you, Ingirid 🙂 

Advertisements

2 Comments

Filed under 2017, 60N, Arcania, blogging, celebration, earth, geopoetics, hairst, humanity, life, light, literature, north, poet, poetry, scotland, shetland, shore, spirit, summer, world, writing

storm

17758260_1918308821789640_5518149941787951843_o

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 🙂

17918064_1923561967930992_170794146297853161_o (1)

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

17880253_1923559521264570_3384917570441292648_o (1)

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. 🙂

17834350_1921193151501207_5397572509020323256_o

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.

17917445_1923534981267024_3738406616763180615_o

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.

17807477_1919296731690849_7935469456301580544_o

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 éclair,

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 courbées – robes d’or et

de rouge, leurs pétals protègent

le trésor…

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 déchaînes!

Son et lumières, tes perles tombent

drues, s’écrasent 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:

frisqué (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.

 

 

3 Comments

Filed under 2017, 60N, blogging, colours, earth, geopoetics, images, life, light, literature, metasaga, migration, poet, poetry, spirit, spring, verse poetry, world, writing

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 

Leave a comment

Filed under 2016, 60N, autumn, blogging, book, celebration, education, geopoetics, hairst, Hordaland, humanity, images, life, migration, norman, north, norway, shetland, vikings

Gratulerer


Gratulerer med dagen alle sammen i Norge!

Happy Constitution Day, Norway!

A month today, I will discover you for the first time, reconvene with some of my Norskie friends and take a bite for the first time 🙂

I cannot wait to cross the sea, fly along that 60N Latitude eastward and see your mountains shooting off water in the sky 🙂

Shetland, Norge, a long story tainted with love and deep friendship 🙂 

Today, am clad in your colours. My D-Day countdown has begun 🙂 

Leave a comment

Filed under 2016, 60N, blogging, celebration, colours, earth, geopoetics, home, images, island, lerwick, migration, north, Norway, Norway_National_Day, scotland, shetland, vikings, world, writing

message from a(nother) bottle

I love how bottles reach my shore through time. Here, a new message from Canada.

FROM INSIDE THE BOTTLE

With kind thanks to its author, Debbie Okun Hill 🙂

20140119-214146.jpg

Leave a comment

Filed under 2014, 60N, atlantic, Canada, celebration, geopoetics, ninian, poet, poetry, poets, project, review, shetland, spirit, verse, verse poetry, world, writing

flashback

nat and joe at mareel sep 2012 e-Looking back, listening back. I treasure this moment forever. Emotions in an eclectic bouquet. Faces, eyes, smiles. Known, unknown. Full house. And still some trying to get in… Darkish venue, with lights mounted on the wall on either side of the white screen. Steve’s magical accordion, Alan’s guitar to set the tone. And Joe’s soft voice, reassuring.

Here, here, FROM SHORE TO SHOORMAL BOOK LAUNCH on 1 September 2013

As if you were here / comme si vous y étiez 🙂

Leave a comment

Filed under 2013, 60N, atlantic, Canada, celebration, festival, home, lerwick, life, ninian, north, poetry, poets, project, shetland, spirit, verse, verse poetry, wordplay, world, writing

boule de neige

Elena's smile Snowball.

I love snowballs.

Wonderful creative connections.

A short moment ago, I was pondering on the magic of what a single project can entail… And rightly posted Elizabeth’s constellation (see blog entry below).

Well, here comes the other, as another wonderful offshoot from NTS IGNITION (see March blog entries).

A voice, a world so ethereal. A name,

Elena Piras

Enjoy 🙂

And get the CD, Journey, it is awesome! 

4 Comments

Filed under 2013, 60N, celebration, colours, geopoetics, home, island, life, poets, project, shetland, spirit, spring