Tag Archives: light

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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lumière

sumburgh lightI did not know what to expect.

Extreme Light North based at my favourite headland, Sumburgh Head, and so very aptly at my favourite lighthouse, where a troupe, led by Clare Duffy, has a very precise project.

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!

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Jacqui Clark & her balloon adventure

With gracious thanks to Jacqui Clark and Lucy for nurturing me at such event.

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with Lucy from the Extreme Light Project, 18 August 2018

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.

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lumière

 

Eight years. A drop in the ocean in the planet’s history, time needed to reconvene with a Provençal sunrise. 

There is something special with Mediterranean light. At the beginning of spring, deep blue begins to shine and weigh its seasonal hues. The odd clouds still stain its sense of azurite majesty, but with it comes a return to heat waves.

 

Eight years to enjoy the flowers of trees, the peach (as above in pale pink) and the cherry blossoms. Eight years ago, they felt a placebo onto a wound so deeply rooted in my heart… The kind of wound that needs that amount of time to begin to heal. The loss of a loved one inflicts such a deep hole.

 

 Eight years to reconnect with a world and its places, people and poetics. Such amount of time allows you to rediscover it all with fresh eyes. 

What a joy to step back into the old geopoetical sphere, once so familiar – from the colline and cĂ´teau to the edge of the Med & the old delta of the RhĂ´ne and its wonderful wildlife, via the majesty of Mourre Nègre, top point of Grand Luberon – Giono’s Blue Whale. 

Land-, Sky-, scapes, coloured and fashioned for the one who dreams. 

   

      

Eight years as if it was yesterday. 

Bonnieux, Lourmarin & La VallĂ©e d’Aigues, Camargue and Aix-en-Provence feel eternal, steeped into that ancient land.  And yet, you feel au pays de la soif… 

La terre, as defined by Giono, feels both generous and cruel. It fashions man in many ways. From aridity to madness. 

It is certainly home to a plethora of life, wild & tamed by man… And yet it does not feel like home.

   

      

And if home is my 60N latitude, Provence remains a rite of passage in my life, with anchored love & friendships I still nurture with all my heart. 

 

 See you next year in your infatiguable blue 🙂

 

 

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nearing da simmerdim

Walk around Lerwick past midnight on a fine “simmerdim” night – or azure in colour, and marvel at the first astronomical light.
It is barely 01 something in the morning.
That array of magical pale pink-orange begins to glow against Bressay’s skyline.

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And as I leave the harbour, revellers disappear in between taxis…
Driving southbound to my 60N latitude, that daring sky blushes further. Azure & orange taint my eastern horizon.
It is both delicate and magical.

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No wonder why our breeding birds makes most of such light to rear their chicks. Light is paramount to find food…

Oh, and the sunrise looked spectacular too!

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light wanderings

It only takes a moment.
Be in the right place at the right time. Stand up and feel.

Plenitude found in one of those precious capsules of happiness when we align to earth and sea – feel at one with our homeworld.
As life allows, such communion with our land- (or sea-) scapes should not feel privileged moments, but natural ones.

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My nearest safe haven of now remains my local favourite beach. As a longer weekend loomed on the calendar, I took full advantage of it.
So I wandered down to the shore and locked my heart into the now

Here, my homeworld in panoramic 🙂
I had the whole of the beach, sea and sky to myself. I listened to the wind and waves in the shoormal, where sand and shells shift.

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20140227-095430.jpgSheer plenitude in such moments, topped up by magic northern lights way past twilight.

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Thank you for all this wonderful magic!

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water & light

Have you ever travelled to the edge of a dormant volcano and stood before the great ocean? Eshaness offers this.
Apparently,
It even share rocks with Nova Scotia 🙂
On the way, the lens captured amazing light. Here it is, in November’s splendour.

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Stanes –
out on the edge of the dormant volcano,
earth crust shrapnel,
Eshaness in my
hand.
#micropoetry fae #60N

© Nat Hall 2013

I came home with a pocket full of stones, eyes and heart filled with light and memories.

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