Tag Archives: spring

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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petite poésie de nuit 

 

Perles de pluie  

In their hundreds 

against your

door,

the

whole of

March outside your eyes.

#micropoetry #geopoetics fae #60N 

— Sandwick, 22 March 2016

————–

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March extraordinaire

   I always have to make things up to distract my heart from this one.
Month of rainbows, dark and tears, March is the wild beast in my head. This year, for the very first time, it feels somewhat different.

Time-tight schedules, activities that keep my soul right off the edge of oblivion, March is flying like a comet.

   Some extraordinary meeting with amazing poets, including freshly former Makar (Scotland’s National Poet) Liz Lochhead – as pictured above – during a night of poetry at the Shetland Library; whilst reconvening with Welsh-born Emma van Woerkom, on a short-stay on the island for our local fire festival (SMUHA) proved so much light and breaths of fresh air!   

 Such two slices of life took me temporarily from my ivory tower,  as Compass Head is mutating into a book 🙂

     Light has returned on the island, and with it, the spirit of #voar, “planting season” as we know it on the windswept, wild 60N latitude.
There’s still a few miles to go, but it looks bright till publication. 

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hors d’oeuvre

Pre-lunch poetics, clad in rouge or dark pink, as sensual as a early blossoms. 


Your Way to Kiss a Hummingbird

Pucker your lips,

clad them scarlet as flowers –

feel its wingbeats 

against your

cheeks,

heart

won’t

resist sugar 

nectar.

It is

La saison du désir.

  

#geopoetics fae #60N

© Nat Hall 2015 

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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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showtime

more than a hope, a miracle!

Woke up in rain, and went to school as a normal end of a week… And as I sat by the window, clouds broke at the exact moment! So we witnessed a spectacle of moon & sun at the end of the first period, Social Subject… The atmosphere was electric.



Pupils & staff from the AHS witnessed something really special behind windows filled with salt spray!



98% of eclipse.   It darkened up for a short while 🙂 

And now, just business as normal.



Welcome to spring, everybody – eclipse & Vernal Equinox… What a doublĂ© 🙂

What a magic celestial show! 

Tour de Force

I did not want to believe it.

Blue

tossed a sky doomed

with dark clouds

tangled in 

rain &

Equinox. 

Blue 

celestial, 

sweet twist of fate,

where 

we wander 

inside a game of

moon & sun,

behind 

glass 

filled with 

fowl spitting waterworld, air

charged with sun-kissed particles

glued against panes,

buds of ocean

to remind us

where we

belong;

all 

went

quiet round

Bressay Sound –

sparrows and gulls

silenced by

shade,

might of

the 

tiny 

satellite. 

Day 

against night,

eerie,

ethereal,

   beautiful.

© Nat Hall 2015 

——— Lerwick, 20 March 2015,

Day of solar eclipse & Equinox 🙂  

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magic

rejoicing heart as the island regains light, clouds and frees itself from night’s shackles; celestial scapes gain in grandeur,

there,

I feel insignificant among earth, sky, the many voices in the wind,

relentless,

barren to the will of renaissance,

life’s many seeds still 

to be born out of

a womb free

from 

sorrow 

and icicles.

© Nat Hall 2015





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