Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts

A New Direction

 

https://on.soundcloud.com/LR83k

Some of you may have been wondering why I have been quiet recently. 

I have been busily working on a new project, which is starting to come to fruition. 

Above is a link to the first track of my forthcoming album. Check it out and let me know what you think. 


Love always. Xx

Manx Lit Fest 2015 - Ep.1.

This year's Manx LitFest was a whirl of inspiration for me.

I managed to attend more events than last year, but still not all of the things I wanted. I thoroughly indulged myself and it was most refreshing.

My joys ranged from Matthew Kneale, to Jason Lewis, to the Famous Five, to all the outstanding local poets and storytellers and to Viviane Schwarz.

While I will get around to talking about the other events, it is Viviane Schwarz that I would like to talk to you about today.

Followers of this blog will know that I sketch from time to time and my friends will know that I used to create collages and overly-complicated postcards with interactive pull-downs and pop ups. You may also have noticed that I haven't done this in a little while. With this in mind and a yearning to return to it, I took part in a workshop given by Viviane during Lit Fest.
We swirled vivid colours, created characters and writing implements, learned about stagecraft in relation to the performative aspect of picture books and one of us may have stabbed herself in the finger by accident. (don't worry, it's all healed now.)
Since the workshop I have used the things I learned to create a dummy book of my poem Perdita and have been swooshing about on big pieces of paper with paintbrushes and richly hued inks. It's wonderful.

Yesterday, I tried combining my Eames and Yellow Owl Workshop stamps with some characters. Here's the result:

The best thing was that my son was interested in what I was doing and wanted to join in, but sadly it was too late and he had to go to bed.

This morning, he woke me up with this:


The figure on the left is saying "Fly, my pretty, fly!"
The figure in the middle is saying "Wait!"
The figure on the left is saying "Darling, can you stop saying that?"


Thanks for the inspiration, Viv. Xxxx

International Women's Day 2015

Yesterday was International Women's Day.

To mark this occasion I was invited up to Manx Radio to take part in a live challenge as part of a Women Today special program.  This year's theme for Women's Day is "Make it Happen" and the challenge was to Make something Happen in the two hours we were on the air.

The challenge was to write a poem.  In two hours.  With specific items. And then, half way through the challenge, extra words were added to be included.

(I don't know if any of you guys knows Triple J in Australia and the Song in an Hour challenge with the group Tripod, but it was a bit like that. Those guys are absolutely hilarious. If you don't know them you should check them out.)

The items:
The Venus symbol.
A ring.

The words to be included:
Yesterday, today, tomorrow.

I had a whale of a time and can't wait for the next challenge. Pressure calls the muse wonderfully well. The resulting poem is below. Huge thank yous to everyone on the Women Today team, but especially Kate Holland for being a star. Xxxx


For International Women’s Day
I’m sitting here on Women Today.
Challenge set and yet I find
confusion in these female signs.
Venus: lollipop with cross
since renaissance thaw of cultural frost
has meant the 51%
in shorthand for illiteracy’s argument.
Distaff, mirror, domesticity,
spinning the fabric of life through history.
The Norse Gods though, gave Freya this power;
Spinning the clouds while from raindrops men cowered.
The archetypal figures of fate-
Lachesis, Clotho, Atropos make
us realise the strength held within
the masterminding of the tangled skein.
And if life’s a tapestry as sang Carole King
What now do we think of the gilded ring?
The fourth finger on the sinister hand
Has a vein to the heart, or so folk understand
In times gone by... (Look, I know, I tried.
My tenses are out, but time’s not on my side.)
Miniature yokes of marital oppression
Or religious symbol of soul felt confession
Or one to bring them, and in the darkness bind them
Or heirlooms passed down with memories inside them.
What change do they make, these circles of fidelity?
Do you wake up one morning and believe in eternity?
And if you do, don’t you think you should start
on the immediate world making your mark?
We’re talking today about Making It Happen
in reality, not just in worlds we’ve imagined.
The movement was started in 1909
by New York socialists supporting a strike
of the Union of Ladies’ Garment Workers.
Great shouts will grow from grass root murmurs.
The advancements we've made in society over all
in a century of campaigns, of fighting, of appall -
- ing misdeeds and practices we’re trying to assign
to yesterdays. To the unenlightened times.
To change the world there’s a secret trick
that I learned while working on a cross-stitch.
It’s that tiny actions eventually make
tomorrow’s reality yours to take.
Even one step is one step closer.
Take your time, keep the faith, retain your composure.
You won’t believe when they all combine
how far you can go, one step at a time.
Identifying lacks is all very well
but unless you do something, don’t bother to tell
me you’re bored, you’re unhappy, there’s nothing to do.
This is opportunity.  It’s up to you
to fill in that gap; to give your life meaning;
to refuse to do anything you find demeaning.
The theme for this year is most motivational.
Look out for figures unassuming and inspirational.
How much did your mother give up for you?
And those people doing what you want to do
have just accepted the greater timeline.
They don’t give up in the face of bad signs.
So Women Today celebrate femininity.
Embrace your power.  Salute your divinity.
Do that thing you've always wanted to do.
Make no excuses, just steps to the new.

Inspiration

That intake of breath
Of fresh
Air.
Bringer of new ideas
Unfair
-ly mined
By a dozen minds
Or more.
These spores of thought
Are cultivated
Through mediums and means
Averages avoided in passionate extremes.
We find it
All
In scattered places.
Lost and founds
Fractals
Faces
Forms of clouds and outer space;

Equally in the grotesque.

Sparks flare catching
Clutching
At life.

Kindled by contemplation
Fuelled by frustration
Ventilated by imagination
Tempered by the midnight oils
As we watch our best laid plans

Burn.
We learn.
We turn to disciplines unschooled.
We spool our nets far and wide
Outside our comfort quarters.
Research has shown us one path
But doubt is crazy paving.
Stop saving for that rainy day
And discover for yourself,
your truth.
“I think therefore I am”
Is all we really know.
Why spend your precious life collecting objects just for show?

It’s not the breaths you take,
It’s the breaths that’re taken from you
It’s the things you make them feel
It’s the ones who matter and mind

It’s a million people just like me
Telling a million people how to see
The world, the truth, society
As if there’s just one
answer.
As if I somehow know better.
In my oh-so-limited life.
 I don’t
and never will have
The answer.

All is confusion.
All is loss.

Why try to mold this chaos
 after your image
When your image is only
Breath in frost.

You cannot force the muse
Or trick her into her prettiest dance.
You cannot even ask her for help
For fear of her reprisals.

Abandonment comes naturally to one so self-involved.
And artists such as we all are are not sufficiently evolved
to survive such isolation.

Frost bites back.


Nothing is Greater

I'm Patsy. I'm Margot. I'm Daisy. I'm Zelda. I'm Tallulah. I'm Billie. I'm Janis. I'm Amy. I'm Amanda. I'm Bjork. I'm Courtney. I'm Joni. I'm Melanie. I'm Bonnie. I'm Kate. I'm Kate. I'm Lisbeth. I'm Naomi. I'm Alison. I'm Lara. I'm Joanna. I'm Glenda. I'm Emily. I'm Jane. I'm Daria. I'm Tori. I'm Miriam. I'm Missy. I'm Mindy.I'm Jeannie. I'm Morticia. I'm Amelia. I'm Erin. I'm Lily. I'm Lillith. I'm Luna. I'm Tilda. I'm Bliss. I'm Alice. I'm Lotta. I'm Davey. I'm Darryl. I'm Judy. I'm Stevie. I'm Stevie. I'm Anathema. I'm Mary.




I was thinking about influences and inspirations. We are all the result of all we absorb, adore and those with whom we identify. The above are some of my parts.

Who are you?

TEDxDouglas


On the 10th November, I will be performing poetry at the first TEDxDouglas event. I feel immensely honoured by this and wanted to pay tribute to the movement. For details about tickets and other speakers please go to
 www.tedxdouglas.im


Univocalism for Mark Grist

Go boldly, Vox; not long.
Toll for joy or glow for glory.
Now, hop off.
On words.
On show.
On story.
Form worlds from orbs of sorrow.
Grow onyx onto frost.
Yon lofty owl or shock prof,
do good for song-boys lost.
Hold on to shows on Rocks, bro,
of R-words - protocol shot.
Of rosy-fond folk of whom
Monty's (not oddly) not forgot.

Hog Blop

So, this is not a poem.

I am breaking with my usual style to take part in a Blog Hop, nominated as I was by my delightful sister. You can find her musings on all things literary, triathlon and movie based at:

http://bookwormsandcofeemonsters.wordpress.com

This hop is all about writers and specifically, female writers. That's a broad genre. Who knows what you may follow by following the threads? Certainly not I, but I urge you to do just that. You may discover a new favourite.

And so to the exposition:

What Am I Working On/Writing?

I am (now, as ever) working on about five different poems of different types, for different purposes. I am trying to assemble something for the ManxLitFest Poetry Slam. I entered last year (and won! Yay!) with my poems No Apologies and Mystery of the Moon. One is most whimsical and the other is almost conversational in tone. I need to be able to show diversity and the performance has to be polished. I should add, the competition isn't until September. I don't want to give away too much about that just yet.
I am also working on a present for someone, which is taking longer than I thought it would and frustrating me. I keep having to remind myself that I can't force the muse. If someone figures out a way to do that, though, please let me know.
I am working on a dystopian series of poems set in Itsnotareal Town. The first few of these are already up on the blog, but more are required. The characters come to me in fits and starts, though. Oftentimes they are inspired by people I meet and are the result of traits amplified or amalgamated as required.
There are always a myriad of other rhymes and patterns going on in my head at any one time. This means that I must carry a book and pen at all times. Writing for me is compulsive. If inspiration hits and I cannot find anywhere to write I tremble, stutter and flush.
Yes. I am addicted to writing poetry.

How Does My Work/Writing Differ From Others Of Its Genre?

I'm not sure what genre I actually belong to.
Poetry is such a wide field and the variations on themes are massive. I tend to write for performance, which can mean that as printed word, the rhythm or pace are lost. I like to read other poets and found the communities on Google+ were really helpful, inspiring and supportive. When I finally found the courage to perform in public, I have found the same with the Isle of Man Poetry Society. Perhaps my difference is that I am somewhat confessional, honest, sometimes brutally. It is often preferable to write about false situations, things outside our own lives. Reflective poetry can so often become indulgent. I try to allow myself these indulgences, but balance them with poems about the world.
I think good poetry is honest poetry.
It's all about the feels.

Why Do I Write What I Do?
Did I just answer this above by accident? Maybe.
I write to clear my head. When I have strong feelings about something I find it rattles about in my head until I scrawl it over the page. If this comes out as lucid thought, so much the better. If not, I'll keep hold of it and try to channel it into something later. Some of the poems I write have been inspired by couplets I wrote 10+ years ago.
I'm a mother to a five year old child as well as a full time pharmaceutical dispenser. I adore my son and thoroughly believe that he keeps me on the straight and narrow. Without him I may well have run away and joined the circus, or ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. He is a great inspiration and a hell of a drain on my available writing time. Swings and roundabouts (are also things we enjoy).
Other times I write to escape. Some of the worlds my poems are based in are mirrors of this one. Sometimes they're allegorical.
I enjoy lucid dreaming on a fairly regular basis, as well as Alice in Wonderland Syndrome which affords me certain sensations and experiences impossible on the physical plane. The challenge is to translate these into a format that other people can share.
I'm still working on that.

How Does My Writing Process Work?

The time I have for writing is, as you can imagine, minimal.
I find myself staying up until silly-o-clock to complete things. It's usually a case of gestating ideas for a long time until they burst forth, fully-formed in phrasing and meter from my subconscious. When I work on something specifically, I am rarely as happy with the result and cannot help myself but pick and poke at the final result, as if it is a wound that I won't let heal.
Maybe the chaos is as important as the inspiration. Maybe the chaos is the inspiration.

Performance, however is something I have to prepare for thoroughly. It is as important as the words written, for this is how I convey my poems. For this, I lock myself in the toilet in the garage, where there is a mirror and perform to myself. It probably looks and sounds crazy. I am judging my performance and practicing. I try alternative stresses, look myself in the eye and try to separate from the image in the mirror. I found it a very good way to overcome stage fright. (yes, I suffer with it. Badly. My legs shake and will not stop. One day they will probably give way).
I would urge anyone performing poetry to do this, rather than recording yourself and watching it back. It's not as scary or off-putting as the sound of your own recorded voice.

Who's Next?

Well, the first person in my chain is Susan. She writes and suchlike over at :
http://inthevortexofthewhirl.blogspot.com/
as well as curating the 25 Awesome Poets and Me on Google+. She's supportive, wise and a wonderful person to have in your creative life. Just knowing that she's out there in the world makes me a more creative person. I keep promising her I'll be back and creating more often soon, and I WILL.

The last person I am sending you to is Fatma. Find her at:
http://www.fatmalatif.blogspot.com/
I love that she writes what she feels, her experiences, her angers, her desires. I love that she is eloquent in a way I can never be, spinning phrases and paragraphs that sweep me into her world completely. I don't follow her as closely as I should, which means I am regularly able to binge on her writing. A treat I allow myself gleefully.

It's supposed to be three women, but I am limiting myself to my favourites (outside of my sister who directed you here, obviously). I hope you've not found my ramblings too repetitive or dull. I can't wait to see who this hops to next.
Thanks for reading. Xxxx