BLOG OF THE WEEK - AN UPDATE WITH LAURA BLOOMSBURY

This week, my friends, we are flying across to London, England, to visit the poet Laura Bloomsbury, who blogs at Tell Tale Therapy - for the not so word shy. We haven't checked in with her in a while, so it will be good to get caught up. Let's pour some Twining's tea, for it is teatime in London. Draw your chairs up close and let's settle in.

Sherry: Laura, we last spoke with you in 2015. Would you bring us up to date with what you have been up to since then? 

Laura: “Time passes. Listen. Time Passes,” to quote Dylan Thomas and since we last spoke, it feels like nothing more than a day under Milkwood! I find it puzzling to measure time in pendulous years – rather it accelerates in uneventful nanoseconds. 

London South Bank,

the Thames in the foreground

There have been a couple of over-too-soon visits to different parts of Spain, though I’m laggardly in my approach to learning the lingo and the land is so vast I wish I had begun journeying there as a youth! 

Sherry: Spain! How lovely!

The rooftops of Seville 

Laura: Last year brought illness and injury – both of which I am more or less fully recovered from, and am feeling much less smug about my age and health now. Some recent hand surgery has put right an old injury.

Sherry: Oh, it is difficult for a poet to have one's hand immobilized! We are glad you are mending. In your busy life, how does poetry factor in? What do you love about having this means of creative expression? Do you have a set writing routine, or do you wait for inspiration to strike? 

Laura: The best of writers are disciplined with their time. Many keep diaries and set aside fixed routines, but I’m somewhat wayward and resist regimes. The idea of a notebook appeals in theory but I edit and re-edit constantly, so rely heavily on word processors. Any writing I do is jump-started by inspiration from others, whether it be in theme prompts or just reading. Certainly that helps broaden the topics. 

The Thames, London Cityscape 

At night I tend to listen more to audiobooks and poetry readings – it gives my eyesight a rest and alerts the ears to the beauty of the word. (I have even begun to record some of my own poems – tentatively). More recently, snatches of inspiration arrive when I walk around the streets and parks of London, which I try to do at least three times a week.

Sherry: That sounds like a perfect array of inspiration! Are there three poems you would like to share with us? And tell us a bit about each one?

Laura: I welcome the chance to review some poems and have snatched three simpler, shorter ones from 2017, beginning in January, and my first serious brush with hospital. I was struck by how illness forges a community in the midst of very personal struggle.

In Recovery

We came from all directions
a caravan of tatters

To the uninitiated this passage
of peoples must look as random as a rout
a driven seasonal ritual or word-of-mouth
pilgrimage to hear a prophet speak
of reasons and unfathomable answers

Some of us left there
bewildered by the pitiless nature of affliction
and the core of humanity that smoulders
in such fevered ashes

This second poem starts light-heartedly and exhibits the pull-push of the Romantic versus the Realist. The latter usually wins. It also has a play on words as title – something I am particularly fond of - beginning with a reference to an Ava Gardner film.

Bare Souls

a Contessa went barefoot once
in a touch of inverted snobbery
Hollywood’s requisite razzle-dazzle

at times we have all downed our shoes
there in the sand to run against the grains
or discarded killer heels after the first dance

barefoot conjures carefree
more often though it is just beggardom
hardening the soles

soldiers strip the dead for boots
going hell for leather on their long march
hungry enough to eat the hide

This last poem is quite simply a seasonal ode, contrasting temperatures and conjuring panic at the pace of time as another year draws towards its end. It employs the image of stone as both wintry metaphor and summer memory.

November Now

Now the calendar has turned about face
grudgingly I give the penultimate nod to November
scenic layers of litter in umber tones for an umbral burial
the earth moulders – inert in stone cold wormholes
though songbird throats are warming up some melodies

my own throat narrows in panic at this headlong hurtle of a pace
hands close over the marled and mindful meditation stone
smooth as toffee but without its mid-summer glimmer
the coruscation that urged me to lift it from layers of beach litter
– after all it is November now

Veterans at Whitehall, London

Sherry: Your poems are wonderful, Laura! Thank you so much! I feel the pace of time alarmingly, as well,  so I resonate with your words. Do you have any  writing plans or objectives for 2018?

Laura: I once attended a Masterclass with a renowned British writer who was encouraging but felt that my own voice was somewhat stifled. It takes time to find that voice – maybe I should learn how to sing (how I wish I could have sung with a band instead of just singalonging! ) Thus any intentions I may have are simply to keep writing and, since by nature I’m a naturalist, I’d like to write more in this vein, as honestly as John Clare for example…though I am easily seduced into using more oblique figures of speech around intangible topics!

Leaving London for a quieter and more affordable life is on the cards, though still only sketched out on paper. Also for many years I have tended the gardens of others and would wish for one of my own before I become too infirm.

Sherry: Some space for a garden plot sounds like a dream worth working towards. I do hope you make that happen. Life does slow its pace, out of the city!  Do you have any plans for travel in the coming year?

Laura: Much of my travel is day tripping or going off to visit loved ones, as we have sown the seed and scattered – though still within reach. I am considering another visit to Spain by combining a language course with my other hobby – photography – but that is in the ether. Other than that, I like to take the train and visit or even re-visit parts of England and explore our green and pleasant land whilst we still have it. My roots lie in Dorset and that is where I am planning to plant myself eventually.

Coastal Dorset, Bournemouth

Sherry: I can see why you hope to return to the coast. So beautiful! Your photography is stunning, Laura. Thanks for sharing some of your work with us in this feature. Let's take a look at some of your digital art.

Fetter Lane Office Reflections

Cove with Church in Sepia

Sherry: These are so beautiful, Laura! Truly works of art. What other activities do you enjoy when you aren’t writing, or taking photos?

Seedheads - an Abstract Drip Painting

Laura: In short, walking and going to the gym, the occasional cinema and salubrious dining, Tai Chi and Chi Gung, gardening, creating digital art, as well as reading and cooking simple, healthy meals for two – but not necessarily in this order!

Sherry: It all sounds wonderful. We so appreciate your sticking with Poets United, Laura, over the years. Do you have anything to say to our community?

Laura: Yes indeed! Without Poets United I would never have ventured so far and for so long into poetry. Previously my attempts were erratic and covert, driven first by a childlike love for nature and then as immature lover. This community was the first safe and constructive place to consistently lay out my lines. Thank you one and all for your encouragements.

And of course, many thanks to you Sherry for these interviews which offer insights into our fellow poets and keep us in unison.

Sherry: Poets United has been all of that for me, too, Laura. Thank you very much for your kind words. And for this lovely visit today! We look forward to enjoying much more of your poetry and photographic art.

Wasn't this a lovely visit, my friends? Do come back and see who we talk to next. Who knows? (for I don't, at this particular moment!) It might be you!

POEMS OF THE WEEK ~ The Poet in Political Times ~ Poems by Colleen, Annell and Laura

As these are topsy-turvy times, politically, I've noticed several poets, who normally are not very political, have been moved to write about their feelings. Since many of us feel the same way, I thought it might be timely to feature the following poems,  written by  Colleen Redman of Loose Leaf Notes, Annell Livingston of Some Things I Think About,  and Laura Bloomsbury of Tell Tale Therapy.  The poet often mirrors what is happening in society, as these examples illustrate so well.

THE FIRST 100 DAYS

In the first 100 days
I’ve read more than 100 stories
about corruption, collusion
incompetence and lies

I’ve tried to explain a president
who insults people to my grandsons
and played out thoughts of nuclear war

I’ve been heartbroken and rudely awakened
thinking about uninsured sick people dying
and the little North Korean refugee
who cried when she said, “armed with knives
we were prepared to kill ourselves
if we were going to be sent back”

In the first 100 days
I’ve looked up narcissism
fascism, white supremacy and dark money
I’ve gone to bed unnerved
and woke up feeling dirty

I’ve signed petitions
shared information
and haven’t been able to forget
“grab them by the pussy”
“beat the crap out of them
I’ll pay your legal fees”

For at least 100 days
I’ve been drowning in a swamp
a snake oil con of billionaires
burning bridges and rattling sabers
while trying to convince me
the world is flat

I’ve mourned the disregard of facts
of common sense and science
I’ve felt threatened, held hostage and robbed
watching corporate give-aways
and environmental protections signed away
like broken treaties
like blankets spreading small pox

I’ve watched the nightly news
for signs that it will stop
And for every one of those 100 days
I’ve said “This is not okay”

Sherry: I have said the same thing, Colleen. My heart is sickened at what is happening. I never thought I would see such things in North America. I truly thought democracy meant that this could never happen here. That there are checks and balances to prevent just such a thing. They don't seem to be working.

Colleen: I wrote The First 100 Days during the hype over Trump’s first 100 days in office.  I wanted to turn the notion of reviewing his first 100 days around to document the toll his presidency has had on me as an American citizen, and I know I am not alone.  I was tired of writing commentary and sharing information on Facebook about his alienating our allies and denigrating U.S. journalists, his conflicts of interests, his appointees who want to dismantle the agencies they head and his lifting environmental protections (Did you know that mining companies can dump waste in rivers now?)  I had just watched the video of the young North Korean refugee girl talking about how she and her family risked their lives to escape. It was heartbreaking, but a powerful way to humanize the refugee experience and our connections to each other.  Writing "The First 100 Days" helped me give voice to the emotion, fears and frustration that I’ve been feeling.  

Sherry: That video moved me very much too, Colleen. I encourage our members to watch it. And it is safe to say the first 100 days and those that followed have half the world agog in distress and disbelief. The words of your poem went straight to my heart. I worry what the next 100 days will bring. Thank you for sharing this poem. It has great impact.

Let's take a look at Annell's concerns about global warming, whose affects are increasingly being felt world-wide, even as the U.S. government naysayers deny its existence.

THERE IS NO GLOBAL WARMING

we are told          it is a closed system            the water we have

is all there is  and all there ever will be  we walk in the shadow of this reality

yet our very touch         dirties the water           that we drink   

we speak in whispered tones       the water clear         sparkling

begins as snow in the mountains   tumbles down in spring   we dip our loaded brush

and swish              all of the water turns blue            or orange…or green    

depending on what is in the brush  humans spoil everything   as we watch

we were given a miracle         a garden of eden              perfectly suited

           

and it is possible     there is no other place just like earth/scientists stare into their telescopes

we pin our hopes           on another world           the universe is vast                                                     

search for other planets            a place for us          when all is ruined

rancid              we have spoiled our nest           we need more resources

as if in a trance  we continue to live as if there is no tomorrow/plastic fills the oceans

floats on every ripple     we pump carbon waste into the air      we crack the earth

we can ignite the water      that comes from the tap     but we can no longer drink it

within we know what we have done     yet we deny it    say there is no global warming 

June 11, 2017

Sherry: You know how close to my heart this topic is, Annell, especially as it is happening at unprecedented rates, alarming world scientists, and the global response is far too little, and too slow. And without the U.S. working with other countries, there is little hope for improvement. The planet doesn't have four more years to not address the melting icecaps and the warming seas.

Annell: I began this poem in response to The Sunday Wordle, #303, June 10, 2017.  I love to use the wordles as a way to get into a poem,  I simply follow the words.  The words were: water, ripple, within, walk, ignite, shadow, pin, whisper, touch, trance, rancid, miracle.

I come to the Wordle as an empty vessel.  Have no idea what I am thinking about.  I really allow the words to lead me.  I often like to allow the first word to set the theme of the poem.  What I will be writing about.

I have highlighted the words, and perhaps you can see how each word sets up another idea.  I like to work in this way; I never know where I might go, or the destination when all is said and done.

In this poem I think I am talking about the “shadow side” of our species. Often much is done out of our sight.  We often don’t know.  It is probably past time to learn.  It may be too late?  I hope not.

Water is probably the most precious thing to our species.  We can’t live a healthy life or live very long without clean water.  I can remember when I learned that our system is a closed system and there will be no more water.  I wanted to say in my poem, how easy it is to make water dirty.  I was thinking of washing my paint brushes, and how just a little paint dirties all of the water in the container.  We are casual about water.  I don’t think when I lived on the coast I ever really thought about water, there was “water, water everywhere.”  But since I have come to the west, I have become aware how precious water is.  And if we dirty all the water, there will not be even a drop to drink.

We are told there are children around the world who do not have clean water to drink.

It does seem as humans, we just don’t think.  We spoil everything we touch, without consideration of others, or other species.  Oil companies spoil the water and walk away.

We use "ancient sunlight" to power our cars, our homes and industry, and it is pumped into the atmosphere by the ton.  

I was thinking about how we try to find another perfect place, another planet, that would support life.  And isn’t that silly, we had a perfect place, but we have not held it sacred. 

Then I began to think about the oceans and how we use plastic and casually toss it away, "out of sight, out of mind", and we are told it ends in the oceans.  It is said most sea creatures have plastic particles in them.  It floats on the ocean, and they eat it, we eat them, and we then have plastic particles in us. This cannot be good.  We have fouled our “nest,” and there is a price to pay.

We are told when they frack, they force toxins into the earth, and people can ignite the water from the tap.  This water is not water we can drink.  Some of our leaders in Washington deny what we know. 

Sherry:   We don't deserve another planet, even if such were possible, though it isn't. The plastic problem is a huge one, that also needs to be addressed. When people talk about throwing things away, I recall my friend saying "There is no 'away'". And there isn't.  Thank you, Annell, for adding your voice to this conversation, and reminding us to think about what we have always taken for granted, for it may not be here in such abundance for long.                       

Let's read Laura's poem now, which adds a note of hope to end this feature with, encouraging us to fan the flames of light in darkening times. Lord knows, we need some light. And some hope. And what we need most of all is social justice.

FAN THE FLAMES

Please…

no more changing avatars to country flags
no more flowers and balloons
no more empty mouthings
no more bleeding hearts
no more clichés
no more..
please
no more blood lust
no more denial of evil
no more excuses for terror
no more tolerating intolerance
no more fanning the flames of hate

today is Pentecost  –
pray fan the flames of

love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control

Sherry: Thank you for this poem, Laura. Your words go straight to our hearts. We long for a world of social justice, kindness and peace. May we all fan those flames, in the face of all that is opposite. May we resist, and persist.

Laura: Firstly, so uncertain was I of publishing this personally political piece that I posted it under the WordPress quickie format of an 'aside' rather than the standard blog post. I had considered deleting it shortly after, because it belonged to a particular moment in time - troubled times for London...and Manchester..and Kabul - stretching beyond though to the myriad places of terrorism.

It is a double-edged poem and I use that term cautiously. There is repressed anger, rising resentment, and the bile of hate-filled feelings, tempered by tremendous sadness at such horrors, as well as taking the Christian message by the horns and looking for all those counter-intuitive responses of cheek turning. The day of the London Bridge attack was, after all, Pentecost, hence the title. Fanning the flames of hate or spiritual growth - it is a choice.

This is certainly not a mealy-mouthed poem because, when I give way to personal expression in public, I tend to refute political correctness. Free speech is, after all, freedom to speak and not to mouth the herd view or be muzzled by hegemony. Hence the first half displays an antipathy to the public outpourings as the mass trivia of teddies and balloons etc.  Whilst the second half castigates the perpetrators and then ourselves as both masochistically tolerant of abuse and invokers of its causes.

The format is almost one of a biblical edict - part demand, part pleading. It has a concrete shape resembling the letter K - for killing? Karma? There was no planning - the words fell into place and shape in a few short spontaneous moments.

Sherry: Thank you for your courage in posting it and for giving voice to the universal plea for an end to this madness. We are all getting more political, as what we are seeing around us is not the world we want to live in, or leave behind for our grandchildren. I love that you point out it is a choice, whether we fan the flames of hate or spiritual growth.

Thanks for allowing us to end this feature with a note of hope - that more and more of us will fan those flames of compassion and goodness towards a better world.

We hope you take away something positive and inspiring from these fine poems, my friends. And do come back to see who we talk to next. Who knows? It might be you!

Life of a Poet ~ Laura Bloomsbury

Today, my friends, we are flying across the Pond to visit Laura Bloomsbury, in London, England. Laura writes at Tell Tale Therapy, and you likely have read some of her poems in recent weeks. I wanted to stop by and let her know how happy we are she found Poets United. I am pretty sure we will be arriving right at tea-time, so let's all share a pot of Earl Grey tea, while we chat. There is bound to be a crackling fire against the November chill, which will be most welcome. If there isn't, we will invent one, because we can do that, here.