Anniversary approaching

By Tracy

Our son Tim recently found this old photo which we thought we'd share as we are soon to mark our thirtieth anniversary of being together, and it was taken around the time we were first married. (In Fremantle.) It was a very simple wedding, with our publishers as our two witnesses -- and that was it...

 

 

 

 

Remembering Mhairi

 

We met as Sparks — Diverging Flints

Sent various — scattered ways —

We parted as the Central Flint

Were cloven with an Adze —

Subsisting on the Light We bore

Before We felt the Dark —

A Flint unto this Day — perhaps —

But for that single Spark.

                                                        (Emily Dickinson, from Wikisource, public domain)

That's a poem for her, my long-ago friend. And now, bells for her...

Long ago, Mhairi gave me Tori Amos's To Venus and Back, and today, a year on from her passing, I listen to "Bells for Her", the live version from that album. There's also a beautiful original studio version of this song on Under the Pink.

As I've mentioned before, Mhairi played the piano (beautifully), and often played Tori's music on it, as well as more classical and experimental work.

One year today she has been gone.

Now that April's (almost) there...

By Tracy

This northern spring marks twenty years since John & I first came to Cambridge together  (we'd been two years married at that point).

Photo by Tim Kinsella

In the grounds of Churchill College

Today, back here after Germany, we met the same beautiful spring weather as twenty years ago (though it's due to turn not-so-lovely from tomorrow).

Churchill daffodils, 2016

Daffodils are out everywhere, and in town the Easter crowds have been enjoying the sunshine.

Here's a section from a poem John wrote in Cambridge back in the early days here, in 1996, and published in Fenland Pastorals (Prest Root Press, 1998)... The poem is called "Triptych: Poems from Churchill College, Cambridge".

3. Seed Cases 

                        for Tracy

Dark clouds thicken overhead

but there's not enough moisture

in the air to prevent the cracking

of seed cases: that crackling

like fire in undergrowth,

or water exploding on hot metal.

A partial collusion of the elements—

only the fifth element missing,

as if the eponymous has no part

in the moment. You hear the seed cases

opening and searching your memory

for a name, a species, find nothing.

But it's a familiar sound—it brings back

Dryandra Forest in the South-West

of Australia. Even the hemisphere

is different. The brain struggles

with location. It's the moment

of aloneness that's captured you,

when nameless plants execute

their cycles. People are absent.

A robin glows nearby. You know

its name and it knows yours. It is wary

and you remain still. The seed falls
and covers friable earth like snow.

And here's one from my early Cambridge days, again an extract from a longer sequence called "Noli Me Tangere", written at Easter in 1996 and published in The Willing Eye (Fremantle Press & Bloodaxe, 1999 & 2000). (Back then I was still working my way out of the Christian faith in which I had grown up; I now have no belief in formal religion. Doubt was showing in the fuller version of this poem...) Note that the fickle Cambridge weather is in there already! The seasons no longer offering stable metaphors were a reference to the fact that climate change was already very noticeable, back when we had no Google yet and email was brand new to us.


5
Faith blows hot & cold
as Cambridge in spring
where late snow dissipates
before reaching any surface
where nothing penetrates

where those who drank in
yesterday's sun
are caught out now, ill-dressed
for this fickleness,

for this world whose seasons
no longer offer
stable metaphors for
spiritual states.

But then you were never
afraid of change
God of transitions
God of this Easter

constant & steadfast only
in your refusal
to be pinned there.


One of the things John likes about Churchill College is that its chapel is ecumenical (in fact his play "Ecumenical" was performed in that chapel in 2012, directed by Tim Cribb).

And here's a pic of the two of us in the early Cambridge days, in the same flats where we are now and have spent much time over those 20 years. (John used to get a lot more sun in those days, before skin cancers took their toll!)

Photo by Bettina Keil

21st Anniversary Poem for Tracy

Night Parrot Privacy

            for Tracy

They say if enough are found

we might be able to take

a look — imagine

how much they'd be worth

to a thief! a scientist conjectures.

Scientist: networked being

of authority, autonomous

from the non-scientist.

But the excitement of the small

live bird in the hand, he says.

The dusk-into-night shrill flights,

the bowers on ranging land,

a giant cattle spread.

Secret location — weirding

form of bio-security,

memory refound but lost

to the grooves worn by cattle,

the privations of science

& the business

of survival.

           love,

           John

For my late and former teacher

by Tracy

You always found something more

to show me, shed light on, as if it

couldn’t be helped, as if no matter what

we did, over a decade, to shift it

from this foot to that, rearrange

some shared mental furniture,

we were fixed in one relation:

I still had things to learn. And I do.

Now you continue, demonstrating

just what a year means, the ache, the worth,

the heft of it – even the empty weight:

this year of you gone.

                                       But please go on,

pay no heed to interruption –

when the day’s late and you really ought

to get home, students will always hold you back

                 with one last question.

Anniversaire de Brel

By Tracy

Since today, had he lived, would have been Jacques Brel's 79th birthday, I'll merely post a quote from him:

Ce qui compte dans la vie, c'est l'intensité d'une vie, pas la durée d'une vie.

(What counts in a life is its intensity, not its duration.)