Rereading a review by Hilary Mantel of CS Lewis’s writing on grief – Guardian Saturday 24th December 2014 I came across a quote from Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking…which led me to another…
“This is my attempt to make sense of the period that followed, weeks and then months that cut loose any fixed idea I had ever had about death, about illness, about probability and luck, about good fortune and bad, about marriage and children and memory, about grief, about the ways in which people do and do not deal with the fact that life ends, about the shallowness of sanity, about life itself. I have been a writer my entire life. As a writer, even as a child, long before what I wrote began to be published, I developed a sense that meaning itself was resident in the rhythms of words and sentences and paragraphs, a technique for withholding whatever it was I thought or believed behind an increasingly impenetrable polish. The way I write is who I am, or have become, yet this is a case in which I wish I had instead of words and their rhythms a cutting room, equipped with an Avid, a digital editing system on which I could touch a key and collapse the sequence of time, show you simultaneously all the frames of memory that come to me now, let you pick the takes, the marginally different expressions, the variant readings of the same lines. This is a case in which I need more than words to find the meaning. This is a case in which I need whatever it is I think or believe to be penetrable, if only for myself.”
― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking
When the instrument sings and the dance begins…and the words are always there…
Storm song of the Hawthorn
Gales come and gales blow
Its winter out on the hill
Gales come and gales go
Streams and rivers filled
The land flooded and full
Rainwater has nowhere to flow
And we hope for the lull
But still the storms blow.
And the Hawthorn still sings
Tribute to Astrid Lindgren’s “The Fox and the Tomten”.
Pleased to hear that my work has been published in the Field edition of the online arts magazine The Learned Pig…
“Nations are created by poets and artists”
“More and more, he said, he sensed that Nature itself was groaning and collapsing beneath the burden we placed upon it.”
W G Sebald The Emigrants 1993.