The stars are in our belly; the Milky Way our umbilicus.
Is it a consolation that the stuff of which we’re made
is star-stuff too?
– That wherever you go you can never fully disappear –
dispersal only: carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen.
Tree, rain, coal, glow-worm, horse, gnat, rock.
Thursday, 22 September 2016
incantation for the witch's house
There is so much I want to write about, but frustratingly I've had no time, for the best possible reasons: doing the work I love.
3 weeks in the beautiful French mountains running two intensive and fulfilling writing retreats back-to-back, home for a few days where I was laid low again with viral labyrinthitis, then 3 days (3 rather wobbly days, but very rewarding) working with Swiss Baccalaureate students who join me every year (courtesy of my friend B) to explore Dartmoor and the Devon and Cornwall coasts with creative and environmental writing.
It's past 9pm on Thursday night and I still haven't finished the stacked-up work I came back to and was too ill to do between the two lots of courses. But it's lovely to distract myself with a holding-post blog, and I wanted to share this picture of a tiny mouse, too young to be fearful, inches away from where I was squatting, and rolling back its acorn (it may not be clear in this picture but that's what it's gnawing) when it bounced away.
And now, tomorrow, it's my birthday so a treat is to spend the day out on the moor again visiting Devon Artists' Network's Open Studios (of which I was also a part a few years ago in my parallel life – then – as a painter).
So, here's a little thing. Going through some old boxes earlier I found a postcard of this poem I wrote. It comes from a year-long poetry residency I did in Hestercombe Gardens in Somerset as part of the Year of the Artist in 2000-2001, working collaboratively as one of a team of multidisciplinary artists, Genius Loci (the other 7 were visual and sound people):
Wind the witches' way
Be language of daisy
Read pipistrelle song, ride the crow's flight
Weave spells of bird-tracks on winter sky
Be crowned with mistletoe and ivy
Scry the light in the moon-pool's silver eye
Be dawn, be dusk,
Be the star-stung face
Of night embracing day.
© Roselle Angwin; poem displayed in The Witch's House at Hestercombe, 2000
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