Fog and Autumn, Poems and Photos

 

Treasure

The trees are poorer for their gold is gone.

Spilled their jewels.

Rich are the creatures who thrive in it,

grow from its colour.

Things inside us

I see things that are inside us,

an old anatomy model, a lung, a liver,

hundreds of miles of capillaries,

nerve endings screaming in their cold nakedness.

Metamorphoses

I caught the silver birches dancing in the fog.

They stopped still.

Hoping I hadn’t noticed.

They are not vengeful.

I am not Actaeon.

Silk

A garrotte of spider silk,

drapes the brambles,

the barbed metal,

burdened with tears,

the weaver waits,

for light.

Shroud

I once read that dying trees,

burst into vibrant green,

a last defiance.

It’s not a dress,

it’s a shroud.

The Stare

Caught in a Gorgon’s stare and

petrified.

 

Mud

The fog paints away

the familiar

All I have is

ditches in the field

turned earth

clay

mud

I’m walking inside

a teardrop.

I can touch

my horizon.

Sun

The sun’s breaking through,

The secret world

will be gone soon

Words and photos © Mel Melis

The Squirrel, the Magpie and William Blake

 

I looked out of the window this morning and rather than the usual gang of squirrels hanging around at the bottom of the bird feeder picking up scattered nuts, seeds and titbits there was only one.

(They can’t climb the bird feeder due to the ingenious “baffle” we’ve installed – otherwise they’d scoff everything and bully the birds away).

This one squirrel was busy burying items on the lawn, no doubt to eat and savour at a later date when the weather wouldn’t be so mild. He or she was totally oblivious to the Magpie, trotting along behind it, so when the squirrel moved on, the magpie would dig up whatever was buried and eat it.

Now squirrels are undoubtedly intelligent, their problem solving skills are second to none, but the magpie had street smarts. It was fascinating and had I not been ill and slow moving this morning, I might have been distracted and missed the little drama.

That, the sunset this evening and a walk on the moors the earlier this week where I got some beautiful photos of barren winter trees against the backdrop of the burning sunset reminded me of a quote by William Blake.

The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the Eyes of others only a Green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all Ridicule and Deformity, and by these I shall not regulate my proportions; and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the Eyes of the Man of Imagination, Nature is Imagination itself.

Which leads on to the “William Blake, Apprentice and Master” exhibition I visited with my friend Mike a couple of weekends ago at the Ashmolean in Oxford.

I’ve always been fascinated with Blake, I’m no expert by any means, but like many people and subjects I know enough to keep me captivated and wanting to read and witness more.

He was a strange, radical, revolutionary, spiritual figure, devoted and excelling in many mediums, the written word, art, craft. Paradoxically loved and admired by people of both left and right (the hymn Jerusalem being used as the anthem for the labour movement and owned by the Suffragette cause), and by those with faith and those without.

The exhibition concentrated, as you would expect from the title on Blake’s growth as an artist and poet, from childhood to death, his influences and loves and how he honed his craft. It also focuses on the techniques he used, and innovations he created especially in printmaking (the video in the link above gives an insight). It has many beautiful examples of his work as well as a narrative on his life. My favourite items are his work illustrating Dante’s Inferno, so effortless and beautiful. One example below.

Dante and Virgil Penetrating the Forest - Picture Credit (Tate)

And the recreation of his studio in Lambeth was revelatory too, his hand printing press was a brute of a thing. As well as his delicate touch, and exquisite eye for detail, Blake was strong and stocky, he himself was able to turn the wheel, time after time after the intense labour time of applying ink when it needed to be dabbed on with a leather hoof type thing, before the invention of a handy roller. It is a disastrous shame that many of his works were destroyed or toned down (defaced) after his death, e.g. to remove genitals, for fears of upsetting the sensibilities of society. Who knows what further wonders of Blake have been lost to history. Definitely a great exhibition to visit. It’s on till the 1st March 2015. Ashmolean, Oxford.

Winter Walk at Dusk

Flitton and Flitwick moor, today. (all photos © Mel Melis)

 

The peat bog caresses,

with sticky tarred fingers,

exploring the flesh,

and drinking the droplets,

of hot breath falling,

tasting,

understanding the strangers,

the night waking,

as the day sinks in fading red,

 

life stands still,

bar one last laugh,

from the woodpecker,

the birds are silent,

invisible, cold hardened,

watching the mottled clouds,

and listening

as the moor starts to converse,

quietly at first,

 

the river swelled, giggling,

creaking trees sway,

straight backed callow alders,

golden haired willows,

cowed and bashful,

squat crab apples,

and stern oaks,

dark and bold,

against the sunset.

 

Planting trees, Borneo

The fujitsu tour itself involved a number of activities and team events. I was made a team leader of 8, and from that moment I was crushed under the expectant weight of responsibility.

Occasionally I would forget to count my team back onto the bus, but a good officer knows that if you invest responsibility in your soldiers, they will always be accountable. I guess it was their loyalty to me that always brought them home ;)

For each event there was also a different randomised group, which maximised our ability to meet new people. Everyone on the tour was great, they were a focused and decent bunch and it's wonderful to meet so many people from around the world.

The first two days were quite gentle, with a trek round Gaya Island, two river cruises, a line census of wildlife, visits to a sustainable palm oil plantation, some orientation and lectures as well as our first bit of hard work, girdling. Non rainforest trees are planted to protect and provide shelter for the rainforest saplings. When those saplings are strong enough to survive without those trees above them we perform girdling, that is to cut away a section of bark all the way around the bigger tree, such that it will die slowly (the flow of nutrients stops when this happens), this means further protection for the sapling, as the tree dies. Using a machete was fun, but I will be working on my upper body strength for next year!

Then on day three, Planting!

This was hard, after our demonstrations (which looked easy when delivered by professionals) we were put in our groups, given our long handled shovels, our saplings and set to work. When the notes accompanying the tour said the slopes would be steep, I didn't realise that meant almost 75 degree inclines at times! The guides cajoled and helped us, with our "soft keyboard hands". Working in that heat (around 36C) and humidity drenches you in sweat in seconds. We had two students from Sabah university in our group, they were amazing. As part of their civil engineering course they had this as as one of their environmental module activities and we had a real camaraderie amongst our Japanese/uk/Malaysian team. I ended up filthy, exhausted, but very happy. Between all the groups we planted 1400 trees out of our 1500 target.

You could argue (rightly) that the professionals could have done this in less than half the time, that we didn't need to fly half way round the globe to support the project. but this isn't the reason for Fujitsu's contribution, it is to build relationships, to show we care but also to take the message back to our own teams, colleagues, families and friends, to try to make a difference. The rainforest is a key eco system to reverse the threat of global warning. There's plenty all of us could do to make a difference.

Some general advice for those thinking of doing this next year - We were warned / advised

1) not to pee in the forest, as your private parts would become swollen

2) not to disrespect the forest as it can hear you and will curse you

3) not to take anything from the forest (curse. Again)

4) to give compliments to the forest

I though I was doing well, but I inadvertently succumbed to no 2). I flung my safety helmet away exclaiming I didn't need it, I was so hot, what could possibly happen? Well, within two minutes I walked into a heavy branch which clumped me just above the left eye. Let that be a warning to all of you!

 

Another Poem (sorry) (c) Mel melis November 2014

A rainforest in miniature,

babes in arms,

We carry them,

Down steep banks,

and through ravines,

Cross streams, 

And whilst we are scratched,

Mud splattered, 

We protect them,

The forest is watching,

Making sure our kindness,

Imbues their fortitude,

They are expectant, 

Arcing their flexible callow bodies,

So their leaves feel the sun,

Waiting for the chance for their roots,

To unfurl and feed,

We tuck them into their dug earth beds,

Then cover the bed with 

blankets of detritus and leaves,

The dead forest nurturing the newly born

With sweat pouring,

The jungle judges us,

on words and intention,

As if it so decided,

It could close in and kill us,

So, a kiss,

Good luck little sapling,

Grow straight, grow true,

Grow beautiful.

An uprooted Cedar

 

As some of you know, I have another blog, where I am attempting to write a Haiku a day. That is, throughout 2012. As well as my Haiku contribution for today, I wrote a longer narrative poem, knitting four Haiku’s together, each following the 5-7-5 syllable structure. Although strictly you don’t have to follow a 5-7-5 syllable structure, I’ve maintained a determination to be strict about it. It’s a challenge and I like working within set boundaries.

I’ve lifted these Haikus out of my other blog as I felt strongly enough to present it here with other poems I’ve written. Just so happens this follows a Haiku structure.

We were at Wrest Park today, a cedar had been uprooted but it hadn’t quite rested, it was impossibly clinging on at a sharp angle to the ground, part of its roots were still embedded in the earth. I considered whether some part of it was still alive despite being stripped bare of branches and leaves. It smelt beautiful, that evocative cedarwood smell. But the scent was coming out of freshly cut wounds. It was like a butchered carcass. I felt sad.

 

the scent of cedar

wind felled bled from severed limbs

doggedly straining

to defy soft earth

a circle of heavy clod

hangs from your muscled

roots, dug in stubborn

still clutching at life’s shadow

as your trunk is stripped

for timber and stove

your life ebbs but the scent of

cedarwood lingers

© Mel Melis August 2012

Some photos, of the cedar tree and others from Wrest Park. Taken by me.

Pegsdon Hills

As a Londoner by birth and background, I have to say I would probably find it quite difficult to move back to London. I’m a country lad now. All wearing my waxed jacket, flat cap, monocle, plus fours, land rover and shooting serfs, whilst throttling quails with my bare hands and making blood offerings to angry harvest gods who look like the hairy bikers. (not really, I don’t own a gas guzzling land rover!)

One of my favourite places in my adopted home of Bedfordshire is Pegsdon Hills. On the edge of the Chilterns it gives rewarding views after an exerting walk up. We drove past the Hills today, so it inspired us both to write our Haiku’s (check today’s “A Haiku a day”) and I dug through the photos we took of the area over the last couple of summers and in the last Spring just gone (it is obvious these are not January skies in the photos!)

Pegsdon Hills were forged by glaciers in the last ice age and you can see it in the contours of the land. Hills have been shoved up as the edge of the glacier pushed southwards, the power of the cold and ice testing the limits of the temperate world.

It’s amazing to think the ice cap covered most of the UK back then. It feels magical standing up on the ridge and looking down into the valleys and onwards to the beautiful patchwork fields which define southern England. It’s easy to imagine a sheet of ice extending way out in front of you, like a Neolithic pioneer eking out a living skirting the boundaries of their territory.

The ridge at the top of the hills is an old trail, which can be traced all the way to the South-West, dating back to pre-historic times, so I’m sure they are probably some flint tools secreted away somewhere. I haven’t found any yet, but sometimes there is a little sharp glint in the chalky soil, I pick it up excitedly, but it isn’t a tool, just a flint chipped naturally. One day.

The wildlife and nature is incredible, buzzards and red kites circle. A parliament (what a cool collective noun – I had to look it up) of Rooks, murders of crows all lie on the sunny hill banks, floating up in the air like a black cloud when disturbed.

Lapwings nest in a protected field too, beautiful birds.

But the most fun thing we’ve seen is two stoats, playing. We were downwind of them, so they didn’t see or smell us, we stood completely still and watched them play for several minutes. I managed to get a short film, only one of them stars in this clip I’m afraid, it’s a shame as they were chasing each other and rolling around, having great fun. But it’s still a decent clip involving some impressive gymnastics.

And the sunsets. The first pic is a tree that stands alone and defiant on the top of the ridge. It’s bent in the wind, but it stands strong. We’re very fond of this tree.

You can see the same tree in this next photo…. if you follow the line of the fence post upwards, it hits a bushy tree on the skyline… well look right of that, there is a skinny little tree, in fact it doesn’t even look like a tree, it just looks like two tiny dots on top of each other… that’s the tree in the photo above!

Another sunset shot.

* – No serfs were harmed in the writing of this blog.

** – All of the photos (and the film) are mine, all mine and you should ask permission if you wish to reproduce, on pain of having me invoke a harvest god come round your house and beat seven shades of shit out of you with his threshing stick.