Surviving & Recovering: A Post-Script

Surviving & Recovering: A Post-Script
— Read on https://www.yesuare.org.uk/post/surviving-recovering-a-post-script

From October 2018-September 2019 I was Writer in Residence at the Yesuare Partnership, Erskine Building, Dunfermline.

The residency, funded by Santander Foundation, involved working with people whose lives have been affected by trauma. At the same time, the Erskine building, a derelict church, was being renovated for community use.

One of the requirements was to produce a blog to document the project and showcase participants’ work. The link to the final post of my creative writing blog on Yesuare’s Wix site is above. I’m about to start editing some of the original creative work for a pamphlet which will be launched at an event t celebrate Yesuare’s work.

The blog contains writing prompts that anyone can use. In the spirit of the oral tradition of creative writing exercises, many of these are adapted from well-kent, tried and tested methods and approaches. Some I devised myself, and developed for the various settings where I’ve worked. Where I have a particular debt to another facilitator, colleague or mentor, I acknowledge this. Feel free to use the prompts for yourself; if you do so in the public domain (online or at a workshop), please acknowledge the source.

Some Seascapes by Helen Boden

My poems responding to Emily Learmont’s exquisite ink and egg tempura miniatures Sixteen Seascapes https://emilylavinialearmont.wordpress.com/2016/07/17/sixteen-seascapes/

Emily Lavinia Learmont

Some Seascapes    Helen Boden

  1. Graphic

‘She gets so attached to things’

they’d say in other rooms, thinking,

or not, she was out of earshot.

It’s true she insisted on keeping

the wrappings from Christmas presents,

tried to hold onto holidays, clutching the rail

at the back of the boat as islands receded

1976

begins her newest fable

from this July’s fortnight

in a shore cottage in Sleat

1769

an inkblot cloud pursues the Ardvasar

                                                     

galleon         sail         cloud

all speech bubbles

flurries of vowels        morphemes       ideas

on a punctuation-flecked sea

swirls       whorls

of inverted commas

conversation billows

between  the Ardvasar and the Glenelg

a thought detaches from the former          memory sprays

a wake for the clearances

will they consolidate

into a skerry of…

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Pop-Up Light and Shade

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Campaigning group We Walk We Cycle We Vote staged a pop-up park under the banner ‘Shine a light: Help us Reimagine our City Streets’ outside St Andrew’s House on Edinburgh’s Regent Road as part of the 2018 Firestarter Festival last Friday. Volunteers, from organisations such as the Lothian cycle campaign group Spokes, and Sustrans,  found themselves in shadow – in the shade of a building whose architecture Donald Dewar allegedly thought too fascistic to be considered a future home for the new Parliament.  You can put on an event called ‘Shine a Light’, but you can’t make the sun rise above St Andrew’s House in February.

In an essay on Kathleen Jamie written while the Scottish Parliament was being reborn, I argued, maybe more in hope and optimism than anything else, that  new Scottish writing rejected its historic dualisms and the ‘Caledonian antiszygy’ in favour of multiplicity and plurality. The last two decades have encouragingly seen  greater ethnic diversity in Scottish writing, for example, but the old Jekyll-and-Hyde binaries remain surprising resistant – they were alluded to during the  BBC’s recent documentary for the centenary of Muriel Spark, for example.

I’d spent Friday morning with Southside Community Centre’s wonderful writing group, warmed by the equally wonderful coffee and scones from Arthur’s Community Cafe, and the lunchtime looking at an exhibition in the National Galleries; I wasn’t cold. When I arrived to have a look at the site and decide how best to use it for creative writing that would help re-imagine the space, those who had been there since 8.30am were starting lose the use of their hands and feet – despite a warming skipping competition being one of the not-motorised options on offer. I quickly dropped plans of engaging directly with the pop-up park by writing about what we liked and disliked about the space and why, or saying what we’d change about it; or doing some take-a-line-for-a-walk  flow-writing to see what the unconscious came up with about potential uses for it.

We set off up the supposed traffic-free road to Calton Hill a few metres east, and stopped in the first patch of sunlight, above the old Royal High School building and below the green slopes of the hill, flecked yellow by the emergence of the gorse. The sun branded shadow railings onto the road surface. We turned our faces to the sun and scanned the southern skyline, from the ancient blocks of the crags to those of the built environment, to the city centre monuments and cranes in the gap beyond St Andrew’s House and the end of the hill. I chose this road rather than going further along Regent Road, which was also in sun, because it was supposed to be traffic free, but we had to step aside several times to let vehicles pass. None of us had had occasion to take in precisely this cityscape before. We’d gained a bit of altitude over the pop up park, and about ten degrees celsius. It was light, and energising; you knew Spring wasn’t far behind. We shut our eyes to listen to birdsong and construction noise and attune the other non-visual senses, then  recorded and shared our impressions before heading back down to chalk them on the wall in the cold shadow of St Andrew’s. Maybe the light / dark binary continues to be more applicable than proponents of multiplicity and plurality like to think; maybe it’s not always a bad or outmoded way of imagining the city. I left, for a warming cup of tea, buzzing with new ideas for combining poetry, activism and active transport, and a haikuesque poem-let for the day:

Divided City

Half of this
‘no access road’
is green.
The other side –
Enlightened grey

 

 

Photos by Suzanne Forup of Cycling UK Scotland

Umbrellas of Edinburgh, redux

Fellow contributor to the Freight Books Anthology UMBRELLAS OF EDINBURGH [I have to do caps; if I type instructions for itals this Word Press dialog box tries to send an email . . . ]Laura Clay on the reading at Edinburgh University last week. I was rather fazed by the vast expanse of bright carpet, and felt as though I should be doing some gymnastics, not reading a couple of poems, but it was a very enjoyable evening. At the end of it, a group of poets occupied said carpet to discuss poetry mags and traffic jams.

This whole project has been a joy, from offsetting the January blues last year by researching my locations (Morningside / Royal Ed; and Dreghorn & Redford woods, haunt of Wilfred Owen on the edge of the city), to launches, readings and events at the end of the year. Much thanks to editors Russell Jones and Claire Askew for the energy, commitment and professionalism they brought to the whole enterprise. I read this new anthology of a city already so well written about, and fall in love again with the place where I’ve lived, by a considerable margin now, longer than anywhere else.

Writings from Otherworld

Last night, I read my story A Beltane Prayer at the University of Edinburgh, as part of the latest fab event since the Umbrellas of Edinburgh anthology launched last autumn. What with having never read this story aloud before and not having done a public reading since October, I was more than a bit nervous.

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Neu!Boots DAY TWENTY-NINE -Helen Boden

I’m very pleased to have a poem I wrote after the Brexit referendum up on Andy Jackson and WN Herbert’s Neu!Boots and Pantisocracies site. Originally set up to publish a poem a day  responding to the 2015 general election, they re-booted their project last month.

I’m not a polemic poet, but a number of factors came together to prompt me to write this one. I was new to fb last summer, and didn’t submit a post-election response, though the Pantisocracy of the title took me back to graduate student days in Newcastle in the 80s. Researching a PhD on Wordsworth, autobiography and 18thC psychology, I became intrigued by Coleridge and Southey’s vision of creating a socialist society in America. A greater part of my work was on the polymaths of the period, the usual suspects of the Scottish Enlightenment, and also English thinkers including Erasmus Darwin, and Joseph Priestley. That the latter was born in Birstall, the village in West Yorkshire where my dad’s parents had lived, added an extra layer of interest.

The adult Priestley moved to Birmingham, and was a key member of the Lunar Society,  where philosophers, industrialists, writers  and radicals met at full moon for reasons of safety, in the days before street lighting. That didn’t help them in the long run: their homes were burned down in 1791, in what became known as the Birmingham or Priestley Riots. The government turned a blind eye to locals’ violent objection  to the ‘Lunartics’, as they were known,  celebrating  the anniversary of the fall of the Bastille. Priestley fled, and eventually emigrated to Philadelphia, where he continued his work in science and theology – maybe forming a kind of pantisocracy-lite, close to the Susquehanna, Coleridge and Southey’s chosen location.

Forward to midsummer, 2016, and I was taking long, late-evening walks in the Pentland Hills above Edinburgh. On the terrace of Swanston Brasserie, the sunset sparked little stars, like the ones on the EU flag, I thought whimsically, in our beer glasses. A full moon accompanied me across the Caerketton ridge. I dubbed it ‘Remain Moon’ (I think its official designation was ‘strawberry moon’), and it seemed all would be well. Of course the assassination of MP Jo Cox in Birstall the week before could not be undone. It was always likely that Scotland would vote remain; now the pro-leave citizens of the northern England would surely re-consider?

I was back on the hill, under July’s ‘Buck Moon’, the other day, still struggling to comprehend all the events of the past month. Another Bastille day atrocity had taken place, and too many others around the world. Birmingham has been the site of further riots since the Lunartics were smoked out. We do what we can, we dream or we act, and there are some terrific poetic responses on the Neu!Boots site.

Postscript: The August full moon, according to this source, will be the ‘Sturgeon Moon’ . . . .

 

 

Remain Moon Four years ago they gathered, the local press, the people, to pause in civic duty at the statue of Joseph Priestley. A week before the vote they came again, the people, and the national…

Source: Neu!Boots DAY TWENTY-NINE -Helen Boden