A sad day

I'd rather not dwell on the subject of death, but now the trees have lost their leaves, almost everything growing above ground level is a lifeless brown. Then there’s the interminable greyness of the British sky, the drizzly (or downpoury, depending on the day), rain - and the fact it gets dark so impossibly early. It makes the late Autumn and Winter months something you either have to get used to, or get SAD.

Today I was the latter as I helped my mother sprinkle my Dad’s ashes into a pot in the garden in the pouring rain. How did my mother pick out this curiously blue ceramic pot  - and why did she not opt one of our eco-friendly acorn urns? 

Well, she says she was drawn to it – and when she looked inside the bowl, she discovered that someone had painted a large ‘H’ inside, which is the initial of my Dad’s first name. So it was meant to be.

Anyway, we planted some flowers in the pot of her choice and some bulbs underneath – dark mauve fritillaries and irises to work with the blue of the pot.  The cyclamen are there purely because they are flowering at the moment  - I guess they too will die once it gets frosty? 

I love the fact that something new will grow out of my father’s ashes. I think it’s important to accept death as part of life, because everyone dies. Even animals. In fact, ShopCurious’s poet in residence, Matt Bryden, has written a poem about burying his cat.

Spadework

The tool weighed heavy in my hands as I lowered

her in a blanket into the hole which perhaps

that night would be raided by foxes.

I brought the back of the spade down

hard against the soil, tried

not to laugh as I cast my eyes

at the ground before my family.

Afterwards, I went up to my room,

knelt on the bed and gazed outside.

I was sure my voice would be stronger if I spoke.

I’m looking forward to the Spring.

Are you?

Remember, remember...

The fifth of November,

Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason why gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

I’ve been trying to find out who wrote the English folk verse reminding us of Guy Fawkes’ plot to blow up the Houses of Parliament, but to no avail. The poem appears in various forms, but the key lines have survived the centuries intact. In America the same poem is probably now best known for its use in the V for Vendetta film.

It may not be quite so catchy, but ShopCurious’s Poet in Residence, Matt Bryden, has come up with a curiously thought provoking new poem for Bonfire Night:

In the Field of Les Feux d’Artifices

The difference between les gants and les mitaines

is the space accorded each finger.

A warden tends the blaze of stacked pallets. They give

against each other with the emission of heat.

People disperse and we approach the tether,

regaining our lost degrees through proximity.

I hold a can in my hand,

my jacket holds another.

The light is one with the music –

a blur, momentarily focused as we pause.

Do you?

Vintage poetry in motion

Those of you who are curious may have been wondering which horse won the Grand National in 1953, the year of The Queen’s Coronation? I can confirm it was Early Mist, as pictured jumping a hedge in this photograph.






60 years on, and ShopCurious has some collectable cufflinks that are roughly the same vintage as this race. The best thing is that they don’t seem to have dated at all – in fact, they’re curiously timeless. So, men, if you’re looking for something unique to wear to the races, or perhaps for the Diamond Jubilee celebrations this year, then look no further.






But before that, I’m looking forward to watching the race at 4.15 tomorrow afternoon. It’s pretty dangerous for riders and horses alike, so if you’re squeamish may I suggest some equine inspired poetry instead? Our poet in residence, Matt Bryden, has provided just the thing:





Collecting

The eyes before opening let in
bird-song, the six different strategies
for approaching the day. Before ten

one is not mature mentally or physically.
Nice paces, though a slightly weak stifle.
There are ways and ways;

inside the house
don't wear a jacket, for example;
in pjs, walk the gelding from the stable.

I expect you’re wondering what collecting has got to do with horses…

Are you?

In praise of poetry...

Still on the subject of eggs, here’s a little vintage verse from Spike Milligan for World Poetry Day:

There once lived a virile cockerel
With a thousand hens in Spain,
Now he's old and slow
So he'll never go
To work on an egg again.

Chorus: In Spain the rain falls, etc., etc.

I love the childlike charm of Milligan’s poetry.

Do you?

PS ShopCurious has its own collection of curiously psychogeographical poems – click here to visit Matt Bryden’s poetry map.

Springing to life

Flowers are coming into bloom, birds are singing, and spring is in the air. It’s the time of year when nature's new additions are in the offing - so appropriate that it should be Mother’s Day in the UK.

We often take our mothers for granted, yet they offer us unconditional love whatever the circumstances. No one said motherhood was easy. And sometimes it just wasn’t meant to be…


On that note, here’s a poignant poem by ShopCurious poet in residence Matt Bryden:

Lambing

Still warm, she says. The sheep lies on its side.
The crows have claimed one eye – pools, ebbs,
darken the snow. Three more weeks
to lamb. She pokes her hand beneath the wool.
I lift a leg, manipulate the hoof joint.
The muck cakes her wrist. The flock are keeping distant.

A probe and waters burst. Full hands of gut,
intestine slop on snow. I roll her sleeves
beyond her elbows. Come, I say, and push
the sheep against her arm. Come on. She feels
the hoof of one of them but can’t secure
her grip, the cervix open. I want them born.

You’re doing well, I say. Propitious year –
of snowfall, blue moon. I grip the fleece.
Come on. She holds the head now, pulls it
by the skull and worms it from the mother,
floppy lamb puppet, tips it so its paws
tread snow, then rubs its face, its closed eyes.
No. The umbilicus spills its red all over.

Back in. This time easier. She pulls it out.
A girl. Too young. She holds it up.
We lay them by the mother’s side –
for buzzards to dispatch, the farmer to descry.

On a lighter note, one of my favourite books from childhood is PD Eastman’s Dr Seuss book, Are You My Mother? (see pic left).

Are you?

Curious poetry: mapping the word

Pinch, punch, it’s the first of the month.

I’m a poet and I don’t know it.

We're celebrating World Book Day by introducing our curious poet in residence, Matt Bryden. Thankfully, Matt’s poetry skills are somewhat more refined than mine.

You can read more about Matt, and his publications to date, in ShopCurious’s latest StyleCurious interview. We've also included his unique World Poetry Map, where you can read poems based on his experiences and the places he’s visited around the globe – a curiously lyrical form of psychogeography…

After all, every single soul is a poem:

Are you?

Timeless trends - poetry

Did you know that it's National Poetry Day in the UK - and the theme for for this year's Poetry Day is heroes and heroines. I thought it might be appropriate to communicate in words, rather than pictures, today.

In my previous life as a City girl, I wrote poetry to alleviate the boredom of my daily commute into work. I'd like to dedicate one of my curious scribblings from yesteryear to the heroes and heroines of poetry around the world...

here goes (blush):

Poems of the lonely

In a moment far away
Written on an envelope
Remembered for a day

Poems in the Underground
Obscure and misconstrued
Posted up above our heads
And daubed with something rude

Poems of our warriors
Steeped in history
In their blood-stained volumes
Preserved for you and me

Poems made by lovers
Secretly at night
Folds of scented parchment
Fade in candlelight

Poems of the inner-self
Rhythms of our time
Mankind’s epic epitaph
Written line by line.

With apologies to any professional poets and those of you who were expecting a blog about fashion, style, or the sort of unique and unusual things you'll find at ShopCurious.

By the way, have you got any poems from the past that you'd like to share?

Do you?