The Gold in the Sky
Brighton, trudging homewards, as ever uphill
Dusk just beginning to spread fingers
Draining the city's colours to monochrome
The seagulls' ceaseless chorus inevitable
My thoughts on daily things, supper, weight of shopping
I chance to look westward and upwards
In the sky a glorious work of art
Is forming as I watch, stunned still, I watch
As lozenges of gold spread on the horizon
Spread over cloud banks, dove grey dusky pink
Turner I think priceless masterpiece painting
Adored by the masses, great treasure of the nation
But here, democratic, free to view
One night only, to have not to hold
Attracts few admirers, eyes in the gutter
Heads full of clutter, the daily the worry
Stunned still, watching, I give thanks
For the chance of a glance heaven upwards
For a glimpse of the treasure, the gold in the sky
It's so important to take the time to enjoy those special moments isn't it? Do you find you are more aware of glimpes of treasure since you started your painting and poetry writing? I think I notice them and then forget but maybe the essence of the experience stays with me?
ReplyDeleteI hadn't thought of that Pam, but I think it is true. It really was exceptionally beautiful to suddenly see, and it did make me think immediately of how I would depict it in paint and therefore I looked even more closely at the colours as they were developing. In the same way all last Autumn I looked so hard at the landscape wherever I was in the Aude, thinking of how I might depict it in your painting. Then when I sat down once the house was quiet the poem started to come to me. For sure the poetry and the painting feed each other. For me the extra thing that I can do in words but not in paint is to convey emotion.
ReplyDeleteFrom Jenny Galuscha
ReplyDelete'Thank you, Sally. Now I'm stunned. It's a lovely lovely poem, and it speaks very much to my condition!
What's more, you are really challenging me to put down the stuff that just runs through my head, and work on it! So thank you very much.'
From Jenny's sister Clare, to whom I sent the poem to pass it on to Jenny.
ReplyDeleteHi Sally, Hi Jenny. Wow. What a set of words and what an image. LOVE it Sally!! Thank you so much.
A poem written in response to mine, by Jenny. I love this!
ReplyDeleteOn the Milldown in July
In June the silver headed grasses danced,
dipping so graceful in every floating breeze,
and scattered careless through the rabbit-nibbled patch
were countless flowers of the poor chalk soil.
But now July has changed all that –
the taller grass is sere and brown,
stalks as stiff as sentinels;
and hard against a sunny sky,
the trees are darkly green.
The brightness now is berries,
orange, scarlet, green,
with promise of a bramble harvest soon to come
and oh swift sadness strikes
for autumn stalks the feet of summer,
and all must change.
And yet
I see promises.
Nothing stays the same,
or could or should,
for we are all, with this sweet world
becoming things,
growing, patterning our existence
with movement
which is itself a dance,
a reeling past of seasons of our souls,
and like the riches in the grass
or fruit that glows on trees,
are the treasures that are varying
as we grow on.
And again from Jenny: Brilliant!
ReplyDeleteRain, tree, squirrel dog … and me
I was vapour in the air,
I was the earth’s soft cloud-white hair,
then I was flung so high, so high,
I hurtled down to earth to die.
I held my leaves out to the sun
my branches sloping up, for I
the ancient one
was first to grow,
a beech-tree magnificent,
while flickered there below
the evanescent grass,
the crow,
and maybe people.
Do I care or know?
I feel the slow turn of the sun,
I drink – if rain should come or go
o I care, or know?
A fine day, a sunny day
with perfumed breezes all at play
and all the trees just mine
and beech-nuts in the grass
and then, alas!
a river from the sky falls down,
and I am frightened lest I drown,
and shelter sadly in the dry
beneath a car,
but in the blinking of an eye
death stares at me with big white teeth,
and rushing claws and jaws,
and hot hard breath
and scared to death
I barely make it to my tree.
I’m a good dog a good boy
I’m weary now, so good and slow
we homeward go
and pause in shade
in the little beech-glade,
I’m told to “Wait”,
I drop my head
to take a sniff,
but I see instead,
a furry streak,
so very small
it’s sure to squeak,
I’m just enthralled,
I’m off, I’m fast,
It’s gone,
I’m after,
I’ll catch,
I’ll kill,
O yes I will,
Oh ….
what?
Oh
where?
I’ll get it,
I know I can…
I will! I will!
I think a goldie’s not for me
for seeing careless squirrel he
took off at speed ignoring me,
just hanging on despairingly –
then he was free
and squirrel-chasing joyously.
From Jen Hatte in Armidale Australia:
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely poem - Thanks so much. and I do identify. It sometimes happens to me like that too, in Armidale; but being of a more selfish disposition than you, I tend to say, 'Thank you Lord for putting that there just for me'!!! - Though I must admit I'm usually in the car with not much other traffic around, rather than on a busy street, full of people.
Such moments are like a warm spiritual shower on a mediocre day.
Sometimes a bird or tree will have the same effect.
I do so identify with the trudge and weight of shopping too!
Verbal response from Jude:
ReplyDeleteSunsets have been so important to me all my life. Whenever I see them I feel a connection with humanity, with other people watching that sunset all over the world. I feel that the gold light is nurturing and pure and clean, to wash away the toxins of daily life.
More Jude;
ReplyDeleteOn further thought, actually many people don't get to see the daily beauty of sunset, so I really am privileged and must appreciate that. What sunsets do that paintings don't, is bathe you. All that the artist does is to record and remind us of nature's beauty.
After the conversation above Jude was inspired to write her own poem, continuing the theme of connections, in the metaphor of a spider's web.
ReplyDeleteSimply Connect
Like the spider spinning her web
We are captured by threads
That bind and remind
Shared surfaces big and small
Pausing in busy lives to notice
Moonlight, crumbs and
Chocolate icing on a plate
A still moment, the current surges
Along the fine silk mesh
Time spent together
Helps memory from outer links
Return to strong centre
As is her strength so is her fall
When others fail to second guess
At the mercy of sharp eyes
Of morning mist and evening sun
To protect her from sudden move
When all her work will be in vain
Through time her twine
Will break, leaving her hanging
Reaching for others
To hold each end and gently
Reconnect