Perpendicular

These are ‘breastworks’ (uprights along the sea wall) and ‘groynes’ (at right angles )

This is a a new (first draft) poem:

‘Perpendicular ‘

For forty years the sea defences have protected

the front. At Borth and Ynyslas.

The old familiar way was shoring up

with strong timber upright breastworks

and jutting joists and great beamed groynes.

Bleached now by summer’s gold.

Old oak silvered and smoothed to salty sinews

Gravel and grit erosion pebble dashing

the frontages. Wrack draped and clasped

in rust. Scarred and scarified

by four decades force. Bearing up

against lifelong accretion. Pileup

of crashing drift and tide.

Perpendicular props. Familial forces

trying vainly to combine their strength

against dying under life’s attack.

Cold stone proposed along this ancient front

now sinking against an unquiet sea.

Forces of opposition with steely knives

and cranes and engineering.

Of a concrete will. Defying the tide like Canute.

Tempting Fate. Or perhaps too late

Acrobat

Acrobatic visitor

(A draft poem, with thanks to Beatrix Potter )

Do you remember those little brown books?
Hard backs with shiny slip covers, or perhaps the slip covers
came later. I remember the soft suede feel of the boards.
Dainty pastel roundels of our woodland friends.

Nidderdale and swallowtail laundry maid hedgehog
in a bonnet. Running down the green swathe.
Rabbits in waistcoats with tall pointed ears.
Defiant against the landlord.

And bold red Nutkin with the fluffy tail.
Memories of a fifties childhood. Arcane springboard
for a lifetime passion for our small wild neighbours
who share this shrinking Earth

On my way again

On the train from Abergavenny to Machynlleth

writing on the train

Two more poems, ‘Buddleia’ from another train journey

And ‘Pwll y wrach’ ( which means ‘witch’s pool)

View from the train, no Buddleia here

Buddleia

bursting out bravely from crevices and chimney pots
round the rough edges of abandoned plots
of land behind razor wire and barbed wire
on bomb sites

round broken concrete bunkers and crumbling
wartime airstrips, army camps and waste dumps
sooty spaces and looted places

into all these the grey green leaves reach their arms
of new growth and so the buddleia bush embraces
debris and decay and deathly ancient traces

and stretches up her waving arms towards the blue blue sky
and without help or nurture or encouragement
attracts with her nectar the humble hope filled butterfly

Pwll y Wrach

Cover image by Marc Jennings

‘pwll y wrach’

I read it in my book just now
‘Witch’s pool’
How evocative
Did she drown?
Herself
Or her cat
Perhaps
Or did she use
The glassy surface
To reflect
Her face
Or read her future
Or just wash her tired feet

I wrote this short piece when I read the place name ‘Pwll y wrach’ in Richard Gwyn’s marvelous book, ‘The Blue Tent’

(Cover image by Marc Jennings above)

The book is published by Parthian Books

nearly winter

I have been away from home, visiting family and being a Granny in Wales, for two months, as well as a ten day break in Portugal

So I’ve been away from my studio and not painting

During the last couple of weeks I have begun to crave paint and canvas. So I bought a few materials from local shops and made these two small works on the floor in my daughter’s spare bedroom. In between visits, and in between layers, they’ve been drying in the shed.

My bedroom at my daughter’s home has sliding doors out onto the garden, with views into the trees beyond. And a view out of the side windows to a stand of Scotch Pines. From my bed I can see both dawn and dusk through these trees.

The paintings are not at all a representation of these photos of views. In fact they have more of an essence of a walk in the woods. I even embedded a fern leaf in the paint, removed it the next day to leave its impression, then rolled over it again with more layers.

However, some of the colours are there. A friend of mine said of these two latest pieces that they were a return for me of a ‘confident enigma’. I like that

Dawn:


Dusk:

A Poem By Huib Fens

(from my painting  residency at Stiwdio Maelor in Wales, when Huib Fens was on a writers residency)

 

Liz and Malachy
She has retreated in Wales
under rafters, stretching
canvasses on frames,
boiling emulsions of
oils and waxes.
She smears and brushes until
land appears, still unknown
and undiscovered and keeps
on working it until it
liberates itself from her.
Two islands to the west,
in the harsh mist the ocean
is sending up the surf,
he is cutting turf in
long and muddy strokes
he will pile up with his
bare hands to hand-
knotted stacks while
groundwater runs into
the newly cut furrows.
Huib Fens, 2016/17

 

residency at Stiwdio Maelor in Corris 


A great 3 weeks at Stiwdio Maelor

If you are interested in having some time there yourself for your art (including writing) you can email for an application form to stiwdiomaelor@gmail.com 

The 5 paintings in the top image are all also available through the same email. Funds from any sale of donated works goes both towards the ongoing costs of the residency programme and helps to fund the artist’s next residency!

The other image is of a 65cm painting on canvas that I completed on the residency which is on its way to @greenfusegallery  in Westport, County Mayo, Ireland for their next show opening mid November