Poetry – The Artist in Studio Hundy

Candlemas

Jewels of light

Candlemas on 2nd February occurs between the mid-winter solstice and the spring equinox. Imbolc in the celtic calender. North East on the medicine wheel it is the “gate of birth”; between Earth and Air and between love for others and spiritual love. As with all these “in-between” gateways, within the cycle of the year, it holds a sense of great mystery.

Looking to nature we see the flowering of snowdrops at this time of year. Like jewels of light covering the darkened ground, they bring a sense of hope for the year to come; an uplifting contrast to the often dreary, grey days we frequently experience throughout January.

I am enjoying reading a beautiful book I chanced upon late last year: Nature’s Calendar The British Year in 72 Seasons.

Inspired by a traditional Japanese calendar which divides the year into segments of four to five days, this book guides you through a year of 72 seasons as they manifest in the British Isles.
From Sleeve notes

In a facinating entry for the micro-season 15th-19th January one of the authors, Rebecca Warren, links the emerging snowdrop to the festival of Candlemas. In Italian the plant is named fiore della purificazione (flower of purification) and in French it is sometimes know as violettes de la Chandeleur (Candlemas violets).

I thoroughly recommend this wonderful book. It can be picked up every 4-5 days for a topical, often thought provoking essay by one of the 4 authors, capturing some aspect of the natural phenomenon we can experience through observation in our immediate surroundings.

Although we may well not have seen the last of the snow this winter, the emerging snowdrops aways remind me of this lovely poem I discovered many years ago:

Last Snow

Although the snow still lingers
Heaped on the ivy's blunt webbed fingers
And painting tree-trunks on one side,
Here in this sunlit ride
The fresh unchristened things appear,
Leaf, spathe and stem,
With crumbs of earth clinging to them
To show the way they came,
But no flower yet to tell their name,
And one green spear
Stabbing a dead leaf from below
Kills winter at a blow.

Andrew Young 
_{born Elgin 1885}

Swallows & Martins on the move

Summer visit almost over

“The preparation” – Pastel & Charcoal sketch 2023

As September begins, a sure sign that summer is coming to a close is the change we see in the patterns of the Swallows and House martins. A subtle change that accompanies the transition of the light.

Their early morning flight in large groups, their congregating on telegraph lines, their loud chitter chatter – all signalling that they will be departing soon for distant shores.

For me there is a sadness that accompanies this time, captured in the lines of Mary Webb’s poem:

Within my spirit is a voice that grieves,

Reminding me of empty autumn skies.
“Swallows” by Webb, M. (1930) The collected works of Mary Webb. Poems and The Spring of Joy. London: Jonathon Cape, 1928.

In a small attempt to celebrate these wonderful migrant visitors that bring such joy every year, I have put together a short video clip. It is fairly basic, using limited equipment/resources, but for me it catches something of the anticipatory mood inherent in the “jubilant” activities of these beautiful birds.

Video clip: Swallows and Martins on the move

Mists & mellow fruitfulness

Days grow short now

September is well underway. Harvested golden fields shine out across the landscape. Early morning mists and dew fall on cobwebs like glistening jewels.

Bird song has changed – the robin and the blue-tit seem to sing a different tone; or perhaps I’m just noticing them more? An occasional skein of geese fly over our house, with their evocative calls, echoing in the still cool air. And the fruiting process in our garden abounds.

The abundance of summer is gradually drawing to a close – so wonderfully depicted in Keats’ poem:

To Autumn

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
  Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
  With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage trees,
  And fill all fruits with ripeness to the core;
   To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
  With sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
  Until they think warm days will never cease,
For summer has o’er-brimmed their clammy cells.

Verse 1 of 3
John Keats 1819

Rowan - giving in bounteous plenty Oil-on-paper — Rowan in autumn – *Bounteous plenty* Oil-on-paper

Rowans are often stripped of their berries by this time of year, but those that remain “glow” against the gradually turning foliage.

And the late flowering Rudbekia shines out in the darkening evening light.

For me autumn flowers bring a sense of hope and promise of the Spring to come, as the days grow short and the earth prepares to “close down” inwardly for winter.

Welcome arrivals

Flight is our life

The new beginnings associated with Easter are always accompanied in April/May by a sense of anticipation in nature; awaiting the sighting of the first House Martins or Swallows. I say sighting, but sometimes it is the awareness of their excitable “chatter”. It never fails to bring a feeling of jubilance, in the knowledge that these migrants have returned to build or re-build their homes for the summer.

It is a profound feeling that resonates deeply. This year it was on Good Friday that I was aware the blue sky had received those welcome dark shadows, flying rapidly in apparent purposeful endeavour. The depth of this event is, for me, beautifully encapsulated in the poem by Mary Webb published in 1928.

Swallows

The swallows pass in restless companies.
Against the pink-flowered may, one shining breast
Throbs momentary music – then, possessed
With motion, sweeps on some new enterprise.
Unquiet in heart, I hear their eager cries
And see them dart to their nests beneath the eaves;
Within my spirit is a voice that grieves,
Reminding me of empty autumn skies.
Nor can we rest in Nature’s dear delight:
June droops to winter, and the sun droops west.
Flight is our life. We build our crumbling nest
Beneath the dark eaves of the infinite,
We sing our song in beauty’s fading tree,
And flash forth, migrant, into mystery.

by Mary Webb

Reference: Webb, M. (1930) The collected works of Mary Webb. Poems and The Spring of Joy. London: Jonathon Cape, 1928.

Veil painting - swallows (2) — Veil painting watercolour 2018

Buds will blow

Joy of new beginnings

Birdsong in spring

Three and a half weeks on from the Spring Equinox, the clocks have changed and the light is gradually increasing. Signs of new life are abundant and buds in all shapes and forms are beginning to “blow”. An old English word:

blow³/bləυ/v. & n. archaic. v.intr. burst into or be in flower. n. blossoming, bloom (in full blow). [OE blõwan f. Gmc]

Whilst not often found today, this word – for me – encapsulates nature at this time of year (Photo-gallery: Buds in Spring).

I came across its use in a song at our regular Thursday a capella singing group:

You have to believe that buds will blow,
Believe in grass in days of snow,
That’s the reason a bird can sing,
On its darkest day it believes in spring

ROWAN UNFURLING 3 — ROWAN UNFURLING -charcoal

As spring unfolds and buds burst into bloom, bird song also brings the joy of new beginnings.

A sound recording I made in our local valley in 2017 brings something of that joyous spring calling to life.

With the gentle sound of the Eden water flowing in the background, the light was slowly fading and the various songs being sung resonated, as if in preparation for another new day.