kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
   It's hard to find the words to describe the sense of grief that is creeping over me; from reading some of the comments in my earliest posts by people who've gone in real life (R.I.P. [livejournal.com profile] woman_of_ ) to comments obviously deleted their lj's in the past couple of days; comments lost now so that I only have my half of the conversation left. I feel real loss most when the comments are about fics or in response to a birthday wish, or some personal post. 

   I can't believe that I can feel that much pain about something that often seems so ephemeral, but I feel like I'm torturing myself; wondering whether it's worth saving anything. I mean all that wondrous material lost when the willtara yahoo group disappeared; all those wonderful early fan sites gone. 

  It feels so pointless, yet I cannot stop because Right Now? It feels like all that's keeping me going. 

  I cannot even find the desire to write. I want to. I still need to. I am writing. But I always stop at some point, and it seems like I know I'm not going to finish it. 

  So why I posted this... 


   GRIEF
   BY ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 
  I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; 
  That only men incredulous of despair, 
  Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air 
  Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access 
  Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness, 
  In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare 
  Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare 
  Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express 
  Grief for thy dead in silence like to death— 
  Most like a monumental statue set 
  In everlasting watch and moveless woe 
  Till itself crumble to the dust beneath. 
  Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet: 
  If it could weep, it could arise and go. 
  

  

  Goddess preserve, 

  

  Kerk Hiraeth 


kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
    Reading some of my early posts from my first lj, which I can no longer properly access, brought back a lot of stuff that nearly had me in tears on the bus journey back from Perth today. Found the poem I would have liked to post but, frankly it would have taken too long to type out tonight, and I managed to find one that follows, for me, a similar theme. 

 

  Love Letter by Carole E. Gregory

 

   Dear Samson,

   I put your hair

   in a jar

   by the pear tree

   near the well.

   I been thinkin'

   over what I done

   and I still don't think

   God gave you

   all that strength

   for you to kill

   my people.

 

   Love – Delilah

 

 


Goddess preserve 

Kerk 

kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
   Coming to a decision that the time is very close when another fandom chapter is about to close. 

   However perspective. 

   It's really only a social media platform, and what will keep me there for longer than it should is trying to preserve memories while I can. 

   This poem is from a book called The Nation's Favourite Poems of Remembrance; published in 2003, the year after I moved from Devon in England, to Perthshire in Scotland. 


  www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/57253


  Everyone Sang

Related Poem Content Details

 Everyone suddenly burst out singing;
 And I was filled with such delight
 As prisoned birds must find in freedom,
 Winging wildly across the white
 Orchards and dark-green fields; on - on - and out of sight.
 
 Everyone's voice was suddenly lifted;
 And beauty came like the setting sun:
 My heart was shaken with tears; and horror
 Drifted away ... O, but Everyone
 Was a bird; and the song was wordless; the singing will never be done.
   Goddess preserve, 

   

   Kerk Hiraeth 


kerkevik_2014: (Furiosa 2)
 
   I was looking for an entirely different poem earlier today; had no look finding it, when I stumbled across this one. Actually, after deciding on some other idea and, I think, mis-typing.

 

Anyway, once I saw it, and heard the poem, I thought this would do very well and, just possibly, I may have been meant to find it.

   

United Nations Climate Summit Opening Ceremony – A poem to my Daughter by Kathy Jetnil-Kijiner, September 24, 2014


   dear matafele peinam,

   you are a seven month old sunrise of gummy smiles
   you are bald as an egg and bald as the buddha
   you are thighs that are thunder and shrieks that are lightning
   so excited for bananas, hugs and
   our morning walks past the lagoon

   dear matafele peinam,

   i want to tell you about that lagoon
   that lucid, sleepy lagoon lounging against the sunrise

   men say that one day
   that lagoon will devour you

   they say it will gnaw at the shoreline
   chew at the roots of your breadfruit trees
   gulp down rows of your seawalls
   and crunch your island’s shattered bones

   they say you, your daughter
   and your granddaughter, too
   will wander rootless
   with only a passport to call home

   dear matafele peinam,

   don’t cry
   mommy promises you
   no one
   will come and devour you

   no greedy whale of a company sharking through political seas
   no backwater bullying of businesses with broken morals
   no blindfolded bureaucracies gonna push
   this mother ocean over
   the edge
   no one’s drowning, baby
   no one’s moving
   no one’s losing
   their homeland
   no one’s gonna become
   a climate change refugee

   or should i say
   no one else

   to the carteret islanders of papua new guinea
   and to the taro islanders of the solomon islands
   i take this moment
   to apologize to you
   we are drawing the line here

   because baby we are going to fight
   your mommy daddy
   bubu jimma your country and president too
   we will all fight

   and even though there are those
   hidden behind platinum titles
   who like to pretend
   that we don’t exist
   that the marshall islands
   tuvalu
   kiribati
   maldives
   and typhoon haiyan in the philippines
   and floods of pakistan, algeria, colombia
   and all the hurricanes, earthquakes, and tidalwaves
   didn’t exist

   still
   there are those
   who see us

   hands reaching out
   fists raising up
   banners unfurling
   megaphones booming
   and we are
   canoes blocking coal ships
   we are
   the radiance of solar villages
   we are
   the rich clean soil of the farmer’s past
   we are
   petitions blooming from teenage fingertips
   we are
   families biking, recycling, reusing,
   engineers dreaming, designing, building,
   artists painting, dancing, writing
   and we are spreading the word
   and there are thousands out on the street
   marching with signs
   hand in hand
   chanting for change NOW

   and they’re marching for you, baby
   they’re marching for us

   because we deserve to do more than just
   survive
   we deserve
   to thrive

   dear matafele peinam,

   you are eyes heavy
   with drowsy weight
   so just close those eyes, baby
   and sleep in peace

   because we won’t let you down

   you’ll see

   **********

   

Here's a link to where I got the poem - citizenactionmonitor.wordpress.com/2014/12/26/dear-matafele-peinem-a-mother-reads-a-love-poem-for-her-baby-daughter-at-the-un-climate-summit/

 

And here's the link to the youtube video - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJuRjy9k7GA


 

Goddess preserve,



Kerk Hiraeth








kerkevik_2014: (Default)
 
     To start things off I thought that something surreal and absurd would suit the times. 

  

 The Owl And The Pussy-Cat - Poem by Edward Lear


  The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
  In a beautiful pea green boat,
  They took some honey, and plenty of money,
  Wrapped up in a five pound note.
  The Owl looked up to the stars above,
  And sang to a small guitar,
  'O lovely Pussy! O Pussy my love,
  What a beautiful Pussy you are,
  You are,
  You are!
  What a beautiful Pussy you are!'

  Pussy said to the Owl, 'You elegant fowl!
  How charmingly sweet you sing!
  O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
  But what shall we do for a ring?'
  They sailed away, for a year and a day,
  To the land where the Bong-tree grows
  And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
  With a ring at the end of his nose,
  His nose,
  His nose,
  With a ring at the end of his nose.

  'Dear pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
  Your ring?' Said the Piggy, 'I will.'
  So they took it away, and were married next day
  By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
  They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
  Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
  And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
  They danced by the light of the moon,
  The moon,
  The moon,
  They danced by the light of the moon. 


   Goddess preserve, 

   

   Kerk Hiraeth ( https://forvo.com/word/cy/hiraeth/ ) 



Profile

kerkevik_2014: (Default)
kerkevik_2014

May 2017

S M T W T F S
 123456
78910111213
1415 1617181920
21222324252627
28293031   

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Jul. 25th, 2017 10:50 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios