Magnolias in bloom
colours for the statesman’s stage
his stare set in grey
There is a statue of John F Kennedy near Marylebone in London. It’s in quite an odd part of London, the traffic roars past it and other than some scuttling commuters, I wouldn’t say it’s in a particular spot to bring anyone in contact with it.
However, it did have some beautiful magnolias flowering above it. A pic I took of them is above.
As the sun lowers
mercurial pipistrelle
skims stone cottages
Saw a bat as I was driving home the other night. They are so tiny and manoeuvrable, always looking frantic and busy, yet still elegant in night flight. Forever catching insects. Pretty little things.
Aphrodites pearl
Ares chariot charges
Blood against the sky
I noticed a couple of friends on twitter / facebook suggesting going outside to have a look at the planets clear in the sky. And yes, there was Venus, massively bright, next to the quarter moon, Jupiter just below and higher up, Mars, twinkling pink/red. We walked to the edge of the moors where the light pollution would be less and although I’m not really a stargazer I have to say I was impressed.
Perfect for a haiku about Greek gods. Why Greek gods? Well, flippin’ Romans, what have they ever done for us? Coming over here, nicking our women, nicking our Gods….
Laughter crackling flames
Footpad’s silent steps avoid
Plots most foul and grave
So this Haiku is about an event from the previous night. Does it particularly matter that it wasn’t about an event on that specific day? Not really.
As I walked through the moors at dusk (see previous Haiku for March 24th) I could hear laughter, it was either on the edge of the moor or in one of the big gardens. Then I saw the bonfire and the silhouettes of people’s frames against the bright light of the flames.
It put me on edge, I initially thought it was people being brazen and messing about in the moors, but of course it wasn’t. My eyes had played tricks on me and it was a bonfire in someone's garden. They were having a party. But it didn’t stop me from thinking I was a level 9 Halfling rogue, hiding in shadows to get round the orc encampment. Many lost years playing Dungeons and Dragons led to this horrendous paranoid imagination of mine.
Rusty pheasants crank
Daffodils pale in the gloom
Dusk light fades to black
Was a warm clear day. I walked through the moors to get home from the station (Arsenal beat villa 3-0) at dusk. The temperature was wonderfully cool, where a fleece is perfect. When the daylight falls, you rely on other senses. Hearing and smell. Like our ancestors.
I could hear a right old racket in the woods, Pheasants barking at each other, their grating calls like a 1920s car horn. The daffodils looked pale, almost white in the failing light. I like the lonesomeness of the woods and moors at night.
Not many people use the moors at this time, but I did pass two lads with a flashlight and their inquisitive dog. And a lady, powerwalking with her own canine companion. I bade them all a good evening well in advance of our paths crossing, just in case they hadn’t seen me. I don’t want to startle anyone or make them uncomfortable. Not that the night should make people any less friendly, but the darkness does provoke a mistrust in others. Again, the primitive part of our brain, sensing danger. We’re outside of the cave, we’re exposed, our night vision isn’t as good as the predators. Wolves prowl.
Firing a warning
Shock absorbing skull rattles
Eager drummer boy
Woodpeckers, specifically the Greater Spotted are getting right into their woodpecking at this time of year. I went for a run and I could hear one clearly. The biology of a woodpeckers skull is quite incredible. The cushioning of their brain casing is a miracle of evolution (if I’m allowed to use the words “miracle” and “evolution” in the same sentence).
This article from the Independent gives some indication as to how Woodpeckers avoid serious brain damage from their incessant head banging.
I quote:
“Brain injuries may be caused by an impact or a sudden change in the velocity of the head.
However, woodpeckers experience no ill effects even though their beaks hit tree trunks at six to seven metres a second, with deceleration producing enormous forces of up to 1,000G.”
Yes, 1,000G.
Now, your average human, according to my sources – i.e the internet :) usually gets knocked out when G-force suddenly reaches between 7G and 9G, so this is an incredible feat. I shudder to think what would happen to a person if they were suddenly subjected to 1,000G, the least of our worries would be our eyes popping out cartoon style (or retracting to pea sized shrivelled raisins), considering what would be happening to our brains.
So here is a vid of a test subject being subjected to extreme G-force through a wind blast test. Purely for scientific purposes and not in any way comedic.
And finally a pic of a male Greater Spotted Woodpecker, the UK’s most common woodpecker. (from RSPB website).
Greylags awkward steps
Safe from the shrunk back river
Bankside mud shimmers
I had some time at Waterloo station, prior to my connecting train leaving for Bracknell, so I wandered down to the Thames. It was a gorgeous day. The river, I guess due to the dry winter, seemed less “full” than normal. It could have been tidal of course, I don’t know much about such things, but it meant a bank of mud was revealed and allowed birds to promenade along it. These two Greylag Geese seemed slightly out of place, like tourists visiting the big city for the first time. They wandered up and down, taking in the scenery.
Green shoots dusty ground
Tattered black banners flutter
Scarecrows’ grave markers
I went for a run today, completed 5 miles, instead of my usual 3.5 so I was pleased with myself. To fill out the distance I took in Centenary Wood as well as the Moors. There is a public footpath through a field to get to the Wood. As the farmer had recently ploughed it, there was no discernable footpath so to speak, but I could see the path marker diagonally opposite the field boundary, so I had to pick through the big bumpy clumps of earth, rolling my ankles and knees in the process to get back on the path. Was quite energy sapping but I avoided injury.
Anyway, the field itself was dry and dusty, but there was something growing in it, little green grass like crops were poking through. It was obvious it was a crop as the farmer had installed these wooden waist high frames with pieces of black sackcloth flapping in them, to scare the birds.
I just imagined these were graves markers for scarecrows who’d been forcibly retired, trussed up with rope, unstuffed of their straw, burnt and their scraps buried. At night they’ll crawl out of the earth and kill us all. Just thought you should know.
Resplendent cherry
Transient beauty breathing
Blossom pink and white
Flowering cherry trees at this time of year are just stunning, the fact they flower in such a small window of time is one of the joys and sadnesses of the season. It’s a bit of a Haiku cliche to mention cherry blossom, I think of a shinto priest scribing as the blossom falls down onto his bald pate. A tear falls on his parchment….. yeah, all cliche’d, but sod it. I don’t care! It *is* beautiful :)
A photo I took from down the lane.
Behind the blackouts
a faultless sky forgiving
alive and lucid
Blackout curtains are great, I think they help me to sleep better. The absence of light helps me to turn off part of my brain and leads to restful nights. I like the lottery of mornings, blearly eyed, staggering to the window to open it a peep. Check what the weather is like. How do I know it’s morning if I keep going on about flippin’ blackout curtains? Because I’ve got an alarm silly! Dur!
Anyway this morning was beautifully sunny, my pupils shrunk in pain at the sunlight assault pouring through onto my retinas. When they adjusted a bit I looked out to a perfect blue sky. The clouds were absent. Wonderful.
Furious tail wag
With war songs the tiny dart
Clamours a warning
Wren’s are feisty, for such little birds they show enormous pluck when defending their territory. They have no intention of giving quarter when a big human oaf goes running between *their* trees. And they sing so loudly too. Not only that, but they do so in a place where you can see them, they do not hide. They sing at your eye level. They are staring you out, jumping from vantage point to vantage point to get the best position to stand their ground from. And if they really take offence, they bristle up their little feathers and fly at you, not to poke your eye out Hitchcock style or anything, just to buzz you, to try to get rid of you. They are not afraid! Wrens rock.
(Image from the RSPB website)
The shadow of war
Terror crawls and suffocates
A place of love burns
(image from shauntan.net)
Why do people up sticks and go to live in a new country? There are many reasons of course, but I always feel for those who are fleeing war and poverty. I read Shaun Tan’s “The Arrival” today. Debbie bought it for me for my birthday last year. Tan creates a fantastical world, the art is incredible, the detail is phenomenal. The fact it’s written without dialogue captures that immigrant isolation perfectly, their hopelessness, their inability to communicate, their fear of sinking in the depths of the city they’ve moved to. I’m not exactly happy with the quality of the Haiku, but I wanted to capture something of this beautiful book.
I’m publishing two days worth in one go today, the Haiku’s are so different, yet they seem complementary. We’ve just been for a two day trip to London, where, interrupted by a wonderful visit to the theatre (The Ladykillers – very funny adaptation by Graham Linehan) we saw the exhibitions by two of the giants, in fact I would say, the top two British Artists spanning the of 20th and 21st Centuries. Namely David Hockney and Lucian Freud. It seems apt to publish the Haiku’s side by side.
Hockney’s exhibition at the Royal Academy is stunning in its colour and joy. Since his return to England from L.A he’s been painting every day in his native Yorkshire, capturing the change in the seasons. His work for Spring is just so heart warming and vivid.
(may blossom on the roman road 2009, 72in x 192in)
This painting captures the time of year Hockney calls “Action Week” where the transient Hawthorn Blossom appears and then swiftly disappears. It’s very poetic. This is a large painting, visually stunning.
My Haiku in humble appreciation of it, is below. I like the semi animalistic forms in the foliage too. And look at that sky. There’s something of the fairy tale about this work.
Hawthorn blossoming
Unbound spring bursts in the trees
Renewal brightness
Freud on the other hand, who divides opinion (I love his work by the way) has a retrospective of portraits at the National Portrait Gallery. This is the first major exhibition of his work since his death last year. I was discussing it with Debbie, but there is something of the instinctive, the animal in his work. And the capture of skin tone, it’s almost dead in pallor at times. But it feels real, raw and honest. I’ve used one of his own quotes in the last line of my Haiku where he talks about the importance of flesh in his work.
The Haiku itself relates to a specific self portrait “Self Portrait, Reflection 1981-82”. There is definitely something of the hunter about him in this, a bird of prey. His eye even looks like it’s pulled to the side of his head to give him a wider field of vision for observing his quarry.
Feral scrutiny
Tilted head hawk gaze devours
Paint to work as flesh
(from bridgemanart website)
Londoners or those in the region are fortunate that both exhibitions are running concurrently. I would thoroughly recommend both, for different reasons. They will be worthy of a proper post on my main blog in due course.
Sampson fantasy,
Clipper emasculation,
No more flowing locks.
Ok, a silly one today. I’ve been promising to get my haircut. Although I like long(ish) hair, it’s:
1) Hard to maintain, it just grows into a virile afro-bush most days
2) Takes forever to dry
3) I’m useless at straightening it (I tried once and nearly melted my ears)
4) I don’t want to end up looking like one of those ridiculous middle aged men with a massive receding spam head and a stringy mess of pathetic spider web like strands dragged forward and sideways to give the impression of volume and style. (some would argue I’ve already caught this train!)
Faded indigo,
Whispered constellations glow,
Honey stained by smoke.
Went to see the Mark Lanegan Band at Shepherds Bush, with the Bossman. Great gig. I’m inspired to write a Haiku about Lanegan and his music (and his hands). Do you think it sounds like I love him? Well, I guess I do, a little bit, in a chest bump, knuckle tap way.
(photo source is noisebloc)
In the misty chill,
River skips through the mill wheel,
Distant tawny calls.
I walked back from the station in the dead of night, I’d been to see Arsenal play with my old Dutch friend Chris and his brother in law Ari, both of them enjoying the spat between their two countrymen Van Persie and Krul.
The air was damp with mist and as it was later than normal (I would normally rush back after a game, but I stayed for a goodbye drink) there was no background noise, there was an absence of cars and people. Bizarrely, as I’d lived in the area for years, this was the first time I could hear the river splashing against the old Mill Wheel (now fixed in place) on the edge of Flitwick. I also heard Tawny Owls calling in the far distance.
Queen bee emerges,
Crawls from the sombre litter,
Leaps into sunlight.
Saw a bumblebee (again) today. Second one of the year! It was up on the ridge at the top of Pegsdon Hills. Was almost certainly a Queen considering the time of year. Unlike honey bees, the poor bumbles only live a few months, the Queens just one year. They form relatively tiny colonies, compared to the thousands in the honeybee hive (who hibernate over winter). Before the old Queen died in the Autumn, she laid some regal eggs, these bumblebee Queens flew away after being fertilised by a male, finding safe warm havens to survive the winter. In spring, they emerge, looking for a spot to create their colony, to being the process again.
I wish her luck! With her bizarrely impossible aerodynamics!
A string of pond pearls,
Toad craft coiled in the reed beds,
Weary mothers spawn.
Bit of a sensory overload, so many inspiring things to see and hear on the moors. Greater Spotted Woodpeckers competing, drumming out their territories. My first bumblebee of the spring (Deb saw one a few days ago). Daffodils pushing through the earth. More laughing Green woodpeckers. Blossom on the blackthorns. The white cherry blossom in the lane and the ubiquitous birdsong.
But what was most exciting was seeing the toads in the pond. Not just that, but also their spawn. How beautiful. I like this photo as the sky merges into the surface of the pond, but my shadow allows a window into the depths of it, so in my dark reflection, the pretty string of toad spawn.
The red kite circles,
Surveying St. Faith’s churchyard,
Mouse sanctuary.
Driving through the old pretty village of Hexton, the unmistakable shape (even for me!) of a Red Kite circled above me.
Fishermen at sea,
Walkers under Turner’s moon,
Illuminated.
Neil and Paul came up from London and we all walked to the pub for dinner. The full moon was rising in the sky, it pushed its face through the broken cloud. It reminded me of a JMW Turner painting. This painting was exhibited when he was 21, in 1796. “Fishermen at Sea”.
(from the Tate website)
Painting the wilds of the sky, the elements, the sea and the wide open landscapes was his strength. His later work, when it is suggested that his eyesight was failing is perhaps his most magnificent. The use of colour, the blur in the unique style giving an impression of movement, blinding light, heat or cold, is breathtaking. But this early piece is majestic too.
As for a photo of the moon from last night, here it is. Over two hundred years later, if you look up, the sky is comfortingly timeless.
I am only real,
When the headlights burn my back,
Long shadow walking.
Was walking back from the station late last night, bar a timid moon peeking through the thin cloud, the route to Greenfield from the station passes down a particularly dark lane. Walking this route late at night, I feel invisible, I disappear with my music in the darkness. Or if I have no music, I listen for tawny owls, the distant barking of dogs, or freight trains, unbuffered, rattling onwards.
I only exist when an approaching car blinds me or when a car drives past me from behind. As cars approach, I observe my shadow, racing and striding ahead of me, a hundred metres long. Then as the vehicles pass, I disappear, become invisible again.
Delightful furrows,
Buried treasures churned, unearthed,
Worms for leaping gulls.
Went for another run today, I’m so unfit it was exciting to get under 10m per mile pace! Still, I did run 3.5miles, but plenty of room for improvement. One of the fields adjoining the moor had recently been ploughed. Birds were congregated, getting a good feed of all the turned over detritus. Mostly it was crows and gulls, probably the most bullish of the avians, keeping the smaller birds at bay.
The photo below isn’t actually of that particular field, but it is one in the locale, Pegsdon Hills, I took it a couple of weeks ago, I like the way the plough marks the soil, especially on corners.
I’m working on a longer poem on this theme, which will appear on my other blog at some point in the near future.
A curtain of spray,
Bloated heavy sleet collides,
Snowflakes unfulfilled.
It snowed, nearly.
The art of seeing,
Shy colours revealed in light,
Patience rewarded.
Watched a BBC documentary about David Hockney, who is currently exhibiting some recent work of his native Yorkshire in the Royal Academy, entitled “A Bigger Picture”. He talked about the depth of colour in seemingly mundane scenes, somewhere which many would consider ordinary, not worthy of a second look.
All you have to do wait. And look. And that’s where the colours reveal themselves to you. He paints the same scenes throughout the seasons, in different weather and different light. Also at different times of day. The results are wonderful. I’m trying to do this myself too now (the “seeing” bit, not the painting bit!). We end up rushing everywhere, just a few minutes to take your breath and look and watch is so rewarding.
Hockney standing in front of one of his huge canvasses (actually 36 canvasses joined together!). Can’t wait to go later this month. Pic from the Telegraph website.
Iron rich water,
Red reflection receding,
Mallards flee the ditch.
In the moors* the water is very ferric, that is, rich in iron (not sure why I’m patronising you by explaining it!).
The river Flit water used to be bottled and sold as a strengthening tonic. The water has a red tinge, at certain points in the river or the tributaries, where the iron deposits on rocks or pebbles, it is blood red. It’s quite incredible. When it snows the red looks is very vivid, like something has been blood let upstream, against the white.
The last few days I’ve unfortunately disturbed Ducks with my running, they fly out of the ditches of the river. I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t see them as the banks were so high and the water level was so low.
* – sorry, another post about the moors… oh, and birds! :)
Nature whispers time,
Murmurs in trees, ponds and earth,
The colour of spring.
Went for another run today, in the moors of course. It was another lovely day. I missed the frogs, which were mating today. Debbie saw them when she went on her walk, they go quiet when they see a disturbance, but if you stay perfectly still they start to croak and splash around, writhing in huge knotty bundles, the poor female squished in the middle of the amphibian ball. I might take a gander tomorrow, a leisurely stroll, to see if I can see them too. Not because I make a habit of watching animals getting it on, but because it’s one of the most interesting and amazing sights and sounds of spring, in the microcosm of the moors. I’m so happy and lucky to live in the countryside. The transition of winter to spring is one of the best times of year (only bettered by Spring itself!).
For now, here is a video of Mark Hollis’ “The Colour of Spring”, from his solo album, today’s haiku is in this songs honour, I cannot fail but be moved when I listen to it. Shame he dropped out of the music business. He was, and I assume still is, a genius. I’ll forgive him supporting Spurs because of that..
And if you want to see an example of frogs mating, please visit this blog of mine, from 2007. My writing style was a bit more provocative and irreverent then! (yes, more irreverent). So I hope you will forgive that :). But there is a video of the frogs mating, childishly entitled “Frogs Porn”
Mischievous voices,
The laughter of woodpeckers,
Spun through the grasses.
Went for a run with my neighbour and friend Bob, we both needed an incentive. The winter has been so dry the moors were fine to run on. It seemed at every turn a Green Woodpecker would make that very distinctive laughing call. Laughing at our efforts no doubt. Well Mr Yaffle, we’re getting faster, so there!
Here’s a couple of photos I took, from only a couple of weeks ago, when we had our cold snap and our snow. The weather is so mild now so it feels like a sudden transition. Green Woodpeckers are one of my favourite birds, that exotic green in a bird so large. And that red flash on its neck. I remember the excitement I felt the first time I saw one, it’s just such a good looking bird.
We were lucky to see this one, I assume it was digging for food at the time.
