Dancing in Fetters

My next textile piece is called Dancing in Fetters.  The inspiration originally came from a visit to an exhibition in Fremantle Prison in Australia.  The exhibition was called Dancing in Fetters and has been touring Australia for several years.

The start of a workbook page about the piece.

I want to put text on the piece so have written this Pantoum which has a particular structure:

Dancing in Fetters

The fiddler strikes up a lively reel.
Our feet stamp out the beat.
The shackles rattle
As we dance with fettered feet. 

Our feet stamp out the beat
But we can only shuffle forward
As we dance with fettered feet.
Our hope lies in redemption

But we can only shuffle forward
Fettered as we are.
Our hope lies in redemption
When redemption breaks the chains 

Fettered as we were
Our hope lay in forgiveness.
As redemption breaks the chains
We dance with unfettered feet.

 

Twice a month I take part in an online poetry workshop. On the poetry workshop this week the tutor talked about writing a Nonet. This is a nine line poem with 9 syllables in the first line, eight in the second and so on down to one syllable.

I wrote the 9 lines on the theme of Dancing in Fetters. One of the group suggested I wrote the same lines in the other direction as a mirror poem.

Your feet move slowly, ankles encased
with iron bracelets, together
with rusty chain. You shuffle
forward and back, in time
to the fiddler's tune.
Dance in fetters
without hope
Lonely
Tired.
Tired
Lonely
without hope
Dance in fetters
to the fiddler's tune
forward and back, in time
with rusty chain. You shuffle
with iron bracelets, together
Your feet move slowly, ankles encased.

Thanks for joining me today
Bernice

An odd poem plus two more

As promised, an odd poem.

To an armpit
Smooth or stubbly?
Hairy or shaved?
Smelly or perfumed?
Rarely sees the sun. 

Smooth as a baby’s bum
That changes as puberty hits.
Smooth skin wrinkles over the years
Making shaving more difficult
If that’s your preference. 

All parts of the body are necessary
But what does an armpit do?
It connects an arm to a body
A hollow under the arm 

A sweaty place perhaps
A term used to insult a place
A place to put our hands
To keep them warm in winter 

The May 'Write Poetry' zoom workshop was sort of about aging or certainly about time passing.  The first exercise was about writing about the passing of time and a body part.  I actually wrote this after the session and a bit tongue-in-cheek!

The second exercise was about choices made either by me or by someone else which impacted me.

Subject
Not good enough for science
Nor good at art
Lousy at languages
Really just a spare part. 

Allowed two ‘A’ levels
Rather than three.
No university application
Training college for me. 

No help from the teachers
For ‘failures’ like me
Despite being in the top
Two percent of the country. 

Decisions made for me
Based on my actions
I didn’t put the effort in
Which caused the school’s reactions. 

Now retired I look back
At choices made for me
How different the trajectory
If I had stood up for me. 

Should I regret the might-have-been
Or celebrate my success?
A life well lived. Good jobs, degrees.
Great friends, a home and health.
Forty years of marriage, a son
And three grandkids. 

Those that made the decisions
Are long gone now.
But did they drive me to impress?

The third exercise was about exploring life through numbers.  I feel I was a bit influenced by the song 'Once I was 7 years old'. 

Still counting
When I reached 30
I suddenly felt grown up.
My opinions seemed to matter
More than at 29. 

When I reached 40
The mother of a 3 year old
A 37 year gap
Me, a geriatric primigravida. 

When I reached 50
A champagne breakfast
Hosted by a friend
50 was the new 30
Although it didn’t feel like it! 

When I reached 60
The 3 year old was 23
And married.
We went to New York City
And took a carriage ride
Around Central Park. 

When I reached 70
Three score years and ten
There was a garden party.
Not a surprise party because
I don’t like surprises.
But the 23 year old, now 33
Surprised me with his wife
Facetiming through the television. 

And nearly 4 years on
Still counting,
Still reaching towards 80 

I’m aiming for 100
and a card from the King

Thanks for joining me today
Bernice

Poetic words

I spent a very productive couple of hours on a Write Poetry zoom call run by Sara-Jane Arbury.  You may remember me mentioning her before when I wrote about Shape Shift Words.

We did 3 exercises.  In each Sara-Jane introduced us to a poem, talked about its form, language and punctuation and set us off to write a poem of our own.

(c) Frederick Yang

The first poem was Considering the Snail by Thom Gunn.  My version:

Feline Considerations
Hidden.
Camouflaged.
Stripes echoing the grasses’ light and shade.
Perfectly still. But
totally alert to movement of its prey.

Ears pricked.
Eyes watchful, unblinking.
Poised.

Slowly one paw stretches
and touches down silently
as the next paw moves
and the next!
Slow, yet coiled.
Eyes on the target.

A sudden burst of rippling muscle
surging, pursuing the hapless prey.
Flapping feathers, frightened squawking
The feathered prey fights for freedom and
soars to the safety of branches high above and
jeers and catcalls at the losing stalker.

The cat stalks back to the shadowy grasses
his inner tiger dissatisfied. But,
there’s always another day.

The second poem was Root Vegetable Stew by Myra Schneider.   I can't find a copy online for you to see.  It was about cooking and about putting roots down.

My version as you will see is not about cooking:

Meals
I don’t cook. I heat up food.
Foil trays and frozen vegetables
brought from the supermarket of my husband’s choice.
Our evening meals based on use before dates
served on warmed plates
perched on trays.

We eat.
We watch the cooking shows.

The third poem was Amulet by Ted Hughes.  We were supposed to write about a creature but firstly I couldn't think of one and secondly this format is really, really hard.  Anyway you know my thoughts fairly frequently turn to canals, so here it is:

Roar
Inside the city’s roar, the canal’s silence
Inside the canal’s silence, the coots nest
Inside the coot’s nest, the hatchlings rest
Inside the hatchlings rest, the grasses sway
Inside the grasses sway, the fishes play
Inside the fishes play, the water moves
Inside the waters’ move, the narrowboats steer
Inside the narrowboats’ steer, they enter the city’s roar.

Well done if you've read this far.  I'm very impressed.

Thanks for joining me today
Bernice