“Read, read, read. Read everything – trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You’ll absorb it. Then write. If it’s good, you’ll find out. If it’s not, throw it out of the window.”
–William Faulkner
I discovered this video after a trip to New York and a brief brush with the poetry scene there. I was invited to perform as a special guest, nerve wracking right, and be one of the judges for inter-collegiate poetry slam at the Bowery organised by the amazing Christine Timm.
It was great to meet some of the students and the start of a long night that traversed bars and a club and a 4am visit to the Brooklyn Bridge with contestant Sito Alvarez, who by rights should have won, his performance was breathtaking. Later heard the wild weather that raged that night was dubbed “a one hundred year storm.”
At the time there was a thriving and dynamic scene around Bowery Poetry, between Bleecker Street and 2nd Avenue and the Nuyorican Poets Cafe in the East Village which continues virtually to this day.
In addition in smaller venues such as the adorable Carlitos Cafe y Galeria on Lexington, which my good friend and travel companion discovered quite by accident, presently shut for the pandemic, which reminded us both of the Bonnington Square Cafe in Vauxhall.
Not in a position to get back there, mostly due to poor mental health, the death of my father and the awful time that followed. I digitally explored that scene. The power of this performance by then named Marty Out Loud and it’s message has stuck with me. The storms we inhabit with no beginning and seemingly no end.
On her website Marty McConnell’s says, “I write and perform poems and lyric text around the U.S. and beyond, at schools and festivals and conferences and wherever people gather. I work with crowds of thousands and groups of 10 and one-on-one to dive deep and open wide in the brutal and glorious ways language allows… I believe that the purpose of poetry is to lead us deeper into ourselves, and from there, further out into the world with a keener understanding of our place in it.”
“Marty McConnell is the author of the book wine for a shotgun (EM Press) and many poems including “Frida Kahlo to Marty McConnell.” These are widely published in journals, anthologies, and as citations in non-fiction as well. McConnell is a Chicago native who lived in New York for ten years, then returned to co-found Vox Ferus, an organization dedicated to empowering individuals and communities through poetry.
She is a graduate of the Sarah Lawrence M.F.A. program, a co-curator of louderARTS Project’s flagship reading series, and two-time performer on H.B.O.’s Def Poetry Jam. McConnell has performed across the country and Europe—at schools and festivals, independently, with her one-woman show “vicebox,” and with the Morrigan performance poetry troupe.”
https://localwiki.org/chicago/Marty_McConnell
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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I’m late with this as since the first day of lockdown I feel I’ve been thru a storm at sea. Great winds pulled at my sales, waves repeatedly washed over the deck threatening to wash all provisions overboard while I and the crew struggled to keep our footing. In this metaphor the crew are all my selves I guess. By which I mean every self at every age I’ve ever been.
During the storm I visited some of my younger selves to heal the hurt made then. As the storm subsides finally I drop anchor and with the sky blue and gentle waves washing against this battered vessel I see she has held true though some sails will need repair.
I find grief can be like this. At first devastating then after a while still ever there are the comforting ripples of remembrance yet at times even then a huge wave or even a tsunami that wipes away everything in its path, hits sometimes when you least expect it.
I should know by now that November brings these storms though this year something like a tsunami came early. I cried for 10 days straight in October. I was ok with that. I felt cleansed of so much pain. I thought the rocking of the ship had settled down. Best to look to the horizon at these times I might have seen the new storm approaching.
As a result half a month has slipped by already, I managed to get to the amazing Bridge of Fire/ Puente de Fuego, curated by Nathalie Teitler though missed the Siren Poets anthology book launch of What if we can’t save the Earth But if the Earth could save us? Edited by Liv Torc. I have the book and recommend.
On the poetry scene also Louise Gluck, won the Nobel Prize for Literature, she is the first American woman to win the prize since Toni Morrison and only the 16th woman to receive this honour. I am not over familiar with her work but what I’ve read resonates with me, her poems of family life in particular, from: A Fable, “Suppose / you saw your mother / torn between two daughters: / what could you do / to save her but be / willing to destroy / yourself?”
I like this review in which Fiona Sampson concludes quoting Gluck,
“‘“The fundamental experience of the writer is helplessness,’ she tells us in the essay Education of a Poet; their life ‘is dignified, I think, by yearning, not made serene by sensations of achievement. In the actual work, a discipline, a service.’ Gluck’s poetry, for all its huge distinction, its vibrant intelligence and its beauty, has never lost the ability to serve society, or the reader.”
This looks worth checking out, the Poetry in Aldeburgh online festival, “The festival events (readings, talks, performances) do not overlap and there is an hour-long gap between them. Each event is of 60-minute duration with some leeway to overrun in the evenings. There are two daily slots for workshops at 10:00am and 1:15pm with two 90-minute sessions running in parallel.
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So it’s back into lockdown. Can’t help thinking beginning it on the 5th of November was a cruel cut. Given our traditions have turned away from burned the “Guy” to burning images of the latest oppressor perhaps there was more the one reason for the timing. Perhaps they fear marauding crowds with fire crackers and burning branches at the gates of power.
So what is to be done? Hang tight for now I guess. Gather our strength. Is anyone even listening to the government at the moment? Can’t help thinking we’ll know that when we see how many bonfiles burn on November 5th. Kind of ironic on so many levels. How are the police to know if folks breaking the law or is it like – oh I didn’t get the memo Gov. I wonder how things will go down in Lewes?
Ironic also because the fire we need, and here I am speaking in metaphor, is to burn the whole rotting Houses down. The House of Commons is literally rotting, held up by scaffording but the real rot is inside. Seeking only to placate and reward big capital. They do not care about you and me. About our elders and vulnerable. I read the new lockdown guidance there is not one single word about the homeless or those with mental health conditions. Not one word.
As lockdown looms seems the Tories are split on this. That said, who hasn’t thought – but will it be extended? I know I have. I’m inclined to say we are here because of an absolute failure of track, trace and isolate. For which so much tax payers money has gone into the pockets of private corporations. Absolute failure at such a cost financially and personally. I had my temperature tested at least four times in Italy. Why arent we doing that?
If I’m completely honest I’m split on this. Is it necessary? Is it too little too late or is there a better way. It is uncomfortable after a life time of “taking a position.” Sometimes I embrace uncertainly but over this feel I need to take a stand. I’m split because there is some evidence coming in of false positives and false negatives, in addition the Covid death rates as proportion of cases is declining.. I noticed this when tracking Covid figures in Spain for just over a month (when I was planning to go on retreat which fell thru) subsequent articles confirm this.
The government don’t care about people flooded or burnt in this country, notewell, Grenfell or the fact the whole planet is subject to flood and fire, the Ecological and Climate Emergency Bill has been booted into the long grass while they talk about Brexit. Yeah what a great move during a pandemic and a climate emergency.
It should all signify the death of the right, but they too are rising and we must have no illusions what that could mean. They have seized on the failures of governance and twisted it into a militant global populism. Close on 30 000 in Trafalgar Square in the summer, supported by the egoist David Icke who strutted like a rock star and in my opinion does not have a pure heart. I know for a fact not everyone attending there gatherings are on the right let alone “alt right” or fascist, but the British Union of Fascists rose from the dead and held there banner there.
In a way Brexit doesn’t matter so much as our links are global. I think it will be a Pyrrhic victory for the right. We the people are not taking back control of anything and that will become apparent. We must not dismiss those temporarily caught in the illusions cast by the the mendacious, the tricksters that appear as clowns and fools while standing up to those who deny the Holocaust and would take us back to the darkest days of humanity.
All the while we do not just wait for the fire next time, know it’s coming, though our movements have become more like the water, note the Gilet Jaunes, the Umbrella movement in Hong Kong, XR, countless groups across the USA see Reel News. We can prepare, network, build our bonds of solidarity, we have come so far already. And should it be fire, the Phoenix that arises can be our new democracy based in communities with no centre, no single point, no vanguard.
XR are calling for a peoples assembly. We need people’s assemblies plural. They exist in Catalonia. Don’t feel yet we have the bones. Or do we? We are on our way. There is the potential for that in mutual aid, community groups, campaigns, the voluntary sector and grass roots trade unionism. Akin perhaps to the European Social Forum, the World Social Forum. What happened to those?
And while we prepare our self care must become revolutionary and be part of our evolution. We walk, run, yoga stretch, meditate, dance, whatever does it for you. And do all we can to build ourselves and others as we simultaneously build our communities and our future.
Solidarity.
j
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Communion
We watch a movie together
content in the recognition
of the same codes.
Yet I can’t get into your skin
I can listen,
touch.
But you have your
imaginings
and I have mine.
We can weave our visions though in the end,
I will return to the labyrinth of my soul
and you to yours.
When we walk in the park I wonder
if the green hues that wash my eyes
are the same for you.
I hear a dog barking
You kick a stone, together
we point at a cloud and laugh.
Anne Enith Cooper
Published in Touched, Survivors’ Press, London (2006) ISBN-10: 1874595100 ISBN-13: 978-1874595106
You can also. find this poem on the newly designed website from Malika’s Poetry Kitchen. Watch for news of the new anthology next year, to mark 20 years of this incredible collective, featuring many members of the MPK family. It’s hard for me to put into words what a honour it is to be part of all this. The camaraderie of the Kitchen sessions alone has been uplifting, inspirational and so great for my craft.
The founder members Malika Booker, Jacob Sam La Rose and Roger Robinson express such warmth and good humour while absolutely committed to their own work and sharing their skills and have reached heights I had no idea existed in our poetry world and as such move me to be better and do better as a person and a writer. Check out the site and I’ll share news of the launch and other news when it comes. We each have a poem on the site so do check it out for some great work.
During lockdown one, and since, our togetherness, our being together, has been re- wired and perhaps created a new reverence for what we took for granted. I found it hard to meet friends without sharing a hug. And while it’s useful and often necessary zoom is a poor substitute for the real.
I wrote this poem many moons ago. And now have queries about the line breaks and feel communion works a much deeper level, that our souls join in an infinite labyrinthine manner so complex it is hard to comprehend but am leaving it as it stands.
It was inspired by the work of Octavio Paz to whom I also dedicated it. Now I dedicate it to you all in this strange time. In El larerinto de la soledad (The Labyrinth of Solitude) Paz argued that communion was the complimentary opposite to solitude, “glimpsed in love and found in God.”
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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On my last day in Rome this year I was wandering around with half a plan. The trip, between lockdowns, took me to a yoga retreat, to the beach and back again. Pandemic restrictions in Italy had been eased temporarily at that time. Reported mortality less per head of population than the U.K. I set off that day heading for the Piazza Barbarina via Repubblica, past the church Santa Maria of the Angels and Martyrs, which seemed to be closed. Somewhere I took a wrong turn and ended up in an area with monuments on all sides, mind blowing! I think it was Traiano.
Just as I reached there I was accosted by a young guy who introduced himself, asked my name, told me his, said he was from Senegal. It was hot, neither of us wearing a mask. An edict to be brought in the following day would instruct people to wear masks outside as well as inside. Had encountered so many Africans eeking out a precarious living on this trip. The Kenyan in the market at Teramo who said he wanted to get to London, the Nigerian outside the supermarket who too said he just wanted to get to London.
I didn’t want to say to either “That’s gonna be tricky.” Didn’t want to speak of the hostile environment or the disgraceful treatment of asylum seekers so I would listen, smile, chat, give them something if I had anything to give, wish them luck as we parted.
This guy was really cheerful, I think maybe he just wanted to talk. In truth I just wanted to sit down and be alone. When he said, “Where are you from?” I replied, “Londra/ London,” he broke into English and burst out with, “That’s great, you’re not racist!” And fist bumped. (I guess social distancing was not exactly being entirely observed.) I wondered whether to correct the assumption that everyone in London was not racist, but let it go.
We chatted for a while, at some point he said, “I want to meet you, you are so happy!” In truth I was trying to process a difficult cocktail of thought and emotion following the retreat, maybe it wasn’t obvious. I explained I was leaving later. He pressed a little bracelet with an elephant motive into my hand. I love elephants, let’s just say they are significant to me. I have nine statues of elephants in my flat at home, so now I’m thinking someone is watching over me… Yet I say, “I can’t take this.” I had little cash.
Then, like a magician, he pulled out a whole bunch of shining things and again tried to press them into my hand. At this point, momentarily, I wondered – is this going to be like the incident with the young black guy in Railton Road? That guy pressed a package into the hand of a white male friend of mine. It was gone midnight, we were on our way home from a late night pub called Mingles.
I remember my friend saying, “No mate, I don’t do crack,” trying to hand it back, but the dealer wouldn’t have it, kept saying, paraphrasing, “You touched it, man, you touched it, it’s in your skin now, you gotta pay for it.” At that point an elder turned up, dreadlocks swinging, saying, “Wa guarn?” He clocked the situation, admonished the young guy and told us to, “Get up de road.” Or something like that. Excuse me if my rendition of the voice is off.
Oblivious to my thoughts the Senegalese guy said, “I want to give them to you because your not racist.” I said, “Please, really I can’t!” Could feel the tears that begged to be shed welling up. He took them back and gave me a tiny red turtle. I was transfixed. Just love the story about the people who believed that the world was on the back of a turtle and when someone asked what’s beneath the turtle they said, “It’s turtles all the way down.” I can’t help now flirt with the idea this meeting was destined.
I was dreaming of turtles climbing my living room wall in a lucid dream, during afternoon siesta, about the time a latter day nazi set off a nail bomb outside Iceland in Brixton on a Saturday afternoon in April 1999 injuring 48 people. Had I not been asleep it’s very plausible I could have been coming out of Iceland, or going in, as was not uncommon back then, or any number of people I knew.
Breaking out of my reverie, I said something like, “I’d love to keep this and I’ll give you something, but I really have to go.” Gave him all the cash I had, apologised for it being so little and the fact I had to leave. Then, social distancing going right out the window, he held his dark wrist against mine, touched it with one finger of his other hand, then mine and said, “Same” and welling up I replied, “Yes.”
It was all I could manage, so overcome now with a new cocktail of conflicting emotions. We shook hands, I wished him luck and left. I wonder where he is now? I wonder if he proceeded just how perilous his journey would be; whether he might end up breathless in the back of a lorry or losing consciousness while paddling as light fades with only a lifejacket and a reinforced tire to support him or cramped into an overflowing, ill-made boat tossed about by the slap of the tide.
Edit to post 2023. The award winning film Io Capitano, screened at the Venice Film Festival is a representation of a true story of Senegalese asylum seekers.
As I walked away I wondered if I should have been more straight up about the reality of life in London, the reality for asylum seekers, the housing crisis, the resurgence of the far right. I almost said, “At least here you have the sun, despite La Lega. (Formerly La Lega Nord, the “populist” party of the right, who demonise refugees.) Pointed out that in the U.K. there is also a hostile government and cold, damp, grey winters. Now I think perhaps it’s just I don’t ever want to be the one to fail to, as WB Yeats put it, “tread softly because you tread on my dreams”
On the way back I sat down outside a church; drank some water, got my map out, got my bearings. I’d left all my gear at the hotel. Noticed fifteen to twenty black men of various ages, sitting like me by the war memorial outside the church, or hovering close by. It was a Sunday after all. Some in jeans and tee shirts, some in African clothing. Reflected it’s not enough for the ill-named “populists” that people of colour, whether refugees or asylum seekers, worship the same God as them.
I like to think I’m not racist but if I live in a world where someone feels they have to thank me for not being racist, that is just wrong. With a flight booked in just a few hours time, I couldn’t but help keenly feel what is just procedure for me, in the West in general, getting a boarding pass, producing a passport, is out of reach for people like those I met; young men, full of dreams and ambition who wished to study medicine, engineering or set up their own shop someday. Where my skin, my nationality, means I can go where the hell I like and there are people with a different skin and nationality that don’t have that right. That privilege. It should be a given. Someday…
I came across an argument sometime ago that suggested the forced movement of refugees (forced by war, political persecution, climate change) estimated at 70 million each year into Europe, one half children, are the frontline in a war against the atrocity of the division of countries and continents and inequality conferred by imperialism and colonialism.
It suggested that with their bodies they are challenging the borders, carved out less than a century ago, the lines drawn on maps at the end of the Second World War by the leaders of the U.K., the U.S. and Russia, meeting in a hotel in Marrakesh. Borders that have resulted in such conflict.
I feel somehow this argument is ignoring the difficulty, putting the burden of necessary change on the shoulders of those most precarious while we sit comfortably in our privilege. Yet the Berlin Wall didn’t come down with a treaty. Slavery did not end with the well meaning actions of white liberals. I wonder can fortress Europe hold against the tides of migration, the tides of time. I hope not.
#AnotherWorldIsNecessary
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Found object. Siena 1993. The text reads, “Andrea I love you always.” The thousand lire note at that time was worth about 50p. Italy converted to the Euro in 2002. I wondered about the story behind this. There are multiple possibilities. At the time I assumed it was written by a man or a woman to a women have since found out it’s primarily used as mans name meaning “manly”, “masculine” and “brave” (from ancient Greek “andreios/ἀνδρεῖος.” The plot thickens. And since gender definitions and sexuality’s have become somewhat more complex. The gesture is timeless though. How to I love thee? How do I speak my truth? Do I cast my message to the winds of fortune? I hope it ended well.
A dear neighbour of ours at Cressingham an Italian called Andrea, his story did not end well. He was shy to the point of taciturn. Two years ago he committed suicide in his flat. Only after that I heard that he had mental health problems, that he had been sectioned on one occasion and at some point was working in the kitchen of the Maudsley Hospital that was treating him. I only started to see him when he broke a leg, not sure how. I’d see him on the way to or from the shop. We would always chat for a while and he seemed cheerful enough. I had no idea of the dark gods that rules him. Had I could have signposted him to services and told him I know the dark night too, call on me if your having a tough time.
When he died the council tried to contact his relatives, or so they say, it was months before the funeral. Thick snow lay on the ground, the sort of snow that silences. Only two of us made the funeral as there was a mix up of dates. With the administrator we put together a service. Some classical music, a prayer and Bella Ciao. I thought they might object to the latter but it was fine. I said a few words beginning with as god is my witness as I felt who is here to lament this life passing. There was no one to add their memories and celebrate the life of this quiet, sweet man. Dear Andrea rest in peace.
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So it’s back to the U.K. which is in my opinion becoming increasingly dystopic. As if the “Rule of six” wasn’t sinister sounding enough. I don’t sense much disquiet, but then I haven’t been scrolling. Maybe being away is giving me a different perspective but it all sounds very dark. What’s this I hear about a curfew?
As I prepare to return; I’ve been in Rome and Pineto on the Adriatic coast either side of a yoga retreat at the idyllic Casa Amrita. I can’t help thinking wa guarn? I mean it really- what is going on? Yesterday read in Brixton Buzz about panic buying of toilet roll due to the threat of another lockdown. Have we learnt nothing?
In a searing piece by John Crace in the Guardian he notes 47 regions are under strict lockdown measures at this time.
Caught a pronouncement live from Bojo mid retreat but didn’t wanna engage with that at the time. Looked like he had got a memo to drop the clown act. Heard him wrap the words humanity and spiritual around the threat of £10 000 fines and if necessary the army on the streets like wrapping a semi automatic in cotton wool. And we’re still cracking jokes about it? Like this:
My concern is this: Whatever your stance on the virus we cannot let this situation act as a cover for a descent into a surveilled, militarised “new normal” with a government issuing draconian powers. Oops that’s already happened. Above all we must not descent into fear. It feeds the darkness. Hold onto Love.
The experience of the lockdowns and post lockdowns have given us the opportunity to come together in a new way, to build the foundations of a new world; in the recognition of the value of previously undervalued workers, a focus on health and wellbeing, on those we love, new skills, new habits, the extensive mutual aid. A reboot if you like or a refrag, I guess a reboot would be full system change.
Im wondering what has been the reaction to this? What have Liberty had to say? What about trade unions? What about the Labour Party? What about communities? Really don’t wanna see a return to the lockdown semi Stasi attitudes and behaviour, rare but there nevertheless.
I don’t know who said it, though it was repeated in Tahrir in the autumn of 2011, we either go backward or forward. We cannot stay here. Of course as “Nothing is constant except change.” So what will it be?
We are seeing how we will have to fight to see our way out of Covid to hold onto decent jobs, pay, dignity and justice. Nurses have been carved out of the public sector pay review. They have been on the streets. While culture workers are taking on the might of the Southbank and the Tate. Workers in out cultural institutions need our support. Art is essential. You can donate to the strike fund for the latter here. Poetry on the Picket line are all over this check their Facebook page for updateshttps://en-gb.facebook.com/PicketLinePoets/
And the beloved poetry library on the Southbank has been put on ice! National Poetry Library SOS #NPLSOS
“We, the International Poetry Community, have grave concerns about the future of the UK’s National Poetry Library in the wake of Southbank Centre’s ruthless redundancy programme. The imminent job cuts and operational plans will ensure the library’s physical collection remains inaccessible to the public until at least April 2021. There will be no remote enquiry service. This will seriously undermine its essential operations along with its mission to collect all poetry published in the UK…”
Please circulate and sign this Poetry library petition https://www.change.org/p/southbank-centre-national-poetry-library-sos-nplsos
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Today, Thursday 1st October is National Poetry Day. The theme is vision. They’ll be a whole lot going on. Write, read or #ShareAPoem more info
I’m in the quaint coastal town of Pineto heading off later to the beach. Pineto, and all the coastal towns near here, were rebuilt after the Nazis dropped their payload off bombs as they fled in defeat at the end of the Second World War.
Italian building of new towns beats that in the U.K. if my home town is anything to go by. Here shops and restaurants are open though quite I’m told this is because it’s the end of the season as much as Covid. Masks are required inside buildings, it’s the only sign really of this global calamity as I’ve ignored newspapers and the TV in my room.
I was due to return yesterday but unready to leave the sun, the ease, the feeling of well being behind. Here I can swim, walk and cycle with ease. I sleep well though the full moon has left me feeling a bit unsteady. Time stretches out. I am content in my solitude.
***
Stop press: Return from my travels late at night. The retreat exceeded my expectations, Pineto was refreshing and relaxing and Rome overwhelming in a good way. Return to a ghost town. I don’t think I’ve ever seen the High Street so empty except at four in the morning. Return in much better shape.
There is a chill in the air and a fine drizzle that clings to my clothes, the pavements gleam. A few people scurry past heads down. Buses pull in and pull away. Hardly anyone gets on and off. There are too many going nowhere, people I recognise as vulnerable and homeless. Feel I’ve nothing to give, no energy to listen, no cash, can’t even break a smile.
***
Some events of interest coming up
Monday 5th October 7.30pm
Poets for the Planet meeting
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/88608358240
Sunday 11th October 7.30pm
Joining Poetry from the Grassroots: Spoken Word for social Justice this month with with special guest Mr Gee, hosted by Mark “Mr T” Thompson and Steve Tasane
https://us02web.zoom.us/j/3998944394?pwd=Smtzei9EeWpudU5weWoxTDQ2a2k0UT09
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Located at Casa Amrita, near Teramo, Abruzzo, Italy.
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The Standard reported a week ago, “Free train, Tube and bus rides considered to incentivise Londoners to return to shops and offices.” Seriously what is this obsession with getting people back to work in offices? I’m not knocking free public transport just the reason for introducing it. Clearly the workers have voted with their feet. Quite lit-er-al-ly. And who can blame them. My experience of commuting in London was pure hell. Especially the tube. No one wants to stand nose to armpit for 30-45 minutes everyday. The constant danger of being groped, the bad breath, the scrum to get on, the struggle to get off.
Office culture – is that really something to crave? Ive worked in advice centres, which were offices of sorts but I hardly imagine large open plan offices with social life confined to the water dispenser are life enhancing. We keep hearing poor Pret – oh please! Is that what London is really about. If, when, it’s ever in ruins will the archeologists of the day whoop with glee – I think I’ve found the remains of a Costa Coffee, of a Starbucks or a Pret a Manger? No, I don’t think so.
One great thing about the lockdown was it gave us pause for thought. A kinda ccreboot or perhaps it was just a refrag. We focused on what really mattered; those you love, health and wellbeing, a responsibility for self and others, a growing respect for key workers. Not to mention a (somewhat enforced) reduction in the compensatory, ego boosting, often pointless and sometimes puerile consumerism that arguably feeds and conceals the neoliberal nightmare we’ve been living in now for some 40 years.
Let’s have more of that say the Tories, consume, consume, BUY YOUR MORNING COFFEE. Man are they panicking. They’re tried Eat to Help Out, (as a slogan that really sucks as a policy is questionable.) I’ve seen posters plugging the merits of office life, and now this. BUT why else the panic? Because they want us to be happy? Really? And who is gonna pay the transport workers? Don’t worry about them, Give them a pay cut! How about some redundancies!
There’s a climate emergency and a) the government haven’t the time to debate The Climate and Ecological Emergency (CEE) Bill immediately introduced by Green Party MP Caroline Lucas but they make time to discuss this piece of unnecessary social engineering and b) simultaneously introduce more carbon burning measures. People have to travel to the offices don’t they?
The CEE Bill has been tabled for a second reading and a debate on the 12th March 2021. This is good though in my opinion no debate is needed. Let’s not forget how during lockdown we embraced the clean air, the silences, heard the birds sing again… THERES NO PRET ON A DEAD PLANET. Yeah that.
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This is a great one to play with! Bounce off that image or the headline, or make “skitter off the sea bottom” your first line. If you like write from the point of view of an isopod, what a great word!
Set a timer for fifteen minutes and freewrite and see where it takes you. Once you have a draft, consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun? Or does it feel it desires development, does it welcome a form?
Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones
“Buglike marine creatures that skitter across the sea bottom can grow to be as big as puppies, and a newly described species is one of the largest ever seen.
These crustaceans are known as isopods; the order Isopoda includes around 10,000 species that live in diverse habitats on land and in the ocean, and they can range in size from just a few millimeters to nearly 20 inches (500 mm) long. Of the ocean-dwelling isopods, the genus Bathynomus contains the biggest species; the newfound isopod, which turned up in the Indian Ocean in 2018, is among the largest of the Bathynomus species ever seen in the wild.
Named Bathynomus raksasa (“rakasa” is the Indonesian word for “giant”), the sizable sea bug measures about 13 inches (330 mm) in length, on average. It is the first new giant isopod species to be described in more than a decade, and is the first of these isopod behemoths to be found in waters near Indonesia, scientists reported in a new study.”
https://www.livescience.com/supergiant-isopod-newfound-species.html
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As XR begin a new rebellion already I hear cries of let us just get on with it. If you feel XR are disruptive or even Covid has disrupted our lives, and sorry to lapse into cliche, you ain’t seen nothing yet! I don’t want be the harbinger of doom, gloom and disaster but we all really gotta get real. There’s gonna be no baking of banana bread to get us out of climate change gone unchecked. The disruption it can bring will make Covid disruption look like a walk in the park, which it kinda was for a lot of us, except of course the bereaved, the essential workers and many, so many in the global south.
Recently I’ve been wondering what the wild temperature swings could be doing to crops. Like one day it’s 35 degrees next day it’s 19. Not too mention our bodies. This article, Cereal yields set to hit 30-year low as weather takes toll explores the effect of the extreme weather variations across the year and the results. Think a few days of supermarket stockpiling at the beginning of lockdown was bad? What if there’s nothing to fill the empty shelves?
There is a solution and it’s simple. #ActNow. This is an emergency!
The effects of the climate emergency are being felt right now all over the world. The last ice sheet in Canada was lost a few weeks ago. California is on fire, floods in India are of an unprecedented size. In the Amazon, the lungs of the world, more and more land is being lost to loggers every day. I won’t be surprised if the plagues of locusts swarming over at least three countries in East Africa (Kenya, Ethiopia and Somalia) is done to the mad global weather. And in the midst of a pandemic do you think war has stopped? Look at Palestine. Look at Yemen.
Man it almost feels biblical. What makes the end of days a new beginning? Us! Just us! Justice. Social justice, equality, dignity, empathy, peace and a just transition to a low carbon, fossil fuel free world. We are the 99.99%. Mother Earth is screaming for help. Or we can just take the attitude fuck it all, our children are the last generation, so what! Or we can act.
Some days I wonder if we deserve this planet, y’know that scene in the Matrix I when Smith is torturing Morpheus??? We have a choice. It’s as simple as that. We are, potentially, all Neo. I know deep down everyone feels love in their heart, everyone loves someone, love is what we need now. And love is an action. Love is an action. Love is an action. Love is the way #ActNow #Unity #DemandAJustTransition
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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I was hoping August would be down time, but in a world where everything was on pause, in a funny kind of way though we were stopped it felt nothing stopped. I was plotting to escape next week to a wonderful retreat in the mountains in Andalucia, but the tutor got sick. So that was that. Perhaps for the best as am still experiencing significant fatigue and a bucket full of self doubt.
***
Stop press: Am off to Italy! It’s all been last min but going to a yoga retreat at Casa Amrita in Abruzzo. It looks amazing and the trajectory of Covid figures suggest it’s safer than Spain in any case. It’s been a frantic scramble booking flights and hotels, as I plan to go via Rome on the outward journey and return via Pineto coming back. Plus investigating the bus services as Casa Amrita is somewhat off the beaten track. I considered the train to Rome but don’t fancy that under these conditions.
***
September greets us with an XR rebellion in London, Cardiff and Manchester. All month long. Central to this is a call to Parliament to back the The Climate and Ecological Emergency Bill (CEE Bill), with actions in Parliament Square 1st September 12.00pm – 5th September 5.00pm. For a list of all events see https://extinctionrebellion.uk/act-now/events/
Dates for the diary
Sunday 6th September 4.00 – 5.30pm
Live from the Butchery presents Sophie Herxheimer, Rishi Dastidar with Kevin Reid
Tis is a pay what you can event with live poetry. Here’s the link: https://paypal.me/pools/c/8rZuZvDpqM Join Zoom Meeting https://us02web.zoom.us/j/82269359284?pwd=RE9TS2grbmhRYVVCU1NjeHdZbGI4QT09
14 – 21 September 2020
The 2020 Tell It Slant Poetry FestivalA new one on me but again with “slant” in the title gotta be worth check out.
Hosted by The Emily Dickinson Museum The schedule is out now and includes headliners Ada Limón, Jericho Brown, Kimaya Diggs, Franny Choi, Shayla Lawson, and as is tradition, the Emily Dickinson Marathon!
Space is limited, so make sure to sign up for individual programs in advance: bit.ly/TellItSlant2020
#amwriting mostly about wellbeing
#amreading The Craft: A Guide to Making Poetry Happen in the 21st Century Edited by Rishi Dastidar on sale at the mo for £9.99
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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This is a simple exercise just to get the pen moving or to break through a block. I often use step one as a warm up in workshops but it can be taken further.
Step one
Without thinking too much pick a colour, place, game, fruit, an animal and write a sentence or two that includes some or all of the five elements, take no more than five minutes.
Step two
Take a phrase from one of your sentences and bounce off that or take it in another direction and write for 10 minutes.
Step three
Read back what you have written and cross out any words that don’t seem to add interest, tension or delight take no more than five minutes.
Consider what you have created, you have just pulled a rabbit out of a hat! It might be a draft of something, or the beginning of a draft. Or it can just be the workout you do before a run. Keep it either way, you may not know yet what it could become.
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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The pandemic has thrown a light on inequality in the U.K. and worldwide. In the U.K. the government seem determined to entrench rather than ameliorate inequality with breathtakingly callous actions regarding the NHS. Not content to reinstate parking charges for hospital staff they have carved them out of a public sector pay rise see this report from Reel News
“Anger over NHS workers being left out of a public sector pay rise is spreading throughothe country. The Brighton demo seen here was one of forty demonstrations all over the UK, the biggest one being in London (photos at end of video).
This campaign is completely rank and file and nurses led, but huge respect to GMB Southern Region for supporting the call for a 15% pay rise and a ballots across all unions for strike action. As they say in the video: if your union is not preparing to ballot you, contact them en masse to demand that they do.
The next actions are on Wednesday August 26, a day for nationwide workplace rallies at NHS hospitals and community services. Keep up to date with the campaign using the links at the end of the video.” See https://www.facebook.com/ReelNews/
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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The US poet Jericho Brown reads two his powerful Pulitzer Prize Winning Poems here https://youtu.be/r9LGIbG5o3Y
“Beauty abounds in Jericho Brown’s Pulitzer Prize winning collection, despite the evil that pollutes the everyday. The Tradition questions why and how we’ve become “accustomed to terror: in the bedroom, the classroom, the workplace, and the movie theater. From mass shootings to rape to the murder of unarmed people by police, Brown interrupts complacency by locating each emergency in the garden of the body, where living things grow and wither—or survive. In the urgency born of real danger, Brown’s work is at its most innovative. His invention of the duplex—a combination of the sonnet, the ghazal, and the blues—is an all-out exhibition of formal skill, and his lyrics move through elegy and memory with a breathless cadence. Jericho Brown is a poet of eros: here he wields this power as never before, touching the very heart of our cultural crisis.”https://www.jerichobrown.com/
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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Today would have been my fathers 85th birthday. Almost 12 years ago Dad silently slipped away, some time after 1.00pm on the 6th November 2008. The death certificate says the ninth, we all knew that was wrong but does it matter? A bit of detective work on my part over the days immediately following his death revealed he had his hair cut that morning so was in his best clothes and cheerful according to the hairdresser that popped in that day at 11.00.
Later it appeared he cooked, ate and washed up; evidence: one pan and one plate to the side of the draining board, one knife, one folk, a potato peeler and a serving spoon stood like soldiers next to them on the stainless steel draining board in the fitted kitchen he designed and installed. DIY must have been named after him, he did the lot, including the central heating.
Dad’s life by this time had become one long repetitive routine; up at 6.00am, drink tea and doze in his chair. A banana for breakfast at 9.00 and more tea. Radio 4 all morning, blaring out as he found it hard to hear above the tinnitus and increasing deafness. At 11.30 he would start making dinner, a couple of slices of cooked meat, boiled potatoes and one veg; carrots, broccoli or peas. Then at midday the TV would go on and he would sit in front of that flickering screen and eat then have a couple of beers and doze.
It saddened me to see him knocking back this cheap Carlsberg, bought in bulk from Tesco’s, decanted into a pint mug. At 5.30 he’d make himself a sandwich and a cup of tea. Have another beer at 6.00pm, one at 8.00, one at 10.00. We found a crate of 48 cans of lager in the larder, half a dozen of pale ales and a couple of bottles of Theakston Old Peculier. That pretty much took care of the wake.
His life had shrunk to this and it pained me to watch it. I’d notice how he’d glance at the clock, when the little hand reached the top at certain hours, heave himself out of the chair and go and pour himself a beer. When I visited lunch time was adjusted to 1.00pm. I could see the strain, he would be on edge. I took with me what must have seemed strange fare to share with him; hummus, kiwi fruits, mango, peppered mackerel, cherry yogurt, tiramisu, courgettes, cherry tomatoes, brie and blue veined smelly cheese, black beans, spaghetti, wild rice and wild mushrooms. It took a lot of encouragement but he would try them to give him credit.
I would also take a couple of bottles of craft beer, which I knew he liked, the more obscurely named the better. Trouble is he didn’t drink for the joy of it anymore. This was methodical self medication. A few beers used to pull humour from him, he’d say, to us kids, “Ohhhh, the moon is full tonight, I goes mad when the moon is full, I gets hairs on the back of my hands. Ask yer mum, she’ll tell you. Have you got hairs on the back of your hands?
We’d look down at our baby hands and at each other. He’d imitate a howl, prowl round the room until mum chuckling said, “Oh, Tom stop it, you’ll scare them!” But I could tell she loved it. Loved him being like that, not work worn from overtime, swearing under his breath on every step of the steep stairs, or doing what she called his, “Alf Garnets,” which we could never work out if he was serious about or not. He was, after all, a Labour man at heart.
As kids we’d rarely see him, he’d leave early, come back late, he chase overtime saying, “I get time and a half in the week, double time at the weekends.” Things were tight even after mum went back to work. I recall though how when mum bathed us in the kitchen sink, three kids in a row on the kitchen table, she hand us one by one to him, wrapped in a towel and he’d cut our toenails, sitting on the sofa. Those big hands, those tiny toes, the care and gentleness that took. Memory is a curious thing, did this happen just once, or habitually.
One time he brought back from work, at British Rail Parcels in Liverpool Street, a baby chick. Carried it in the pocket of his heavy overcoat all the way home. He was loquacious that night, perhaps he had a pint, joked about how it cheeped all the way home on the tube and train. Told us he could see people could hear it, looking around to see where the noise was coming from.
In the end he got it out and showed them. “Can we keep it,” was the chorus when he showed us. We did. It survived the weekend. On the Sunday night I dreamt it would die in a mixing bowl, full of flour. Begged Mum to let me have the day off. That was a no. And when we came back there was stiff little body lay in the nest Dad had made, cold, just as I’d seen it. Shouldn’t known then there was something odd about me, but this is about him.
Many times I’d say in those later years, “You really should drink water, you can’t just live on tea and beer, what about your kidneys….” His response was always the same, “This modern nonsense – they didn’t drink water in the middle ages, they all drank beer, even kids, the water killed them.” Why had I no response to this I don’t know. Why couldn’t I say, “ Yer and they dropped dead at 35, don’t be ridiculous. A joke was what was needed here.
“Fresh air kills,” was another of his obscure comments that baffled me as a child while he’d fling open the windows, summer or winter. I see that now, defying him was beyond me or asking him to explain. Unknown to me then, at the time of his death by heart failure, he was in stage 4 of what is known as Chronic Kidney Disease, diagnosed at some point earlier that year. His kidneys must have been like wrinkled raisins.
I figure he got the diagnosis about the time I was experiencing a bout of excruciating anxiety and depression. Torn and crushed by an intercontinental love thing gone awry in a labyrinth of misunderstanding, anger, fear and agony during the task of organising a book launch. I told Dad how wretched I felt. It was the first time I’d ever done that. Why then I don’t know; I was worried sick about him, perhaps I thought if I was open he would reciprocate.
At that time I went to bed pretty much every night those four years after Mum died imagining him stumbling on the stairs, laying in a crumpled heap at the bottom, perhaps still conscious, unable to move. I noticed a wobble in his gait as he shuffled across the living room making his way to go upstairs. The stairs would creak under his weight. I could see his suffering but couldn’t find a way in to ask how do you really feel?
Only now I recognise he too was ravaged by the two headed monster we merely call anxiety and depression. And that even then I still really needed his approval and acceptance. Needed him to understand why I was struggling, why it had taken me so long to get so not very far. One time when I mentioned my writing he said, gruffly “Stop playing at it,”
I was devastated, I had been published for the first time, submitting regular film reviews to Creative Week., a monthly publication now defunct. This seemed to count for nothing to him because I was only paid expenses. He made me feel I was failing. Now I see I was learning my craft not failing. When the editor offered me a paid job I turned it down, took a teaching position instead, too ill to do both. Mum was dying and, and what? Perhaps I wanted to show her, before she left, I had a “proper job” and not prove her wrong. Although by then she supported my writing the message from my teenage years still had a hold on me, people like us don’t write…
When I surveyed that empty room after he’d gone, after swiftly packing a bag, racing for a train, it echoed of emptiness. I asked myself, “Where is his beer mug?” It puzzled me for years. Why the rush I don’t know, he was already dead, of course yes I do know; I had to get there before anyone removed the evidence, vital clues. I packed irrationally taking along with meds and toothbrush, my camera, Wellington boots for the garden, post it notes, the latter why? He had asked me to label the filing cabinet in large print as his sight was going with the cataracts.
I realised yesterday his beer mug would have been on the round table next to him, inherited from his mum and dad that now sits at my bedside, under the Standard lamp he made as a teenager. I guess my brother had moved it when he found my dad. It would have been the sort of thing he would have done; pour away the stale beer before the undertaker arrived.
I meant to ask him the last time I saw him but it hardly seemed timely after seeing Romeo and Juliette top themselves. Or perhaps it was. For my part I disposed of the packs of paracetamol I found in the bedroom and bathroom, the empty packs in the waist paper basket upstairs and down. Evidence that his last weeks were spend in pain. The sciatica I assume. I felt that was just too much to bear or share with siblings that were already grieving.
How did I know the almost precise time? Besides the routine, there next to his chair lay the Radio Times. In his own peculiar bordering-on-obsessive way he’d circle the shows he wanted to listen to or see. It was open at the TV page for the afternoon of the 6th November. I have that somewhere with the trinkets, coins and some of the sweet little gifts he’d give us; never at birthdays or Christmas just as and when; silvered bottle opener in the shape of a dolphin keeps company with the concave breadboard scoured with age in my kitchen.
In those last years so lonely and so alone. So unable to speak his grief he softened. One time we were watching the football, a women’s league or perhaps the final. One of the players; tall, lean, lanky with dreads that reached half way down her back, hammered the ball into the back of the net from way outside the 18 yard box. For a moment I froze. Anticipating and preparing to make a response to something like, “Bloody wogs, I wonder when she got off the banana boat?” The sort of thing he might have said when we were kids. Forgetting time had moved. I glanced at him and he said, “Good goal!” Nodding with genuine approval. That father had died a long time before.
He endured Lara Croft with me and joked about it. A good bad film. Before each film we watched I’d say, “Ok, film lighting!” Jump up, turn off the main lights, so the room was lit only by the Standard light and the light flooding from the kitchen. This would make him smile, I noticed, even at the end. Little else did. I could get him to step into the garden with me. I knew it was pointless to ask him to join me so I’d go out and pull at endless streams of ivy and bind wind that was smothering the evergreens. Eventually he would come out and watch, standing their silent, smoking. He’d smoke, incidentally, the day long. Any comment on this fell on deaf ears. Fell on excuses, the patches itch he’d say, I guess when you smoke and wear a patch that’s quite likely!
He wasn’t entirely alone he would tell me about the visits from his sister, my sister, rarely with a good word for either of them. He’d tell me about visits from Emma and the twins from next door whom he adored, a feeling which was obviously mutual. They had bonded in a way I didn’t entirely understand, the girls would pop in regularly while he and Emma shared a frank openness. In the days after his death Emma told me, with a teary laugh, “I’m trying to lose weight, your Dad told me I was getting beefy.”
“He said that! “ I replied, “Didn’t you mind?”
“No, it’s true.”
I guess it may have been the first funeral for the twins at 10 years old; identical, blonde with apple skin. Emma had dressed them impeccably, I don’t know how she could afford it, and they each carried a red rose to place on the coffin. At the wake the girls wriggled together in his armchair giggling. One of them said to me, “I can see him, he’s there” and pointed to the ceiling, I had no idea what she really meant.
I imagine now, he must have been pulling faces, relishing in making them laugh. Someone put on Charlie Parker, maybe me. I can remember the times he’d said, “Have you heard of Charlie Parker? The Bird they called him. Now he was great.” (It is entirely possible he didn’t realise The Bird was black….) When he said this I would look at him blankly with no context for this comment, With the advent of the internet I googled it and bought a three CD set for him one Christmas. It was unopened until the wake.
Despite all the drivel from siblings; the family expect Christian funeral, (he was a committed atheist) he got the send off he wanted in the end, New Orleans style, like the funeral in that movie, one of the Bond movies. He’d say, “When I go, I wanna go like that,” At first I’d cring, not wanting to know about that, or say, “Da-ad, don’t!” Eventually I could manage a weak smile. I looked around the room and saw so much laughter and colour; the funeral dress code was wear-what-you-like.
Truth is he never really left I reckon until last year. Not being a believer guess he probably wondered what on earth was going on. Emma told me that night, the night of the 6th of November, when his body would have still be turning cold yet to be discovered, one of the pencils he gave to her girls, engraved with their names, flew across the room and landed at her feet.
A year ago in Andalusia, I decided to do something about this. One night I met him at the foot of the mountain I could see from bedroom window at the writing retreat. Slowly we made our way to the top. He grumbled all the way. It took a very long time believe me. At the summit I said, “Look can’t you see they are all waiting for you?” Mum and his parents stood together reaching out. I’m not sure how he got up there because, though he grew lighter as we ascended, I could hardly have lifted him, he had a build like John Wayne, and no angels came down shimmering. Somehow in the end he reached up and he was gone. Incidentally since that time the heavy fatigue I’ve experienced for many years has almost entirely left me. Perhaps I’d carried him all those years. Before mum died she said, “Look after your dad, be gentle with your sister and keep an eye on your brother.” Who was looking after me?
He comes here sometimes, I can smell him. We rarely talk. Well, there is some kind of soundless exchange that makes meaning and sometimes words. If we did talk would it still be one sided as it often was in life? Even at the end he’d berate what he called “the talkers,” scientists, novelists, Nobel prize winners, appearing on Radio 4. “Never done a proper job like me, what do they know! They just talk, They know nothing!” And I cant help wondering what he thinks when he sees me now; talking or performing, to audiences or very occasionally on radio obscure shows. Am I now just another “talker” to him. Something tells me not if he has continued to soften, to lighten.
To those who couldn’t or wouldn’t see him, those who refused to cross the threshold of that smoky room in those last years, I forgive you. Sometimes I can’t, its a process. When it is particularly hard, I fall back on, as Tara Brach says, “though I cannot forgive you now, it is my intention to forgive.”
I sort of made my peace with Dad sometime ago, the moon was full as it is tonight. I heard myself say, “It’s ok, I understand now, there’s nothing to forgive.” He looked down, a slight frown on his face. He floated maybe a few feet from the floor, I had to look up to see his face, the rest of his form was indistinct. “Dad,” I said, “You almost look like the Cheshire Cat!”
He smiled at that and said, “Well then, you must be Alice.”
“No Enith,” I replied.
“They’re all maaad you know, all maaaaad!” He said with a wicked grin. And with that he faded away. I knew he would be back.
I’m pretty sure he’s here right now.
Excerpt from Conversations with my Father, a work in progress.
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
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And so it goes on we stare at an uncertain future. Life goes on but it’s not life as we have known it before. Following months of government intransigence, incompetence, we now see sudden and what I can only call back of the envelope decisions with little evidence base and absolutely no regard for the chaos it causes people regarding local lockdowns and travel corridors.
Meanwhile I take much joy in seeing the fruits of my labour in the garden, not that my labours have been that arduous. In fact I take little credit for what I see emerge. The growth I witness seems little short of miraculous to see the effect of water, fresh air, soil and sunshine. I’m responsible only for the watering, the rest is I guess is divine influence and science, yes of course. Gardening is the gift that just keeps on giving.
Some dates for the diary
Tuesday 4th August, 6.30pm
Poets for the Planet meeting see https://www.facebook.com/groups/poets4theplanet/? ref=share
Thursday 13th August, 7.30pm
Gonna check out Talks from an Empty Bookshop with Booker prize winner DBC Pierre at the Bookseller Crow on the Hill Crow https://youtu.be/PmfTZu98cqk
Friday 16th August 8pm
Joining Poetry from the Grass Roots again on the open mike. The format is five open mikes either side of a special guest. On this occasion the special guest is the talented ShortMAN see https://facebook.com/events/s/poetry-from-the-grassroots-fea/739610353274864/?ti=icl for the zoom link nearer the time
At a recent meeting for Poets for the Planet we discussed promoting diversity and our #BeginAfresh campaign. I have been slow to come to this as I’ve been having a Twitter break for the sake of my mental health which is still a bit shaky but much improved. We’re writing and sharing poems about how we change our lives to combat the climate crisis. You are welcome to join us. It’s also a place to share nature poems, eco poetry by yourself or others.
More info poetsfortheplanet.org/begin-afresh/
I recommend reading this eloquent and inspiring Q&A with poet John McCullough and Extinction Rebellion https://writersrebel.com/johnmccullough/
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Recently I read Corona Becomes First Major Beer Company to Adopt Edible 6-Pack Rings that Feed, Rather than Kill, Fish
Well done you guys! Though it’s better in a bottle to be fair.
Reading this brought back memories of Zipoliti, Mejico, 1987. Sitting at Casa Teofila one night with two fishermen and Carlito, a mystic who made jewellery from found objects on the beach to sell to the travellers and a guy who told me he traveled back and forth from the US for a reason he is reluctant to disclose. “Import – export,” is all he would say.
We had been hanging out a while when a large rumbling vehicle drives by, it transpires it’s spraying the wilting crops. It’s been three years without significant rainfall, but they are spraying, I’m told, pesticides. No one mentions this instead everyone puts their thumb in the top of their bottle of Corona and gestures to me to do the same. I’m like, “Porque, que pasa?” Then the explanation comes.
I’m thinking what the hell are we breathing in then? Attempt to ask; I don’t know the conditional tense but it’s understood in any case. “Eh, no pasa nada Anita.” Roughly this translates as, “Nothing to worry about.” Shrugs all round. So Mexican. Hate to generalise.
Perhaps so Zipoliti, where the rubbish was not collected because of an oversight by the government according to some. Instead it’s just dumped in the bushes, the place where many would have a shit, where the travellers were directed to have a shit, where the few pigs ate the shit. One time I was startled, pants down, by an inquisitive pig.
Zipoliti where garlic is a cure all. Have a cut; wash with seawater and wipe with a clove. Have a fever, take garlic soup with a raw egg broken and stirred. Eat a clove of garlic each day, come what may.
Ziploliti where there was so much intrigue, love and magic. On the wall of Teofilas was a representation of the yin yang sign – two lizards each chasing the tail of the other. The mystery of the import – exporter was revealed when Teofila had to go to the bank in Puetro Angel, the next village, and lines of powder appeared on the table. I heard one of them say, “Que precioso, el rosa!”
Many of my questions to local people would be followed by a shrug. Followed by my childlike, “But why?” The answer was always the same, “Asi es,” it is what it is. I found this mildly frustrating the acceptance of so much poverty, unsanitary conditions and neglect. One afternoon Carlito took me to a meal on the beach. I appeared to be the guest of honour. A pretty grand affair. Fresh fish, fresh lobster and crab and salads and of course tequila.
Small children, hard to say their ages, ran around the table but didn’t join us. I couldn’t help noticing some of them had bald patches on the head. I asked our host why. “They don’t get enough vitamins… asi es.” Suddenly I didn’t feel very hungry. All this show for the gringita, I was the only woman at the table. Why? It was often hard to know who to trust, to know their motivation.
In general I found the locals hard to read. Teofila was sometimes gruff with me but as a single parent with four children and a restaurant to maintain that is not surprising. Our arrangement was washing up a few hours a day for a hammock. Travellers came and went. Some Europeans settled here including three Swiss guys who only seemed to have one interest which was to buy weed, smoke weed and sell weed. Their main man, Guru, the others told me lived on a rock for a month. They pointed it out to me. A long way down the beach with no shelter. This perplexed me how do you live on a rock? How?
Image by Paula McInerney from https://www.contentedtraveller.com/zipolite-mexico-outside-front-door/
Of those I met t was only Carlito I truly trusted, one day when the sun was high and sea calm he asked me had I heard of peyote? I said yes. He asked, would II like to try it? Of course I said yes. “Now?” I added. “No, not now, at a better time,” with a smile that seemed to find amusing and forgive my assumption. One night when the moon was full, the tides were high and a storm approaching as we sat on the beach he said, “Are you ready to meet the little man?” Hearing this I imagined it would look like a mandrake but inside he pulled from one of his many pockets something which looked like a dried button mushroom, broke off a small portion and handed it to me. Broke off a larger portion for himself, we washed it down with Corona.
In 1953 Aldous Huxley first tried mescaline under the supervision of the psychiatrist Humphry Osmond. He described the experience in The Doors of Perception published the following year. He documents it showed him “for a few timeless hours the outer and the inner world, not as they appear to an animal obsessed with survival or to a human being obsessed with words and notions, but as they are apprehended, directly and unconditionally, by Mind at Large … an experience of inestimable value to everyone and especially to the intellectual.”
I had yet to read this book, though I’d heard of it, and had no idea I was about to enter another reality, another realm I still have access to. It opened doors of perception that have never really closed. I understood “asi es” on a whole other level, but that is another story recorded in my poem Que Onda in the unfinished mini collection Violent Beauty. A work in progress.
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My garden is not much bigger
than a cats toilet and all too often
used as one. Locked down,
growing is our therapy. Pots, planters,
any patch of ground will do.
It’s the warmest April on record
but no ones talking about that.
I have seeds to sow, first sigh deeply,
bow my head, dutifully
shovel up the cat shit and notice
a migrant strawberry plant that has mysteriously
taken root is already in flower.
Wrote this some time during lockdown when, like so many of us, I found the gift that is growing things. I’ve begun to appreciate the healing it brings especially in the circumstances of so much death and suffering. I planted wildflowers, jasmine, lavender and a sunflower. The sunflower was a gift from a neighbour, the lavender, a cutting from another neighbour, has not fared well but the rest is a riot and a daily sense of wonder. I’m blessed to live in a place with such generous neighbours.
A poem and blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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As lockdown eases I reflect on lockdown achievements which pretty much boil down to getting an even tan, growing a sunflower to the heady height of three foot (so far) and mastering the yoga headstand. Ok there has been a few poems, a couple of open mics, a couple of black lives matter protests. I must not forget I entered lockdown with a considerable amount of anxiety, depression, IBS, insomnia and fatigue, before I get all judgey on myself.
Much of this has abated due to a cocktail of daily meditation and yoga, bit of walking, smoothies and supplements. Going anywhere is still an achievement given my current energy levels, the fatigue is the last symptom of my recent malaise to shift entirely. Nevertheless this month sees me returning to Groundswell working from home on their citizen journalism project with https://onourradar.org/
While pubs and restaurants are due to reopen we are urged by the clown that masquerades as our premiere to show restraint, his actual words being, “Let’s not blow it now,” So just when you thought government advise could not get anymore fuzzy than the lamentable, “Stay alert,” here you have it. And of course if it all goes horribly wrong it’s all our fault for getting carried away. That message is coming over loud and clear.
Though pubs comes only second only to hugs (and perhaps the hairdresser) as things I missed during lockdown can’t see myself in a pub anytime soon but am boosted by the announcement that international travel is due to open up and I allow myself the luxury of contemplating a return to Cortijo Romero Andalusia, Spain, due to reopen this month, for some spiritual sustenance. Perhaps in the autumn…..
Hope to get along to the Poets for the planet meeting taking place Tuesday 7th July, waiting for a link. Recently found this link to our Poets for the Planet visit to Resonance FM on international women’s day about a week before lockdown https://m.mixcloud.com/Resonance/poets-for-the-planet-8th-march-2020/
Image Henry Beaumont
Sunday 19th July will be taking some poetic wit and wisdom to Brixton Bookjam at the Virtual Lambeth Country show in the Literature Village https://lambethcountryshow.co.uk/ 6-7pm alongside Ashley Hickson Lovence, Bryan Beadyman, Elizabeth Okoh, Zelda Rhiando and others.
This has meant facing up to the mortal fear of being the other side of the camera not to mention dealing with tripod technology, lighting, timing… Here I am practicing…
More info http://www.brixtonbookjam.com/ To join go to http://tinyurl.com/bookjam use password ‘hello’ or Facebook Live #brixtonbookjam
#amreading Nine Gates: Essays by Jane Hirshfield
#amwriting a bit more about wellbeing, watch this space
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
Contact me here
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Play with this one; use the headline or image as a prompt. Set a timer for ten, fifteen or twenty minutes and freewrite and see where it takes you. Then consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun, or does it feel it needs development, does it welcome a form?
Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones
https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/bearded-dragon-lost-winnipeg-st-boniface-wayward-1.5624792
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Strikes me the kite is a metaphor for our existence; the sight of a kite fills one with a joyous buoyancy, a moment to pause, to escape. Yet it is an illusion of freedom, the kite like us earthbound during, as some would call it, this earth walk, this life.
This image was created with a Panasonic Lumix DMC-ZS20 in 2015 with x20 zoom fully extended. Shot in Brockwell Park. This is a great little pocket camera, very light and versatile. It has since died and been replaced.
May slams into June in a blaze of protest originating in Minneapolis, Minnesota as a black man called George Floyd dies after being held with a knee against his neck for 8 minutes and 46 seconds. Black Lives Matter protests sweep across the USA, through Europe to Hong Kong and Australia. They are large, they are young and they are racially mixed. More than solidarity the protests respond to their national and local issues. We meet in Windrush Square Brixton to take a knee. Statues fall and a million conversations blossom.
Health still not great and as the sunshine that had been sustaining me gives way to bleak grey skies my mood drops. I hear the air ambulance less often of a night. I plant a herb garden and feel abnormally proud of it. I’m given a tomato plant and find myself on trend if the number of tomato memes are anything to go by. Watching the miracle of growth is an antidote in the presence of so much death. Only the USA and Brazil exceeds the U.K. in coronavirus deaths at the time of writing.
The lockdown appears to be easing but are we ready? Non essential shops open 14th June because the shopping experience is so vital, like air, like water, like what? Like non- essential items one assumes. We are all so easily seduced it would seem. I include myself in this. On the way home from a blood test I buy a day glow pink football in Poundland because it’s pretty along with knickers and hand sanitiser.
On this date it is reported the UK coronavirus death toll rises by 36– the smallest daily increase since lockdown began however four days later it’s back up to 135, taking the total to 42,288
The UK strategy is under scrutiny yet still the blustering and blathering prevails. Our test and trace, which barely exists, is world beating we are told. Yeah right.
https://www.cebm.net/covid-19/bame-covid-19-deaths-what-do-we-know-rapid-data-evidence-review/
https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/uk/2020/06/how-uk-has-been-left-worst-all-worlds-over-covid-19
And of course it is the 36 month anniversary of the Grenfell Tower fire on the 14th June. Still so many in temporary accommodation, still so many homes with unsafe cladding, still no arrests, no prosecutions.
On the solstice weekend we have We Love the Betsey 20th June 6-10pm https://youtu.be/4sHxUi7Day0
and Poetry from the Grassroots 21st June 7.30 – 10pm https://us02web.zoom.us/j/3998944394?pwd=Smtzei9EeWpudU5weWoxTDQ2a2k0UT09
#amreading The Temple of My Familar by Alice Walker and Natives by Akala
#amwriting about the breathe, about liberty and justice, but if I’m honest it’s not exactly flowing.
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The pandemic has focused attention on our health in both mind and body. This is a good thing. Generally speaking in “advanced” capitalist society’s we tend to treat our mind/body as a resource to plunder rather than something to nurture and maintain. The result is seen in higher and higher cancer ratesandmental health conditions, both serious and common. It is widely documented that the pandemic has furtherIncreased the latter.
We are in societies where profit is put before people therefore it should come as no surprise that during the pandemic we’ve seen political decisions that appear to put livelihoods before lives. While it is important to challenge political decisions with action there are things we can do personally to weather the storm of this uncertain time and the fears and anxieties it has produced.
What is gratitude practice?
One recognised method is keeping a gratitude journal, or just writing in a regular journal and making a note of at least three things, or just one to begin with, for which we are thankful about during the day that has just passed before you go to bed or the following morning.
Alternatively write on scraps of paper and put it in a jar.
Write on post it’s and pin them to a wall.
Share your experiences with family or friends around the kitchen table.
Create and share in a private facebook group for your nearest and dearest.
How can it help?
Many studies have demonstrated that a gratitude practice reduces stress, anxiety and depression and boosts feelings of optimism, happiness and ability to cope.
“People who regularly practice gratitude by taking time to notice and reflect upon the things they’re thankful for experience more positive emotions, feel more alive, sleep better, express more compassion and kindness, and even have stronger immune systems.”
From https://www.happify.com/hd/the-science-behind-gratitude/
Little things matter
We tend to focus on the negative particularly if we are stressed or anxious. Perhaps it’s been a good day until a neighbour blows up at you about your ivy growing over their porch. Instead of letting all the good be blocked out by this black cloud, take a deep breath consider what else happened? Reflect on the taste of your morning coffee, a kind message on a card from an aunt, the woman on the bus that complimented your bag, a great song you heard for the first time on the radio, and write it down. Be specific as possible.
Basically the more we are grateful for the more we notice things around like the delicate white flowers springing from the hedgerow on the way to the shop or the scudding clouds in the deep red sunset you can see from the kitchen.
The sciencey bit
Practicing gratitude is a form of positive psychology. It doesn’t mean denying any difficult feelings experienced or ignoring any abuse. It just means reducing the tendency to focus on the negative and rebalancing your perceptions. It won’t, on its own, tackle poverty or injustice or inequality but it can equip you to take on all or any challenges even if it’s just the rude and annoying neighbour. It moves your brain from vacillating between the drive and threat functions into soothe. More about that in another post.
More info https://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_gratitude_changes_you_and_your_brain
Seriously technical study on the subject here
https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/16045394/
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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We’ve all seen the movies where a virus sweeps the world and a geeky looking kid from a single parent family in a trailer park has the antidote in his blood and when he’s rescued from the bad guys, who plan to profiteer from it, by a band of eccentrics it’s all over in a couple of days, the kids parents get back together and everyone is saved.
Yet this is the real thing; the UK has been on lockdown a month and some of us face being at home for many more. How can we look after ourselves at this time? We are social beings, not used to anything like this. It’s not just our physical health at risk in this unprecedented situation. Fears for our health and isolation can impact very badly on mental health. Health professionals are predicting a mental health crisis if this goes on. The advice from the Lambeth Living Well Network Alliance for good mental health is called the Five Ways to Wellbeing: Connect, Take Notice, Give, Be Active, Keep Learning. Let’s have a look at how these can apply at this time.
Connect
This may be our biggest challenge for those at home. On the upside all you need is a mobile phone to video chat with friends and family using WhatsApp or Messenger free, download with one click from the App Store. Get creative, hold a pizza party, turn your living room into a night club or hold a quiz night. Meanwhile djs, poets and musicians are taking their shows online see social media for live shows and new multiplayer games are coming out all the time see BBC Click.
Take Notice
This means really being aware of things around you. It’s sometimes called mindfulness. Notice what you can see, hear, smell, touch and taste. Notice your thoughts, emotions and any sensations in your body and accept whatever you feel, don’t judge or avoid. This is the basis of meditation for free guided mediation check out Tara Brach https://www.tarabrach.com/guided-meditations/
Give
This can be as simple as smiling at a stranger or helping out a friend (within a safe distance or on the phone.) You can join the Lambeth mutual aid group or the WhatsApp group in your area to give or receive. If you are generally fit and healthy volunteer to help out in the NHS. Giving gratitude or counting your blessings every day is proven to soothe the nervous system. We can come to our doors, balconies and windows every Thursday at 8pm to applaud and give thanks to all NHS workers.
Be Active
This is another tough one but we can still walk, run or cycle within government guidelines. There’s plenty of free stuff in YouTube for all ages; check out Zumba kids dance https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ymigWt5TOV8 or Flash Mob for seniors for seated exercise. https://youtu.be/E4gVSKpLxz8 My favourite is yoga with Adriene https://www.youtube.com/user/yogawithadriene see what you can find or make house work or gardening your workout.
Keep Learning
There may be times when you feel like you are climbing the walls and this would be a good time to try something new. Learn a language using Babble, Duolingo or Mondly or learn to play an instrument or almost anything in YouTube. There are also many vocational online courses around and many are free at the moment. You could also exchange tips from anything from baking to bike maintenance over the phone or garden fence with a friend or neighbour.
There are tough times ahead but we can get through this together. Across the country people are have joined mutual aid and solidarity groups while literally hundreds of thousands have volunteered to help the NHS; 600 000 within the first 24 hours. We are seeing a surge of generosity, creativity and ingenuity. We can all do our bit and there will be a vaccine, but this is not a movie it will take time, in the meantime let’s look after ourselves and others as best we can. #stayathome as much as possible and stay safe with #socialdistancing
Lambeth Living Well Network Alliance Guidance 20th March 2020.
Lambeth Mental health services will only be operating a crisis and urgent only service until further notice.
If you or someone you know needs urgent support call 0800 731 2864 to speak to the mental health crisis line. Available 27/4 including weekends.
If you are with someone who has attempted suicide call 999 and stay with them until the ambulance arrives.
Useful contacts
Lambeth Living Well Network Alliance
https://lambethtogether.net/adult-mental-health-coronavirus/
For advice and guidance in the absence of non-urgent services go to Good Thinking website https://www.good-thinking.uk
Further advice from NHS Every Mind Matters
https:/www.nhs.uk/oneyou/every-mind-matters/coronavirus-covid-19-staying-at-home-tips/
Practical tips and Advice https://www.lambethandsouthwarkmind.org.uk/coronavirus-and-your-wellbeing/
Solidarity in a Crisis – an out-of-hours peer support service, co-designed and co-delivered by people who use mental health services in Lambeth, providing crisis support over the phone. Freephone 0300 123 1922 text 07889 756 087 or 07889 756 083 Monday to Friday 6pm to midnight, Saturday and Sunday 12 noon to midnight.
A version of this is published in Brixton Buzz http://www.brixtonbuzz.com/2020/04/a-guide-to-wellbeing-and-good-mental-health-during-the-coronavirus-lockdown/
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Posted on October 9, 2011 by Lemn Sissay
http://blog.lemnsissay.com/2011/10/09/colour-blind-a-poem/#sthash.ARQJI1dH.dpbs
If you can see the sepia in the sun
Shades of grey in fading streets
The radiating bloodshot in a child’s eye
The dark stains on her linen sheets
If you can see oil separate on water
The turquoise of leaves on trees
The reddened flush of your lover’s cheeks
The violet peace of calmed seas
If you can see the bluest eye
The purple in petals of the rose
The blue anger, the venom, of the volcano
The creeping orange of the lava flows
If you can see the red dust of the famished road
The white air tight strike of nike’s sign
the skin tone of a Lucien Freud
The colours of his frozen subjects in mime
If you can see the white mist of the oasis
The red, white and blue that you defended
If you can see it all through the blackest pupil
The colours stretching the rainbow suspended
If you can see the breached blue dusk
And the caramel curls in swirls of tea
Why do you say you are colour blind when you see me?
This time of forced isolation for many of us and social distancing for all of us can cause anxiety yet I believe it is prompting many of us to consider what really matters, to contemplate our role here on this earth, our purpose and direction, to consider not just why we are here but how we live our lives.
Regarding the latter there are things we can learn from Zen. I’ve have been attracted to these ideas since returning from the Camino de Santiago in 2000. I covered a third of the route, walking mindfully when alone, over fourteen days. Returned to find a beautifully bound book entitled Zen among the pile of post that had accumulated in my absence. To this day I’m not sure where it came from.
I’ve had occasion to describe myself as a zen Marxist, an expression that made Alexei Sayle guffaw when I introduced myself, soz for the name drop it was just a book signing, though he never took me up on invite to speak at my workshop The Way of Words. I believe an agent was involved there…
Zen is much misunderstood neither quite religion nor philosophy rather it is akin to a state of mind that has been described as “mind without mind” while The Urban Dictionary describes it as “a total state of focus that incorporates a total togetherness of body and mind “ a state that is both peaceful and relaxed.
This is the best summary I’ve seen of how to attain that state, explained with simplicity and practicality. It strikes me as a good guide to achieving wellbeing generally and good mental health particularly at this uncertain and anxious prone time.
Further reading
https://www.alwayswellwithin.com/blog/2010/09/30/the-true-meaning-of-zen-hint-its-not-a-habit
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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A month of bad hair enters another, health is on the mend finally after the lifting of excruciating abdominal pain which has plagued me since February though the mood lift I anticipated with this still eludes me. Time is no longer measured in minutes and hours but a daily death count, one that is disputed daily though to my knowledge no one has yet used the expression cover up.
The sentiment, “Isn’t it strange” long gave way to “isn’t is awful” as figures of the deaths of key workers emerge. Those that risked their lives and did not give the ultimate sacrifice, no, whose lives were taken cruelly by a combination of a deficit of PPE and bad planning. Easy to see how the figure of death as a ten foot black clad, bent backed, androgyne swinging a scythe emerged in popular culture.
Zoom seems a poor substitute for the emotional support and physical connection we all need at this time but it’s pretty much all we have. Looking forward, as XR put in in a recent newsletter, “if there is one thing that this crisis has made clear, it is that there is no going back. No going back to business as usual that pushes us further and further into the abyss of a climate and ecological loss.” And, as laid bare by this crisis, the huge inequalities and injustices. This outcome will be, imo, not automatic but something we must fight for.
Wednesday 6th May
Attending our first virtual poets from the planet meeting see Facebook for details.
Sunday 10th May
Joining Poetry from the Grassroots 7.30pm – 10.00pm for an evening of poetry that bites back.
Worth mentioning Lambeth Libraries have an online quiz every Wednesday at 5.00pm https://zoom.us/j/92888207892 and Lambeth XR have an online Poetry cafe every Tuesday at 1-2pmhttps://zoom.us/j/519122466
BREAKING: Roger Robinson has won the RSLOndaatje Prize 2020 for his collection A Portable Paradise that picked up the TS Eliot prize earlier this year when we were all able to get out and about. Love Roger for his earthy wisdom and generosity. I have turned to his Think Like an Artist, a free series of tips and advice, many times.
The Royal society of Literature said in their facebook post, “Only the second time in the Prize’s history that a poetry collection has won! A big thank you to this year’s #RSLOndaatje Prize judges: Peter Frankopan, Pascale Petit and Evie Wyld and to the Prize’s sponsor Sir Christopher Ondaatje. bit.ly/RSLOndaatje”
You can buy ‘A Portable Paradise’ directly from @peepaltreepress https://www.peepaltreepress.com/books/portable-paradise
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The Way of Hope
After Warriors of the Rainbow attributed to Eyes of Fire, Cree Nation circa 19th century
And a time came when the devastated earth lay fallow
And a time came when the air and waters became clear
And a time came when streets and cities fell still
And a time came when birdsong burst from trees and hedgerows
And a time came when windows bore pictures of the rainbow
And a time came when respect was earned by action not words
And a time came when the Elders were revered
And a time came when the children led the way
And a time came when the old wisdom was remembered
And a time came when there was peace
And a time came when there was harmony
And a time came when there was unity
And a time came when there was justice
Anne Enith Cooper
I “received” the gift of this poem this morning during meditation with Earth Custodian and Standing Rock Water Protector Urtema Dolphin.
The prophesy of the Warriors of the Rainbow while usually attributed to Eyes of Fire, an old wise woman of the Cree Nation. The Cree are one of the largest American Indian groups or First Nations in North America. There are 200,000 Cree people today living in communities throughout Canada and in parts of the northern United States (North Dakota and Montana). There has been some dispute over whether the prophesy originated with the indigenous peoples or in a 1962 book of the same name by William Willoya and Vinson Brown.
This book appears to serve as an attempt to evangelise the Native American community. The book is claimed to have influenced the group Greenpeace, and there is evidence to that, and as such the argument goes undermines the claims as to the origin of the story and arguably those seeking environmental justice. This critique fails to explain why versions of the story exist among the Navajo, Cherokee and Dakota Nations and versions can be found from Greek to Norse mythology as well as in the Bible.
In this vision of the future Eyes of Fire prophesied that one day, because of the white mans’ or Yo-ne-gis’ greed, there would come a time, when the earth becomes ravaged and polluted; the forests destroyed, birds would fall from the air, the waters become blackened, the fish poisoned in the streams, and the trees would no longer be, and humans would all but cease to exist. There would come a time when the “keepers of the legend, stories, culture rituals, and myths, and all the Ancient Tribal Customs” would be needed to restore us to health, making the earth green again. They would be the key to survival, they were the “Warriors of the Rainbow”. There would come a day of awakening when all the peoples of all the tribes would form a New World of Justice, Peace, Freedom and recognition of the Great Spirit.
Whether myth, legend or prophecy it would seem much of what is cited has come to pass. An era of inequality and violence has existed throughout the world since the advent of class society. In late capitalism corruption, poverty, consumerism, power to the few and injustice are characteristics of our so called civilisation while technological advancement has gone hand in hand with the production of weapons for mass destruction and the degradation of the planet and a climate crisis. While highly powerful information technologies can become tools for suppressing resistance. It is finally becoming apparent that this situation is not sustainable.
As a young adult in the 80’s I experienced a melting pot of ideas, cultures and lifestyles including those who dabbled with mystical and magical beliefs. Hopi Indian beliefs were popular, yet those of us on the left had a less than generous attitude towards those we rubbed shoulders with who embraced the rainbow. I remember a guy who went on to form the Norwich Direct Action Movement chuckling saying “Mel goes around putting up rainbows and when she’s not looking we take them down.” And we laughed. Nevertheless we lived together, slept together, protested together and influenced each other.
Back then you were either “fluffy” or “spiky.” It was a tough and brutal time. The miners strike 84-85 had been defeated by a combination of he brute force of the state, lies of the press and the use of prejudicial legislation. Riots ripped through the country. At Greenham Common there was what has been euphemistically referred to as “a fractious relationship” with the police. At Wapping weekly battles took place between pickets and police on Saturday nights from 86-87. In Wiltshire the battle of the beanfield took place and the memory of which entered folk history. In June 1985 police attacked The Peace Convoy on the way to Stonehenge clubbing women and children with truncheons, smashing up vehicles and arresting over 500 people in one afternoon showing us the police made no such distinctions.
At the height of the Miners Strike a friend of mine brought our attention to an article in the Guardian that claimed MI5 had a list of 10 000 radicals, militants and subversives. We found this highly entertaining, as Chris put it laughing, “Well we’re ok then they’ll never get round to us.” I would hazard a guess that today there must be anything between 10 000 and 100 000 campaigns across the country borne from the brutality of austerity, inequality and injustice. This is our army of love. This and legions of healers, coaches, spiritual teachers and light workers who recognise the struggle for the earth and for justice means confronting the very real inequalities in the world. I am grateful to have met many of these people and no longer mock the rainbow! I am convinced our time is now and another world is not only possible but on her way.
Full version of the prophesy
https://www.manataka.org/page2237.html
Further references
Postscript and appeal
Now the largest of these First Nations is appealing for our help. The Coronavirus has hit the Navajo nation hard due to the lack of running water, overcrowding in homes and poor access to health care. There are only 12 health care facilities across 27,000 square miles. President Jonathan Nez, in a tearful appeal broadcast recently on Channel Four explained the difficulties accessing funding and health care facilities. Nez went on to explain no one could work and no money was coming in and he feared for the future of his people.
ABC news confirmed on the 21st March, ““A federal funding package in response to the virus included $40 million for tribes for epidemiology, public health preparedness, infection control, education and other things. But the money hasn’t reached tribes because there’s no mechanism for the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention to get it to the Indian Health Service, the agency responsible for providing primary medical care to Native Americans. Tribes and tribal organizations run some hospitals and clinics under federal contract.”
Measures have been introduced to stop the spread of the virus but the scale of the challenge, described here, is immense, “The measures are part of a scramble to protect more than 150,000 people … As of Wednesday night, the virus had killed 20 people on the reservation, compared with 16 in the entire state of New Mexico, which has a population 13 times larger.” Reported in the New York Times on the 9th April.
Since the presidents emotional appeal for help a group of doctors has travelled from California and a crowd funded has been set up. It’s an opportunity for us to support the wisdom keepers who have survived genocide to bring their stories to us and kept hope alive see https://www.gofundme.com/f/NHFC19Relief
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Play with this one; use the headline, “Mass influx of flamingos turn Navi Mumbai into a pink playground”or use the video as a prompt, that sound!
As lockdowns and restrictions on movement have taken place across the world it seems nature has returned to the dwellings of humans in some interesting and surprising ways such as this.
Set a timer for ten or fifteen minutes and freewrite and see where it takes you. Then I consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun, or does it feel it needs development, does it welcome a form?
Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones
https://www.euronews.com/2020/04/23/mass-influx-of-flamingos-turn-navi-mumbai-into-a-pink-playground
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From the NSUN (National Survivor User Network) monthly bulletin, a mental health resource
– to subscribe or view previous NSUN weekly bulletinsdirectly to your mailbox click here.
FREE PROGRAMME IN TALKING FOR WELLBEING
Talk for Health
WHAT’S THE IDEA?
It’s important to take care of our emotional wellbeing, just as it is to take care of our bodies. One way of doing this is to connect in a truthful and empathic way with others.
WHO IS IT FOR?
Anyone who wants to take care of their wellbeing and support others.
WHAT ARE YOUR NEXT STEPS?
Join us ONLINE for a Taster. Then you can:
· Join a TALK FOR HEALTH CAFE; continue talking for wellbeing and gain communication skills.
· Sign up for our in-depth 4-day Talk for Health Programme, online.
· Follow these with ongoing groups for strong peer networks.
It’s all FREE and is commissioned by the NHS. You will learn and have space for:
· Honest talking – being the real you
· Empathic listening
· Basic counselling skills
· How to set up and be part of an ongoing group to talk for wellbeing.
Sign up to a Taster here or for more information about who we are and what we do, you can subscribe to our newsletter by sending us an email at info@talkforhealth.co.uk
NSUN News
We will be creating a page on our website about hardship funds for individuals, but wanted to highlight the Hardship Solidarity Fund by Mad Covid which has already raised over £6000. It is giving out small pots of money up to £200, for things like taxi fares to and from essential mental health appointments, kitchen appliances which will help with food storage and cooking, or increased household bills such as internet data and fuel.
We have also compiled a list of emergency Covid-19 related funding available to organisations.
Some of you will have seen that the Government has released a £5 million grant for mental health. The fund, which will be administered by Mind, will be used by the charity sector to support people struggling with their mental health, including telephone and online support services. NSUN is working with Mind to ensure that User-Led Organisations and unconstituted groups will also be able to access some of this funding – we will keep you posted. The fund will open very soon- please keep an eye on our website or twitter for more information.
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Three months since what felt like a head first plunge into the void, was just seeing glimpse of the light again around the time the WHO declared the virus a pandemic. I wake that day aching all over, which is nothing new, and with a mild sore throat though after a coffee that’s gone. Head into Brixton to see Amina, my mental health support worker.
Amina asks if I’d like to co-facilitate a poetry workshop and takes some notes to refer me to a psychologist. So it’s all good. I notice as I leave there is hand sanitizer in the waiting room. This is the first real world sign that the virus that originated In China is getting closer. Will there be the will here to deal with it so systematically?
Hardly notice March slip into April in the stream of corona updates. Mental health support promptly ceases. No phone or zoom consultation offered… At the mo am okish, I guess. Bolstered by daily mediation, yoga and conscious breathing. See my post https://seedsandfuses.wordpress.com/2020/03/14/covid-19-a-time-to-breathe-well/ how you can soothe your nervous system and boost your immune system with the breath. Though energy, motivation and concentration are severely limited.
This would be so much harder if it weren’t for my neighbours and friends. Keeping in touch with nearest and dearest. My brother and I had a virtual cafe “date” recently which was fun. Spent a lot of time reading in the sun. Here’s the no edits squinty, frowny lockdown pic during the hottest April on record, no need for alarm about that, no, no need at all…
Seems everything has gone Zoom, a couple I hope to attend are
Monday 13th April 8-9pm
Brixton Bookjam
“Feed your brain with our congenial, intelligent, unpredictable event for readers and writers” featuring8Stuart Maconie, Daniel Ruiz-Tizon, Anna Maconochie, Morton Valence, Andrew Mueller and Venetia Welby”
@brixtonbookjam
Friday 17th April 8.00pm
Cath Drake’s launch of The Shaking City
With guest poets Kate Potts (currently shortlisted for The Moth Prize) & Karen McCarthy Woolf
Join the Facebook event: https://www.facebook.com/events/209088623708461
#amreading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep and The Dalai Lama’s Cat and #amwriting a bit, now and then…
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper
Contact me here
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Have been reading up on diet, gut health and wellbeing. Last summer following a slightly stressful time I noticed a direct correlation between my gut health and my mental health. It’s was basically a flare up of IBS. It’s happened before but only on this occasion I became so aware of the effect on my mental capacity.
I went through a period when every morning waking with fatigue and my head in groggsville, I’d reach for a cup of coffee only to find my stomach swell til the point that I’d look about seven months pregnant, very tight and painful while meanwhile I’d find my meagre thoughts lost in swamp of brain fog for hours. Reluctant to give up the morning coffee I didn’t immediately make the association.
I’ve known for sometime the alcohol, coffee, sugar, chocolate, wheat and dairy (and occasionally citrus) me stomach no like. As a result they are only “allowed” at weekends. It’s possible this had lapsed, as feeling under pressure I’d been comfort eating. Deadline hit reward self with a glass of red wine and a chocolate eclair, that kind of thing. Oops.
Over the years I’ve tried a macrobiotic diet, which resulted in greater vitality but a dramatic and unwanted weight loss, toyed with an Ayurvedic diet and found guidance from food groups defined by Chinese medicine. All of these are useful to some degree but involves considerable discipline. The latter is, in my opinion, the most valuable as it doesn’t talk about good or bad foods so much as the energy, route and effect of the food.
This from http://www.onhealth.com struck me as a useful and informative resource. Bear in mind not all of these foods will necessarily suit you. Your body will teach you what you need if you watch and listen to it carefully.
Reach for Elderberries
Modern Day Folk Medicine
Elderberrry is a shrub that has been used medicinally for centuries. Sambucus nigra, or black elderberry bush, is the version most commonly used to make syrup and lozenges. Extracts of elderberry have antiviral, anticancer, and anti-inflammatory properties. Elderberry is also high in flavonoids. People take elderberry syrup as a remedy for colds, flus, and bacterial sinus infections. The plant medicine works by reducing swelling in mucus membranes. Some studies suggest elderberry extract reduces the duration of the flu. If it works for flu infections, it may help your immune system against coronavirus (COVID-19) infection.
Elderberry Interactions
Elderberry benefits are numerous, however, the remedy may interact with certain prescription medications. Always check with your doctor or pharmacist prior to adding any new remedy to your regimen. Elderberry may interact with the following medications.
Have More Mushrooms
Immune System Boosters
Wondering how to boost your immune system? Eat more button mushrooms. Mushrooms are high in selenium and B vitamins like riboflavin and niacin. These minerals and vitamins are necessary for the immune system to work in tip top form. Mushrooms are also high in polysaccharides, sugar-like molecules that boost immune function.
Flavorful Fungus
Mushrooms have a savory quality that can enhance the flavor of many dishes. Not quite sure how to eat mushrooms? Try the following mouth-watering ways to serve up these tasty fungi.
Acai Berry Benefits
Antioxidant-Rich Berry
Acai berry is a black-purple fruit that is derived from the acai palm tree in Brazil, Trinidad, and certain parts of South America. The fruit is high in anthocyanins. These flavonoid molecules are very potent antioxidants. They combat oxidative stress in the body by mopping up free radicals. Antioxidants are credited with boosting immunity and lowering inflammation in the body. There’s never been a better time to enjoy an acai bowl!
Immune-Boosting Fruit
Acai berry is such a potent antioxidant and stimulator of the immune system, researchers are studying it as a potential treatment for all kinds of conditions. Areas of study include acai use in people with
Pumped About Watermelon
Watermelon Nutrition
Watermelon is an immune-boosting fruit. One 2-cup serving of watermelon has 270 mg of potassium, 30% of the daily value of vitamin A, and 25% of the value of vitamin C. Calories in watermelon aren’t much at all. One 2-cup serving of watermelon has just 80 calories. Watermelon also provides vitamin B6 and glutathione. The body needs these vitamins, nutrients, and compounds like glutathione for proper immune function.
5 Ways to Eat Watermelon
Watermelon slices are the most common way to enjoy this fruit. Here are a few creative ways to eat watermelon.
Try Some Wheat Germ
Wheat Germ Nutrition
Wheat germ is the innermost part of the wheat kernel. It is the most nutrient rich part of the grain. The germ is rich in B vitamins, zinc, and vitamin E. Sprinkle wheat germ on top of yogurt or cereal or add it to a shake. Wheat germ makes an easy addition to bump up the nutrition in baked goods. Substitute wheat germ for a bit of white flour in recipes to get some extra vitamins and minerals.
What Do You Do with Wheat Germ?
Most people know wheat germ makes a tasty topping sprinkled on fruit, yogurt, or cereal, but what else can you do with it? Wheat germ is a versatile food that can be used in a variety of recipes.
Super Spinach
Leafy Green Superfood
Spinach gets top billing as a superfood thanks to its high content of folate, vitamin A, vitamin C, fiber, magnesium, and iron. The nutrients in spinach boost immune function and provide the body with necessary nutrients for cell division and DNA repair. Reap maximum benefits from spinach by eating it raw or lightly cooked to preserve nutrients.
Think Beyond Spinach Salad
Most people are familiar with spinach salad, but how else can you prepare spinach? Surprisingly, there are a lot of ways to enjoy this nutritious, leafy green veggie including
Say Yes to Sweet Potatoes
Orange Spuds Are Better
One medium sweet potato packs a whopping 120% of the daily value of vitamin A and 30% of the daily value of vitamin C, all for just 100 calories. These vitamins are crucial for immune function and great for your skin. Sweet potatoes are a cholesterol-free and fat-free food, so you get all the helpful, immune-boosting vitamins without the guilt. Sweet potatoes serve up a healthy portion of fiber, too.
Sweet Potato Recipes to Savor
The deep, rich color of sweet potatoes reflects the high vitamin A content. These bright, orange root veggies can be whipped up in a variety of ways. Try these sweet potato dishes on for size.
Bring on the Broccoli
Broccoli to the Rescue
Broccoli is a nutrient-packed powerhouse to support your immune system. One cup of broccoli provides as much vitamin C as an orange. The veggie is also high in beta-carotene, potassium, magnesium, zinc, and iron. Broccoli supplies an array of B vitamins (B1, B2, B3, and B6). Together, these vitamins and minerals help the immune system to run in top form. Another healthy compound offered up by broccoli: glutathione, the master antioxidant in the body.
5 Ways to Enjoy Broccoli
Not a fan of broccoli? Some people love it, some hate it, but broccoli is such a nutritious vegetable, it makes sense to find a way to eat more of it. Broccoli can be prepared in ways that are so tasty, you’ll crave it! Try the following broccoli dishes on for size.
Harness the Power of Garlic Cloves
Bring on the Bulbs
People have praised garlic for ages for its immune boosting properties. Garlic has antibacterial, antiviral, and anti-fungal properties. The bulbs are rich in antioxidants that quench free radicals that play a role in Alzheimer’sdisease, heart disease, cancers, and other conditions. The antiviral properties may be helpful in reducing the severity of colds, flu or COVID-19 infections. In one study, people who took garlic supplements during cold season caught fewer colds than those who took placebo pills. If you do catch a cold, garlic can shorten the duration of it. If you do try garlic supplements, be mindful that the one you choose contains the active ingredients contained in real garlic.
Garlic and Cancer
Garlic boosts the portion of the immune system that is tasked with fighting viruses and cancer. Several studies have documented a link between garlic use and reduced rates of many different types of cancers. People who regularly consume lots of raw or cooked garlic have 30% to 35% fewer colorectal cancers than those who do not eat the allum. In one small study of people who had inoperable pancreatic, colorectal, or liver cancers, immune function was improved when participants took aged garlic extract for 6 months.
Miso Soup to the Rescue
Fermented Foods and Immunity
Miso soup has been a staple in Japanese cuisine for centuries. Miso is a salty paste made from fermented soybeans. It is rich in probiotics that are beneficial for gastrointestinal health and boosting the immune system. A lack of beneficial bacteria or an imbalance of bacteria in the GI tract is associated with a variety of medical conditions including irritable bowel syndrome (IBS), food allergies, gastroenteritis, inflammatory bowel disease (ulcerative colitis and Crohn’s disease), and even certain kinds of cancers. Sipping a cup of miso soup is a great way to introduce beneficial food-based probiotics into the GI tract.
Busy Little Bugs
Beneficial microorganisms found in miso soup and other fermented foods perform a variety of necessary functions in the GI tract. They synthesize vitamins and amino acids. They produce short-chain fatty acids (SCFAs) that the cells lining the GI tract use for fuel. The probiotics establish a healthy balance of flora in the gastrointestinal tract, protecting against pathogenic strains that try to take hold. About 70% of the immune system lies in the gut. Healthy, balanced gut flora makes for a strong immune system.
Chicken Soup for the Cold
Serving Up a Bowl of Relief
Mom was right to make a pot of homemade chicken soup when you got sick. It turns out there are very real, scientific reasons chicken soup helps you get over a cold more quickly. When cold viruses invade tissues of the upper respiratory tract, the body responds by triggering inflammation. This inflammation signals white blood cells to move to the area and stimulates the production of mucus. Ingredients in chicken soup appear to halt the movement of white blood cells, thereby decreasing mucus associated with colds. Too sick to cook from scratch? Canned chicken soup can ease cold symptoms, too.
More Cold-Fighting Remedies
To get over a cold more quickly, sip lots of warm liquids like chicken soup, ginger tea, and warm water with lemon. Staying hydrated helps thin mucus secretions and flushes the virus out of your body. Taking zinc lozenges, syrup, or tablets within 24 hours of exhibiting cold symptoms can help reduce the duration of a cold. Taking vitamin C supplements throughout cold season may not keep you from catching a cold, but it may help ease symptoms if you do catch one. It may ease symptoms of the flu and coronavirus infections, too.
Reap the Rewards from Pomegranate Juice
Harness Purple Power
Beneficial compounds in pomegranate extract have been found in lab studies to inhibit the growth of harmful types of bacteria including E coli O157:H7, Salmonella, Yersinia, Shigella, Listeria, Clostridium, Staphylococcus aureus, and other organisms. There’s also evidence pomegranate compounds inhibit the growth of bacteria in the mouth that contribute to periodontal disease, plaque buildup, and gingivitis. Pomegranate extracts have antiviral properties against the flu, herpes, and other viruses. In addition to fighting bad viruses and bacteria, there is evidence that pomegranate extracts promote the growth of beneficial gut flora that boosts the immune system including Bifidobacterium and Lactobacillus.
5 Ways to Enjoy Pomegranate
Most people enjoy pomegranate by eating the jewel-colored seeds after cutting open the fruit. There are many other ways to indulge in pomegranate.
Make Friends with Ginger
Anti-inflammatory Root
Antioxidant compounds in ginger root have potent anti-inflammatory and immune-boosting properties. Normal metabolic processes in the body, infections, and toxins all contribute to the production of free radicals resulting in oxidative stress. Antioxidants in foods like ginger quench free radicals and help guard against arthritis, cancer, neurodegenerative disorders, and may other conditions. Grate some fresh ginger and steep it in hot water to make tea. Fresh grated ginger also makes a great addition to healthy stir fried veggies. Ginger has proven antibacterial and antiviral properties.
5 Ways to Eat Ginger
What can you do with ginger root? A lot! Here are a few ideas to add more ginger to your menu.
Maximizing the health of your immune system is easy when you know which foods to eat. Eat these 16 immune-boosting foods to keep your immune system in the topmost form.
https://www.onhealth.com/content/1/immune_system_boosting_foods
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Inspired by democracy protests by the umbrella movement in Hong Kong and the Gilet Jaune in Paris. Using found objects.
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Today I managed to do a yoga headstand, legs stretched out full with no support. I started doing daily yoga again in January and most days attempt this pose and have gradually been getting closer, this is the first time I’ve managed it and it feels great! Yoga isn’t just about the pose it’s about moving into it gently. Accepting where you’re at and that might change from one day to the next. A good principle for life. There’s no guarantee I’ll be able to do this tomorrow, but that’s ok.
Yoga, in fact any kind of exercise, is known to be good for boosting immunity. Any kind of exercise can reduce stress and anxiety which impact badly on immunity. These are testing and troubling times. Just last week the World Health Organisation declared the Coronavirus outbreak a global pandemic. If you are self isolating or social distancing it’s hard sometimes to find the motivation without a group. I’m really hoping my yoga classes will continue if it can be done safely. Motivate yourself with this thought – if you are unlucky enough to contract the Coronavirus if you do some kind of exercise your body will be in a better place to fight it.
The foundations for good mental health according to Lambeth Mental Health services (in fact good health in general in my opinion) are To connect and Do, Be Present; that is be aware of your surroundings, thoughts, feelings and emotions, that is to develop insight about your inner world. Be Active, To Give and Keep Learning. I would add to that to have gratitude for what you have, reach out when you are struggling, and find time for stillness and silence. We face a challenge, we need to find new ways to connect and do and to be active. But we have the technology…. We can get thru this!
As I imagine Yoga point in Brixton will close soon I recommend https://m.youtube.com/user/yogawithadriene/videos
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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Today the World Health Organisation declared the coronavirus a pandemic. The full impact of this has not hit home because all of a sudden I’m in the kind of movie I’ve seen so often. You know where a virus sweeps the world and a geeky looking kid from a trailer park has the antidote in his blood and when he’s rescued from the bad guys who plan to profiteer from this it’s all over in a couple of days, the kids parents get back together and everyone is saved. For a few weeks now I’ve been asking myself would our government have the will or the means to respond as the Chinese have. I guess that remains to be seen.
Ironically I wake today aching all over, which is nothing new, but with a mild sore throat though after a coffee that’s gone. I head into Brixton to see Amina, my mental health support worker. She asks if I’d like to co-facilitate a poetry workshop and takes some notes to refer me to a psychologist. So it’s all good. Notice there is hand sanitizer in the waiting room.
As I make my way back home through Brixton the high street looks to me like we are already in the throes of a dystopia there are so many vulnerable people; some ragged, dirty, all desperate, begging meekly or aggressively, many with so obvious poor mental health. No doubt oblivious to the pronouncement. It feels overwhelming. I just want to go home and this feels like a privilege rather than a right. It’s already clear if this hits homelessness and poverty will be co-mordities.
23 The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
2 He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
3 He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.
4 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
5 Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
6 Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.
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It is now two months since I was ambushed by a shocking and sudden deterioration in my mental health. Until recently there were still periods of meaninglessness and times when my gut stiffens, thought becomes frozen and only absence and lack appear to remain. This ebbs and flows and for a few hours a day I function. I feel stronger though motivation is a rare visitor. My inner critic, Cruella is quieter, less like an aggressive stranger, more like a poisonous passive aggressive acquaintance you wish you’d never met. Besides a new meds regime have been dealing this with daily yoga and meditation, walking, shiatsu and movies and as the earth edged into more light there was a shift.
Sunday 8th March
On international women’s day join fellow wordsmiths Andrea Robinson, Caroline M Davies, Sue Johns, Kate Noakes, and Emma Roper-Evans from Poets for the Planet for a show on Resonance FM chaired by Carys Hannah chairs a discussion about this new collective of poets and eco-activists. 6.15pm-7.15pm https://www.resonancefm.com/
Am pleased to announce the launch of the website The Matchgirls Memorial https://www.matchgirls1888.org with a poem by yours truly here https://www.matchgirls1888.org/don-t-you-know-about-the-matchgirls The website aims to bring attention to an often overlooked history of the tremendous victory with historic repercussions and to campaign for recognition for the strike leaders.
On 5th July 1888, 1400 girls and women walked out of the Bryant and May match factory in Bow, London and the next day some 200 of them marched from Mile End to Bouverie Street, Annie Besant’s office, to ask for her support. A Strike Committee was formed and rallied support from the Press, a few MPs, the London Trades Council. The A Strike Committee of eight Matchgirls, met with the Bryant & May Directors to put their case. By 17th July, the demands were met and terms agreed in principle so the Strike Committee put the proposals to the rest of the girls and they enthusiastically approved and returned to work.
The action led to a change in legislation. In 1908 the House of Commons passed an Act prohibiting the use of white phosphorus in matches. The action by the match girls led to an increased militancy across the working class, as Lyn Brown notes, ”The received wisdom is that the heroic London dockers of 1889 led the way towards social justice, greater equality and spurred the foundation of the Labour movement. In fact it was London’s working class women, a year earlier, who were the vital spark that lit the blaze that showed the way to trade unionism. The men learned how it was done from their mothers, wives, sisters, daughters and neighbours.”
https://www.theguardian.com/women-in-leadership/2013/nov/04/women-who-sparked-labour-movement
Tuesday 17th March
Another opportunity to catch a screening of the film We The People by Virginia Nimarkoh & Fan Sissoko which features activists in Lambeth included myself and Helen Carr from Save Cressingham. Taking place 6.30- 8.00pm at
Museum of London, 150 London Wall, London, EC2Y 5HN
RSVP to CuratingLDN@museumoflondon.org.uk or 020 7814 5587
These times are likely to be very anxiety inducing for many. As we face the approach of a global pandemic. If you haven’t experienced anxiety before it can be a frightening experience whether mild or extreme. As the sympathetic nervous system kicks in your heart starts racing, you might start sweating or shaking, feel tense or a sensation like an electric shock in the solar plexus or heart in the case of a full-blown panic attack.
This is the body’s fight, flight or freeze response taking over. This is an ancient response designed to help you if facing a sabre-toothed tiger or in modern times a mugger. Breathing well is a highly effective way to reduce the symptoms and return to calm. It won’t stop you catching the virus but can help with fears associated with that.
The nhs recommend a technique called 7/11 breathing. I prefer this, a method that works for me: breathe out as fully as you can then breathe in through the nose and count to five. Breathe out through the mouth and count to ten. If you are very tense this might be difficult start with three in and six out and gradually lengthen the breaths and if you want introduce a pause at the end of each breath. You can do this standing up, sitting or laying down. I do it in the yoga position the child’s pose for about 10 minutes most days.
This is a powerful way to soothe and overcome any anxieties at this time. This will stimulate your parasympathetic nervous system and calm you down. If you are just a little anxious doing this for a few minutes will probably be enough. If you are experiencing severe anxiety set a timer and do the breathing exercise for 20-30 minutes once or twice a day in any position that is comfortable.
It also serves as a detoxing method which will boost your immune system giving your body a better chance to fight off he virus and other infections. Breathe your way to well being.
Here’s the sciencey bit https://www.anxieties.com/57/panic-step4
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“Make up a story. For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don’t tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief’s wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear’s caul.”
Toni Morrison. A great spirit who taught us so much about love and life.
February 18th 1931- August 5th 2019
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‘I confess, like a true poet, that I am only broken by the sources of things’
– Peter Akinlabi
I
I write to tell you that
the walls of my bones
are made of contention and
I am always situated between desires
that threaten to break
or mould me.
II
I write to tell you that
I am not the cartographer of memory
and that sometimes,
I forget my way home and
stumble into women who offer
to teach me the ways of water:
How to be soft,
how healing comes in waves,
how to open my body into the sea and
drown all the things that hurt.
III
I write to tell you that
my love is a nomad and
while wandering here in Ibadan
it fell into the hands of a woman
wearing your face.
IV
I write to tell you that
the second name for movement
is uncertainty.
V
I write to tell you about hope.
How it is a dream
where children grow into the belly
of a barren woman,
how she wakes in the morning
smelling of loss and longing.
VI
I write to tell you that
scars are a lot like borders.
How my body is a map filled with
dirt and death and
there is a sea in my eyes that takes
and takes and on moonless nights
how I ache and ache beneath my hills
and valleys and call all the names of
god painted on my tongue for the touch
of mother and fullness,
how my prayers come back to me
dressed in a void.
VII
I write to tell you that
while writing this,
language betrayed me and my mind
assumed the form of a tabula rasa.
VIII
I write to tell you that
silence is the name
for protest and prison.
IX
I write to tell you that
a river once came to life in the
road between my palms
(some people say it is also a form of worship)
so I closed my eyes,
named all my fears
and gifted them to the deep.
They came flowing back singing my name.
X
I write to tell you that
I carry all your names in my mouth
now and my tongue don’t fit into this
small space anymore and mother said
new songs don’t float out of mouths
heavy with names and children here
don’t dance to night songs because
all the birds have drowned in silence and
the night is longer here in Ojoo and
I still melt into fear when your name escapes
from the gap between my teeth and
dissolves into the wind.
XI
I write to tell you
that old words don’t have to die
for new words to live.
XII
I write to tell you that
all the children are going or have gone
and our dreams have now run out of colour.
XIII
I write to tell you about unknown languages.
How they fold themselves under tongues
that have grown weary of seeking god,
how grown men trapped in a well of glossolalia,
are screaming
and dancing
and singing
and drowning under the weight of heavy tongues.
XIV
I write to tell you that
I am a poem in exile,
hiding my grief in metaphors
breaking the weight of my loss
into syllables and rhymes,
because a man must not cry
this is how I have learnt to hide my body
from water, cover my wounds with
Cauliflower to stop my softness from
spilling into mud,
because a man must not cry.
XV
I write to tell you that
I wrote a song for all the
boys we used to dance with
that didn’t come back home,
they say songs are voices that didn’t die.
I tried to sing lost boys back home,
but I lost my voice singing.
XVI
I write to tell you that
I wrote another love song
for all my old lovers
and poured it into
the beak of a bird
but the bird died of grief.
XVII
I write to tell you that
I have built many rooms in people
that won’t stay
and called them home.
XVIII
I write to tell you
about the way bodies open up to love
vulnerable
unguarded
like flower petals waiting
for sunlight or water,
the way I left my body open for god
waiting,
waiting
waiting.
XIX
I write to tell you
about my sin
how it is cheap.
How I sometimes wear it like a hat
for everyone to see
or paint it black and call it guilt,
tuck it safely under my shiny clothes
watch it stick to my black skin and
dissolve into my bones
till,
till my body
becomes too heavy for ablution.
XX
I write to tell you that
in Ondo,
a boy embraced the softness of another boy
and men, carrying the name of god on
their lips rushed to kiss him
with kisses of fire.
They said
his body looked like sin,
they said
fire purifies everything.
XXI
I write to tell you
to battle forgetfulness this way:
Trap a shred of memory in a fist
swallow it whole and
call it a requiem
or a dirge
or an elegy
tell them it’s for the children we forgot to name
in Baga and Damboa and Kummabza and Garkin Fulani
because our tongues grew weary of naming names,
tell them how we bought dolls for the girls
and asked them to paint where it hurt the most,
tell them our girls painted everywhere.
XXII
I write to tell you, lover
that my body is an endless sea of desire
and by god,
when you laugh
my body caves into itself
and my heart seems to melt into water.
XXIII
I write to tell you that
I have wandered and wondered
and called salvation many names—
Eros
Ninkasi
Yeshua.
XXIV
I write to tell you about bodies
that have forgotten the way home because
home is a bird in the mouth of a coffin
or a child in the face of a gun
or a boat in the embrace of a storm
or an empty room smelling of
stale prayers and dying songs
because home is another name for loss
and to remember is to betray a body
and gift it to grief again.
XXV
Finally,
I write to tell you
about how I roused my body to life
after it fell into Nadir.
How I sat it under dripping honey and
called it sweet names,
beautiful, bonny, beloved
gathered my reflection with affection
everywhere I found it,
sang slow songs into the teeth
of all the tired boys inside my bones
and told them:
you are enough
you are enough
you were always enough.
https://www.addastories.org/25-notes/
Boluwatife Afolabi is the author of ‘The Cartographer of Memory’ an electronic poetry chapbook published by the Sankofa Initiative. His works have appeared in Saraba Magazine, Arts and Africa, Expound magazine, African Writers etc. He is also the poetry editor at agbowo.org. He lives and writes from Ibadan, Nigeria.
Twitter: @oluafolabi
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A new month brought a new and disturbing phase of the malady that commenced in January. it become embodied in my gut which is frequently tense and painfully distended. Each mean utterance of the inner critic, whom I have named Cruella, feels like a small electric shock. She comes to me at dawn after a broken nights sleeps and refuses to leave until I drag myself out of bed to face the grey day shattered. My shrink describes this as mild to moderate depression. Uh-huh! I am unlikely to get out much for some time so I offer my recommendations.
Before I get to that last summer I had the honour and privilege to be interviewed by Naomi Woddis on her show The Two of Us on reel rebels radio. It’s a show that explores creativity and well being. Our conversation covers spirituality, activism, community, poetry and much more and is available here.
https://directory.libsyn.com/episode/index/id/12661418
Thursday 6th February
Reel News present the Premiere of Catalonia is is Anti-Fascist at 7.30pm
Effra Social, Brixton, 89 Effra Road, London, SW2 1DF
Reel News spent two weeks in Barcelona last autumn in the wake of an explosion of protests over the draconian prison sentences handed down to Catalan politicians and civil society leaders. What we found was a very young, very angry movement that has radicalised dramatically since the astonishing scenes around the referendum for independence two years ago – with the anger being directed as much at the Catalan government as it is at the Spanish state.
The 40 minute film shows the occupation of Barcelona airport by 20,000 people immediately after the sentences, an unprecedented general strike called by just two small rank and file unions supported by 1.5 million people in Barcelona alone, and continued daily protests by a people who, with their entire government either jailed or exiled and with violent repression of peaceful protests, see no alternative but direct action and civil disobedience.
More info https://reelnews.co.uk/2020/01/29/events/reel-news-premiere-feb-6-catalonia-is-anti-fascist/
Saturday February 8th
The launch of Poets for the Planet Verse Aid: Poems for the Earth, an all day event with performances and workshops at
The Society of Authors, 24 Bedford Row, London WC1R 4EH
(Nearest tube stations: Holborn and Chancery Lane)
Join the group on Facebook and share on Twitter using the hashtag #Poets4thePlanet @poets4theplanet.
Illustration © Henny Beaumont
More info https://poetsfortheplanet.org/events/
a ring of fire
– a lament for Australia January 2020
red skies
red sands
red seas
people flee to the beaches
huddle in boats
roads are closed and power lines fail
fuel tanks run dry
the blood red blaze rips through homes and forest
while contracts and denial ensure
the rape of the rich red earth
continues
in Sydney cricket players don black arm bands
as high winds threaten to close the ring
animals die in silence
not knowing
this is what hell looks like
Image: Greece November 2019 by George Natsioulis. Instagram george_natsioulis
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With no apparent trigger, my mood has plummeted into a place of darkness where meaning, purpose, emotion and motivation absented themselves. Needlessly to say the anxiety that often accompanies bleak moods kicked in immediately, my energy has dissipated and sleep is broken on this unbidden journey. Alternatively I stand outside and within this void. In the former state I can ask – am I becoming? In the latter – am I broken? I wrote the poem a ring of fire as I descended, perhaps to cling onto some sense of being in the face of this mental torture.
Herne Hill, looking across Brockwell Park at dusk. Shot using iPhone. Only when I looked at it in the edit did I notice both the trees and traffic lights seemed to be sweeping the sky with colour. The image was cropped and upped the contrast by 50 points. No colour filter.
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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I’m watching the Odette, it’s the story of the French woman Odette Churchill who served as a spy for Britain, working with the French resistance during WW2. Mum told me about this and urged me to watch the film Carve Her Name With Pride, which was her favourite, another true story; that of Violette Szabo who also assisted the French resistance.
Some time before my mum died, perhaps a few years before, she told me she had heard on Radio 4’s Womens Hour that women like this who were injured were treated in secret by the Sacred Heart Convent where she went to school. She was so excited and so proud. She introduced me to Code Poem for the French Resistance by Leo Marx which was broadcast on the show and recited in Carve Her Name With Pride. She asked from her hospital bed when she was dying that the poem be read at her funeral.
Prior to this discovery her only memories of that school were not happy ones.She would tell me only of the cruelty of the nuns, one in particular who would walk around the class room with a ruler and wrap anyone over the knuckles if they got the sums wrong. As a result mum developed a blind spot about maths though she could handle the housekeeping well enough it was only when she did a GCSE in maths to apply for teacher training she could do anything more complex. I remember cutting up an orange to teach her fractions.
I remember another conversation, I was in my mid or late 30’s and had gone back for the weekend. These visits would have a typical pattern. We’d have a few drinks on the Friday night and talk, argue, discuss current affairs. The rest of the weekend we might have a little trip out to a park, garden or stately home.
I’m not sure how we got there on this night but I remember mum saying something like, “I don’t know how anyone does that.” And dad said, “What are you talking about if the Nazis had invaded here you be the one planting bombs and blowing up train tracks.” Or words to that effect. We had had a few if the truth be told. I was just looking on with amazement at this turn in the conversation. It was probably followed with something like, “Well I think it’s time we all went to bed now.”
Mum disliked war films generally, when we were little kids, if something came on, “Up periscope, down periscope!” Us kids would crow, Mum would shake her head, retreat to the kitchen and say something like, “Awful, just awful, war is a terrible thing.” She wasn’t keen on Cowboys and Indians either except Last of The Mohicans.
On afternoons like this or at Christmas we would watch over and over The Great Escape, Spartacus and The Inn of the Sixth Happiness. When the latter ended, repressing and hiding tears. Emotion was not something that was easily shown in our family.
I think mum was the only one who really understood me and what I was doing with poetry and politics even though even as late as 2002 she was still overly protective and was furious when she discovered after when a group of us went to the European Social conference in Florence we joined the million on the peace march at the end. I had told her about the conference, no one knew the March would be so big and broadcast across the world.
Later she apologised about flipping out and said I’m not worried what you would do I was worried about the police, which is fair enough they had killed Carlo Giuliani, a year before at the G8 summit, his parents led the march and was so big the police didn’t come anywhere near it.
Next Saturday I’m performing with a group call Things that Make for Peace on the 70th anniversary of NATO. I don’t know if she would get why we oppose nato because that’s not a conversation we ever had but I think she would be proud. It’s times like this I miss my mum but I feel her closeness at the same time.
Only when she was dying she finally stopped saying, “Just be careful” when I went on a protest. I guess that’s what mums have to do and know when to stop doing it. I’m glad we reached that understanding. In the end. If it wasn’t for her I feel my life would have been very different. I believe it was her that planted in me these seeds for peace, justice and equality, it wasn’t just what she said, the stories she told, it the passion with which she did it.
Beautiful poem from Leslie Stuart Tate, capturing moments in action and the dialectical notion of how as we seek to make change we too change, learn and grow in the struggle; “How we made tarmac into garden,/seeding ourselves in the night/and easing up next morning/through drains and cracks/to release soft balsamic fragrance/and love-repeat blooms/ unlocking who we are.”
I love the sense that this is not just a cerebral process but an uncovering, a discovering of our potential. The potential born in us set free by love and action, a beautiful process. Replete in reference, it evokes for me Oliver Tambos “flowers, of the revolution,” Oscar Wilde’s “we are all in the gutter…” and Rumi’s ““Be crumbled. So wild flowers come up where you are. You have been stony for too many years. Try something different.” Yet while doing so entirely original, expressing the essence of XR. This distillation the very definition of poetry.
Extinction Rebellion, London Occupation
(With acknowledgments to Adlestrop, Edward Thomas)
I remember
where we nested on trucks
with our talons drilled into metal
as we sent up wild cries calling to our children,
and they gathered,
rising from their bedrooms
and playgrounds and schoolrooms
to fold their wings around the wounds
and consecrated body of Earth our host.
How we made tarmac into garden,
seeding ourselves in the night
and easing up next morning
through drains and cracks
to release soft balsamic fragrance
and love-repeat blooms
unlocking who we are.
Yes, I remember how we offered ourselves,
sitting cross-legged on stony ground
held together by our songbooks and testimonies
and the rising tide of quiet
on the bridge and in the Square,
and in the silent wait at the Circus for leaf-boat rescue.
And in that minute, as I watched, the air became an Arch,
the sun told the truth; the traffic stopped
and the trees and protestors stood tall
raising a dream-song space with their bodies,
while all the birds
of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire
sang emergency.
Leslie Tate https://leslietate.com/ who adds
This poem is about the April XR occupation of London. It took a long time to write, so I didn’t read it until I was MC-ing a stage during the July and October uprisings. Here’s a link to Blythe Pepino’s song ‘Emergency’, referred to at the end https://soundcloud.com/blythehart/emergency.
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Bloodlines – new version for performance, updated 2019
Dedicated to Heba Farouk Mahfouz and Ahmed Harara
I’m pulling on my jacket when I notice your status.
Urgent Qasr al Ainy need blood donors immediately. Spread this #Tahrir 21 Nov 22.22
Almost 12 hours ago then, and I am almost 12 hours away
from the makeshift hospitals in churches and mosques,
where doctors and nurses attend to the wounded on their hand and knees,
and even if I could cross the miles in an instant…
look down, blood is smeared all over my screen,
the blood of the hopeful, the dreamers in Oakland,
Denver, Daara and Homs and now in my beloved al Qahira.
Is blood the currency of our liberation?
Scroll, the bodies of Syrian children twist, crumple and fall,
and that blood too wells up and drips onto by desk,
absentmindedly I push the keyboard aside,
hearing the slogan of the revolutions roar from my speakers
ashaab urid isqaat annism, the people demand the fall of the regime.
Move the mouse, click you tell us that Ahmed Harara gave one eye in January
and the other on Saturday
If I could cross the miles in an instant…
I would love to touch again that earth,
where I sat in the summer, in the lull,
under the moonlight and an imperfect victory
with new families, singing rebel songs.
We come here all the time now, not just on Fridays
a woman told me, her son asleep in her arms,
we can come here when we want now, this is our now.
Shame creeps up behind my neck no amount of my reminiscence
with return to Ahmed his eyes. Scroll, he sits in the studio,
a fresh bandage over his eye and he smiles. He is smiling, smiling!
The dentist, son, brother who may never see again. He is smiling
and he has the voice and vision of angels
#dignity #honour #courage. If only
I could cross the miles in an instant…
What was I doing? What am I now, Egyptian, Syrian, American?
What am I now but blood, consciousness and pain.
Time to leave now, to wrestle with the tube where I might usually conjugate Arabic
verbs, but not today, knowing … that even if I could cross the miles in an instant
there is not enough blood in my body for the fallen #powerless.
Later I sink back into the smile of the blind man I’ve never met,our brother, this time he
is in the arms of the mother of Khalid Said, the boy in whose name so many stood up and
I know now, that while there is blood in my body,
I have my voice, I have hope
I still have dreams of freedom
while there is blood in our bodies,
always we have our voice and hope
still we have our dreams of freedom…
I began writing the poem below as news of a massacre in Cairo came thru from my facebook friends in Egypt. One in particular was ceaseless in her reporting which was vital to the struggle was Heba, who now works for the Washington Times. This version below was updated for performance and for today.
The courage, passion, compassion, dignity and love of those in the struggle inspired me to begin the poem a version of which was eventually published in one of the Loose Muse Anthologies. Forget which one, which anthology. I was actually really depressed when I put my pen to the page. Not coz of this, just in general. Not sure what crashed me now. Perhaps the combination of a heartbreak at the end of a relationship lost in translation and clearing out our family home after our Dad died.
I remember feeling so impotent, being so far away. My heart tearing. Thinking I can’t write, can’t do anything, my writing is crap anyway, then thru the tears that opened my heart came words.
The 21st November 2011 was a dark day in Cairo. So many shot, beaten, wounded, killed. Many shot in the eyes, including Ahmed Harara, a dentist who took to the streets in January, gave one eye to the struggle then another on this day. Under orders from SCAF, the military council. He eventually became a citizen journalist.
Things aren’t much better now under Al Sisi, which is why I feel this is still relevant. Lets never forget the power we have united, the courage that we saw in Tahrir. Will never forget those I met in the square in that mellow summer when things coulda gone either way and many knew that.
Heba and Ahmed helped me live again when I was drowning in my sorrows, worse in the visible darkness of a deep depression. My message to them today; I feel the tide is turning again across the world. Good luck with your writing. Never let go of hope, let the light shine even if all it can do is reveal the darkness. Tadamun, Ohabty, Ohaby.
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;
Every day a new story emerges about council estates left empty after their residents have been evicted and scattered to the four winds, of luxury apartments left empty, of the growing number of rough sleepers, the hidden homeless; young people “sofa surfing” or living in sheds, growing numbers of families in temporary accommodation or in overcrowded accommodation, of the residents from Grenfell tower STILL waiting to be offered suitable accommodation.
This is the reality of the housing crisis, the majority of property being built is for the rich and privileged and it would seem even that market is now saturated. While an exodus grips the capital. When will the government realise we need HOMES for teachers, bus drivers, nurses, baristas, cleaners, shop workers, artists, tube workers, I could go on; the people that keep this city functioning not luxury apartments for oligarchs and their friends. The “market” in”housing” is an insanity. Those that continue to propose it as a solution are deluded. The facts are screaming out that neoliberalism ISNT WORKING.
The good news is there is a sprawling, growing yet connected housing movement. To get involved contact
The Radical Housing Network – fighting for housing justice.
https://radicalhousingnetwork.org/
Demolition Watch h
https://www.demolitionwatchlondon.com/
Follow
http://www.singleaspect.org.uk/?p=15635
Municipal Dreams blog – politics of social housing
Writing Cities – on community and cities
http://writingcities.com/2014/10/19/cressingham-gardens/
On my estate we have been campaigning to save our homes for seven years. We have combined protest with legal challenges, produced a People’s Plan for the estate, created art and a book. 306: Living Under the shadow of Regeneration, the anthology of writing from Cressingham Gardens.
In the conclusion to the introduction of this book I wrote the following:
“The combination of a short-sighted housing policies, changes to welfare; inadequate social care, invisible and unaccountable decisions which replace pubs and bingo halls with supermarkets, seem to be stripping the soul out of our cities and changing the landscape and demography.
Who will sweep our streets, teach our children, tend to the sick, drive our buses and tubes if these processes of regeneration and gentrification are allowed to continue unabated? What do we want for the future of our cities? Soulless spheres of glass and steel; bereft of pubs, night clubs, gay clubs, market places, the damned working class, public spaces free to wander, sit and talk or organically growing, changing, diversifying, supporting, thriving communities?”
More info https://cressinghamvoices.wordpress.com/
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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Joining a strong line up of wordsmiths I pulled together at a weeks notice to open the Musicians Against Homelessness gig at the Fox and Firkin, Lewisham High Street, SE13 6JZ
Poetry and Spoken Word from 5.00-7.00 pm. Bands and DJ’s from 7.30- the midnight hour. Words and wisdom from
Beady Man is a spoken word artist and political activist from Brixton. He is the resident poet at Reel News. He has written and recorded three videos over two election campaigns for the Labour Party group Momentum. https://www.facebook.com/groups/127866140666115/?ref=share
The Rev Be Atwell of Alabama 3 sure knows the score, he was homeless for 20 years while cutting his creative teeth at open mike nights along side dearly departed Errol Thompson. Be will be performing material new from the Road Man album. Rev. Be. Atwell https://www.alabama3.co.uk/en/coYntainers/profile/known_associates
Dennis Just Dennis loves life and sharing it in lyrics. Dennis featured on The Duel‘s new Album Waging Waralong with Angie Bowie and Segs Jennings of The Ruts and recorded England’s Dream, written with Pete Ardron, aired at the South Africa World Cup. http://dennisjustdennis.com/
Hilaire is a writer of poetry and prose, originally from Melbourne.She is one half of London Undercurrents, a project with Joolz Sparkes which led to the publication in March this year of London Undercurrents: the hidden histories of London’s unsung heroines north and south of the river https://www.hollandparkpress.co.uk/books/london-undercurrents/
Samantha Love trained as a method actor. She is a poet, dancer, cabaret artist and compère and contributor to the Pavement magazine, a homeless magazine. She writes deep, dark and meaningful with a twist of irony and a touch of welsh wicked. Host at https://www.widgeontheatreboat.com/
Somaye is a poet, percussionist and singer from London of Iranian origin. Described as “Nina Simone meets Bertolt Brecht set to a Middle Eastern beat” she enchants audiences with her voice, music and socially conscious poetry. https://somayeartiste.wixsite.com/somaye
Tunes and visionary lyrics from
Attawalpa, MeU = MeU, Sonic Eyes, The Four Fathers, Children of the Pope
Hosted by resident Mc’s ph7 and Mc Gavin Mysterion/ poet
DJ Decks Ray Spex and Photographer Odette Mysterion
Performances take place on both the main stage with poetry in the garden chalet, weather permitting. Suggested donation of £3 before 9pm/ £5 after
To join, share invite, get involved in the discussion and see full details here https://facebook.com/events/1417146248434198/?ti=icl
Following the successful launch last month further screenings of We The People in Lambeth, see dates and venues below
We The People is a short film by Virginia Nimarkoh and Fan Sissoko, made in partnership with The Advocacy Academy, the UK’s first campus for young activists, based in Brixton, one of London’s most socially active communities.
Filmed over summer 2019, We The People explores themes of activism and community, past and present. It follows six inspiring conversations between activists and grassroots organisers, young and less young, making positive change at a local level. For many people, these are dire times. Meet some who dare to resist.
Original soundtrack by Dubmorphology.
We The People is a Museum of London commission.
Helen Carr and I from Save Cressingham took part in this fascinating project. We haven’t seen the edits but hoping to get to a screening or two. It was really great to meet the film makers and activists from the Advocacy Academy. I like the expression, “young and less young”. Either way you put it I feel we have so much to learn from each other. It was thought provoking and inspiring. Also featuring
Davida Afriye, Ibtisam Ahmed, Martins Banjo, Ajuub Faraji, Angie Lorena Gomez, Leila Hassan Howe, Ana Laura Lopez de la Torre, Betty Pearl Mayo, Semi Orekoya, Becky Payne, Jemmar Samuels, Heather Seal, Shiden Tekle, Clare Truscott and Malcolm Watson.
You can find more info about Virginia Nimarkoh here, and about Fan Sissoko here.
If you couldn’t make the launch of We The People on the 31st of October, there are alternative screenings taking place across Lambeth see below and RSVP on eventbrite.
|
7 November 7pm – The Advocacy Academy, 7 Vining Street, SW9 8QA |
Follow @WeThePeople on Twitter to stay updated of further screenings. Share this invitation to anyone who you think may be interested.
“A plant called Pete has taken a selfie”
Play with this one; use the headline or image as a prompt and freewrite for twenty minutes and see where it takes you. Then consider what you have just made. Is it for just for fun, or does it feel it needs development, does it welcome a form?
Rules of the freewrite after Natalie Goldberg in Writing Down the Bones
Take it further if you like; what does Pete make of the climate emergency?
Reported 16th October 2019
More info https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-london-50056665
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Happy mental health day – I can’t help thinking, how can we be healthy right now? If health is balance it is so hard to achieve in a world that feels so out of balance. The toxic mix of the incredible uncertainty that we are living through in The U.K. right now, across the world, the absurdity and insanity, not just of our economic system – for profit not need, but the farce of what passes for governance, the ever present wars and threat of war are taking there toll.
A programme last night called How Did I Get Mad, revealed higher incidences of psychosis among people that have migrated, whether voluntarily or forced by war, poverty or the threat of persecution. In addition the levels of mental health problems among young people are at there highest levels ever recorded in Britain and the simply is enough services to treat these people near their families and friends.
The dominant economic and political systems of this world are not just unequal and unjust they are making us sick quite literally. We must heal ourselves and this planet. The two are dialectical but if you are really vulnerable at this time, put yourself first, find ways to become more stable and achieve the balance in yourself first before taking on the instability and imbalance and in this world. Reach out for help if you need it, spend time in nature, trust the earth to love you and hold you. Trust the universe to deliver what you need.
It’s all connected. We are all matter and energy. We are all human. Even members of Parliament last night in response to the persecution by the far right were saying, we are human, we are afraid for our own life’s and those of our families. I’ve gone off at a tangent I realise yet if that is not evidence of consciousness changing what is. Marx said conscious would change in struggle, he was right and time and time again we have witnessed this over the centuries, in revolutions. But they did not, as Trotsky urged they must, become permanent.
Now we face the biggest struggle ever, to save the planet and save ourselves. It effects everyone of us. If the 1% only care about their wealth, property and investments fuck them. We don’t need them, we already run things already on a day to day basis while they cream off the profits. I’m not saying class doesn’t matter, or other differences we may have don’t matter, we all have different experiences and they are all valuable. Collectively we can turn things around. It’s already started.
Humans appear to be so destructive, but they can also be astoundingly creative when not tied to a profit motive, when not warring for profit; warring over oil, fossil fuels and minerals. When we look for solutions. When we used compassion and empathy rather than statistics and financial risk to make decisions. The beginning is nigh, the time is now for action for some, healing for others, a new dawn is on the horizon, our spring will come, love is the way and love begets love. And has no limit.
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Response to
Who said, “Because I am a woman I have no country?” I forget, but I say… Because I am a writer; I have no country. Because I am a refugee; I have no country. Because I have a disability; I have no country. Because I am precarious; I have no country. Because I am an artist; I have no country. Because I am a minority; I have no country unless it pleases them, look out. Because I have special educational needs; I have no country. Because I’m a trade unionist; I have no country. Because I have a mental health problem; I have no country. Because I am a migrant worker; I have no country. Because I am a musician….
Some might say
Because I invest in an offshore tax free account I have no country, and there’s plenty of advice out there how to do that…
“Despite what you may hear, offshore banking is completely legal. It’s not about tax evasion or other illegal activities. It’s simply about legally diversifying your political risk by putting your liquid savings in sound, well-capitalized institutions where they are treated best.”
https://internationalman.com/articles/offshore-banking/
“Where you normally pay tax
If you’re not resident in the UK for tax purposes you won’t usually be liable to pay tax in the UK on your offshore incomes and gains but it’s important to check your residency status and what’s taxable from offshore income.” HMRC Guidance.
“Offshore investment bonds can be a tax efficient investment wrapper often provided by global life insurance firms with the aim to enable investors to grow capital often without attracting any tax.”
https://www.expertsforexpats.com/expat-financial-advice/offshore-investment-bonds/
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The Little that is Left is a series of meditations on absence. This is the first. They imply the end of relating and the detritus of exchange, the fondness of longing and a nostalgia for something lost. Each a narrative poem. The objects invite the reader to write the story that is hinted at.
The essence of XR is to TELL THE TRUTH about the reality and urgency of the climate emergency we are experiencing and to ACT NOW.
I understand the aim in London is to establish and hold 12 sites. Each has a different theme. Many different groups are holding actions and events at each site.
I hope to be mcing a poetry event at the Love and Rebellion site, Sunday 13th October 2.00-4.00pm @Stage 4, 1 Horse Guards Road, London, SW1A 2HQ, by the Treasury, on the edge of St James’s Park.
It’s likely to be a fluid situation so arrangements may change, expect a stellar line up of poets, some music and watch this space for any updates…
Heads Up October is also Lambeth Libraries Black History Month. Lambeth Libraries hosts a series of events with authors, films, music, dance, theatre; a month long opportunity to learn about and celebrate African Caribbean Heritage and Culture.
The events are being held in partnership with the Black Cultural Archives and many local organisations: expect a selection of brilliant writers and artists, to deliver 2019’s Black History Month programme all over Lambeth through October and into November.
More info https://love.lambeth.gov.uk>black_history-month
Thursday 31st October
We The People – Launch and Screening
Thursday 31st October Doors open at 6.30pm Screening at 7pm Q&A at 7.35pm at the Ragged Canteen at Beaconsfield, 22 Newport Street, London SE11 6AY
We The People is a short film by Virginia Nimarkoh and Fan Sissoko, made in partnership with The AdvocacyAcademy, the UK’s first campus for young activists, based in Brixton, one of London’s most socially active communities.
Filmed over summer 2019, ‘We The People’ explores themes of activism and community, past and present. We follow six inspiring conversations between activists and grassroots organisers, young and less young, making positive change at a local level. For many people, these are dire times. Meet some who dare to resist.
Original soundtrack by Dubmorphology.
We The People is a Museum of London commission.
Helen Carr and I from Save Cressingham took part in this fascinating project. We haven’t seen the edits but hoping to get to a screening or two. It was really great to meet the film makers and activists from the Advocacy Academy. I like the expression, “young and less young”. Either way you put it I feel we have so much to learn from each other. It was thought provoking and inspiring. Also featuring
Davida Afriye, Ibtisam Ahmed, Martins Banjo, Ajuub Faraji, Angie Lorena Gomez, Leila Hassan Howe, Ana Laura Lopez de la Torre, Betty Pearl Mayo, Semi Orekoya, Becky Payne, Jemmar Samuels, Heather Seal, Shiden Tekle, Clare Truscott and Malcolm Watson.
You can find more info about Virginia Nimarkoh here, and about Fan Sissoko here.
Possibly my favourite four sentences of all time;
“Hours clot. Birds flap like passports. Fields explode with temper tantrums. Here comes trouble.”
From Ghazals for Spring in The Clerk’s Tale, Foreward by Louise Gluck
Houghton Mifflin, Boston, New York 2004
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I’m coming to the conclusion that Brexit with its almost 50/50 split is the best distraction the ruling class and their political representatives have ever accidentally fallen upon. I don’t think it was the conscious will to be such but now stands as a real threat to progressive or working class unity and any meaningful and absolutely necessary action needed right now on climate, housing, fair pay, the nhs, social care, welfare, education and the rise of the right.
That is why proroguing for me is such a crime and so dangerous. I know I’ve contributed to this noise in my satirical series of breaking down the Brexit lexicon but suddenly I realised every time we buy in to their agenda, or even mention the issue we are getting lost in the absurdity and risk losing the little that remains of hard fought rights. We need nothing less than a paradigm shift in the narrative; a new agenda with people first, in priorities, debate, action and above all as decision makers.
That might sound contradictory given the outcome of the last referendum has arguably led to the insane chaotic mess we find ourself in. But has it? Is the referendum to blame? I say no. The referendum was advisory. That fact has been ignored not only by Cameron, May, Johnson and Gove but the Labour Party leadership and the Libdems.
All these issues being currently ignored are linked; the climate emergency, racism, inequality in all its forms, precarity and austerity. Brexit is just a distraction one lot of UK neoliberals against the EU neoliberals. Corbyn and McDonald do set out a different path but are yet to be tested.
Where do we begin, right here right now with a divided resistance. I suggest in our workplaces and communities. Humans are almost limitless in the power we have, the skills, the experiences, talents and knowledge. But most people just don’t know there own power. How do we change that? Get people involved in action, any action that builds and grows.
On Cressingham today we have a party, a bbq picnic with an orchestra. We have done our best to spread the word and people have come forward with help, sometimes for the first time. It’s a small thing when the globe is encircled by fire and sea levels are rising. Yet an important thing. On Cressingham we have won the right to manage and the right to transfer; subject to a ballot. Hence we come out of local authority control once the process of the latter is complete. These are not small things.
In our communities I believe we need to connect, get to know each other, get to know each other’s skills, experience and talents. In my experience of 20 odd years of creative writing workshops, 15 in mental health settings, people can and do change and grow. Not because I tell them your great, that’s great, but because in the practice of doing, doing anything, people learn to see and experience their own greatness.
In the last flew days I’ve seen calls for a an election, that is not in our power, a general strike called by a Labour MP, that is not likely even if called by the TUC. I, at an unguarded moment, called occupy parliament. That’s not gonna happen. We need to start at the grassroots imo and welcome new perspectives, new ideas, new ways. The old ways have not served us well. Britain went to the IMF in 1975, resulting in a wage cap during galloping inflation that led to the winter of discontent and despite the courage and tenacity of the 84/85 Miners strike, its been pretty much downhill since then.
I raise an old slogan from my uni days – think global and act local. Empower ourselves and others. Though humanity needs to take a great leap, perhaps we can begin with baby steps. Consciousness is I believe shifting. One could say we are in the storm before the calm. Action is urgently needed but we have to keep a clear head, the noise of Brexit debate does not help. I have more questions than answers because we are in an unprecedented time, globally and nationally.
I still believe ultimately in unity, solidarity, that we should plaster dignity and equality on our banners, but slogans are just that. Here’s another Deeds not words. And from or often attributed to Goethe,
“Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back — concerning all acts of initiative (and creation), there is one elementary truth that ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:
that the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too. All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.
Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Begin it now.”
Monday 9th September
Heading up to the launch of Margaret Atwood’s The Testaments at Waterstones Picadilly. Looks like it’s going to be emotional. Readings, embroidery, placard making, cocktails and speed mentoring no less. A drop in and ticketed events, 400 tickets in total, I believe, for this baby so snap one up. I’m lucky a well organised friend sorted this out for me.
More info: http://margaretatwood.ca/
Had a chat with Reuter’s! I kinda wondered why the made a beeline for me, maybe thinking who’s that old bird, was it the hat? Or the unseasonal coat? Ticked some box somewhere. Man the camera adds pounds don’t it! Told them ima poet, that fell on deaf ears!
https://uk.reuters.com/article/us-britain-women-atwood-interview-idUKKCN1VV1R
Saturday 14th September
Featured on Wandsworth Radio, a community radio show hosted by Colin Crilly and Andy Bungay, a monthly round up of activism with music. Will taking about new developments on Cressingham Gardens, throwing in some poetry and and no doubt we’ll touch on resistance generally. It’ll be pre recorded as this show goes on LATE!
Watch this space for a link
Friday 20th September
Will be joining Poets for the Planet in Parliament Square in solidarity with the #GlobalClimateStrike Meeting up midday at the Millicent statue if you want to join us.
Love times love equals infinity (commissioned by Gabbi Lopez, Release/Sustain for Love Squared)
Prelude
We are in a time when people keep the banks afloat, when beauty can be bought, when talking about the weatherhas become political. The time of hope and change,of permanent war, when even monks have taken up arms,And in parts of arabia the cross and crescent merge as one…
The echo of now sounds in the future
This time is the melody of opening,
This time is the harmony of sharing,
These beats, a break
The rhythm, for our times
Between being and becoming
Reaching for a new operating system
for the world, with no limits
and upgrading our love
Love begets love
Love is an action,
love is motive
We will occupy your minds,
occupy your heart
And give you love squared
2012
Monday 5th August
In conversation with the amazing photographer, writer and radio host Naomi Woddis on her show The Two of Us at Reel Rebels Radio exploring poetry, mental health, spirituality and more.
You can listen in here https://m.mixcloud.com/The_Two_of_Us/the-two-of-us-featuring-anne-enith-cooper
The rest of the month I think I’ll kick back, top up my tan, sort out my tech while the world appears to spin on hysteria and bad political appointments and I will pray we be delivered out of chaos. And if I start to lose hope I’ll listen to B movie by Gil Scott Heron coz, I keep thinking – not my prime minister! 0.13% of the population? “Mandate my ass! Ain’t really a life, ain’t really a life, ain’t nothing but a movie…” And if you know what that movie is called – and you ain’t taken the blue pill, now it’s time to unclip. We can all be Neo, go back to the source and let your light shine!
Saturday 31st August
A late addition to the schedule- join us to celebrate winning the Right to Transfer on Cressingham, we have received approval from the Secretary of State to go ahead, subject to a ballot and some legal work. We are holding a bbq picnic, back yard cookout. All welcome, bring a bottle, a blanket, bring the family, there’s a bouncy castle. Food from Clavia Plan and music from the Brixton Chamber Orchestra.w
Excuse me for resorting to cliche but that seems to be the level of what passes as rhetorical argument in what passes for governance right about now. That and optimism as policy, slogans as debate.
I’ll examine one of the features of the BoJo methodology: optimism. There is an optimism and confidence born of a “heightened state”, a feature of a bipolar disorder, known as hypermania, its one step down from an (often delusion) full blown mania. In this state of mind it can feel like anything is possible.
Those that have experienced this will know what I’m talking about. And sometimes one can move mountains for a while. Say it’s a book launch, well in this example a limited edition pamphlet launch, due to take place in two days time; the room is booked, as are the Dj’s and acts and you’ve been up best part of three nights straight setting up the copy when the fan falls off the pc at about 4am. Meanwhile somewhere else an insomniac musician you just met, after an after party, on the way home, is hand painting 100 individual covers. This aspect you have little control over.
Yet by sheer force of will you push thru, with the help of an on call IT tech friend, get to the printers, the covers arrive an hour before the launch, we are stapling them as folk arrive. The only impediment was lack of faith and dwindling sanity, ( mine). Everyone was on my side. We made it happen. The crash after was almighty. My time management has improved somewhat since 2000.
The impediment here today in the BoJo world view seems to be the representatives of 27 states who have consistently stated they will not reopen the withdrawal agreement, which has been passed by Parliament in any case. I don’t see how any amount of positive thinking, bluff and bluster, will change the minds of people in the EU parliament who – even if they colloquially give a flying fuck about the blind uberconviction of the prime minister elect – he doesn’t even seem prepared to meet them, he’s pulled out our representatives in Europe and instead makes an announcement in Truro of all places. Well that will do it. Get them on side!
Is there a historical precedent for this I wonder? That seems to be the fashion of the age. It’s like the war! Up and at em! Not sine Suez and the like. And now I hear that song we learnt as a child – The Grand old Duke of York/ he had 10 000 men/ he marched them up/ to the top of the hill/ and he marched them down again.
Candidates for the origin of the rhyme according to wiki, which I just checked, not the greatest of sources, include:
Richard, Duke of York (1411–1460), who was defeated at the Battle of Wakefield on 30 December 1460. By the Lancastrians.
James II (1633–1701), formerly Duke of York, who in 1688 marched his troops to Salisbury Plain to resist the invasion from his son-in-law William of Orange, only to retreat and disperse them as his support began to evaporate.
Prince Frederick, Duke of York and Albany (1763–1827), Commander-in-Chief of the British Army during the French Revolutionary Wars and the Napoleonic Wars. His one field command of significance was the Flanders Campaign of 1793–4, which resulted in the heavy defeat at the Battle of Tourcoing (1794), followed by his recall to England.
The rhyme is mean to imply futility but the histories appear to show bad tactics, over optimism and defeat. Where are the bards and songsters that can aptly describe the absurdity of our times? Bring out the horns and strings, play us a song of hope. Who was it that fiddled as room burned? Ah yes Nero. Which brings full circle back to one of Boris Johnson’s much cited quotes:
“They voted for Anthony Charles Lynton Blair to serve as their leader. They were at no stage invited to vote on whether Gordon Brown should be PM… They voted for Tony, and yet they now get Gordon, and a transition about as democratically proper as the transition from Claudius to Nero. It is a scandal. Why are we all conniving in this stitch-up? This is nothing less than a palace coup… with North Korean servility, the Labour Party has handed power over to the brooding Scottish power-maniac.”
12th July 2019
Presenting my paper at this
Taking part in an inter generational conversation organised by We The People and commissioned by the Museum of London. The conversation will be filmed and the resulting film by We The People will consist of a series of conversations about activism, community and legacy. The film aims to celebrate Lambeth’s rich history of community action and look forward with hope to the future.
Myself and another activist from Cressingham Gardens will meet with members of the Advocacy Academy and see where the conversation goes.
We The People expect the film to be edited and ready to screen by the end of the summer, and will host a series of screenings around Lambeth. The aim is for the film become part of the Museum of London’s collection, as well as that of Lambeth Archives. There are plans to also make the film accessible to everyone online under a Creative Commons License. It will also be shown and shared online.
Saturday 27th July 2019
Will be joining the Lambeth estate regeneration conference 2.30pm-5.00pm at Cressingham Gardens Rotunda Tulse Hill. I will have copies of the book 306: Living Under the Shadow of Regeneration. We are looking to the future with hope as Cressingham Gardens application for a Right to Transfer has been approved by Kit Malthouse, the Secretary of State. This is not the end of the road but I believe I can say that end is in sight.
I wish that I could show you/ when you are lonely or in darkness/ the astonishing light of your own being.
Written by the 14th century Persian Sufi poet Hafez, also known as Shamseddin Mohammad or Hafiz of Shiraz.
From The Diwan of Hafiz, the collected works of the lyric poetry of Hafez, a pen name meaning the memoriser or he who remembers, is rooted in mystical Islam or Sufism. The belief that God can be found amongst nature, in human connections and transcendent experiences.
“A collection of numerous multilayered poems, the Divan consists primarily of sonnet-like verses (ghazals) quatrains (ruba‘is), and a few miscellaneous odes (qasidas) and fragments (qit‘as). Strong mystical themes abound, along with social criticism and philosophical and intellectual insights.”
https://www.encyclopedia.com/arts/culture-magazines/divan-hafiz
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Yesterday the Evening Standard reported on its front page that an Ipsos MORI poll shows “85% of adults are concerned about global warming.” And “Three-quarters believe the country is already feeling the effects of climate change.” Good.
But don’t be afraid, be a warrior, be part of the army of love. Call me a hippy if you like but fear ain’t gonna get us no where, hate only burns. Be the river, be the stream, be part of a mighty ocean wave, every drop is not a drop in the ocean but a part of the ocean.
Perhaps they’re ain’t gonna be no Fire Next Time, it will be the flood, be part of the flood that will wash away all violence, all oppression, all inequality and injustice and restore dignity, respect, compassion, peace and freedom.
We need an upgrade for the world and now is the time. The time is now to put away old things, old ways, old ideas; to become ( after Marx) fully human. As we create a new world we recreate ourselves. The dialectic still stands.
Be the Phoenix if you like, burn down the darkness within, we all have it and the best of us only have hate for ourselves but that helps no one, know your own light. Shine. Let the light shine. Love is the light. Love is the way. Love is an action. Love is solidarity. Love is unity.
It looks dark outside, it sure does, but the darkest hour is just before dawn, before the peace of the new morning. A new dawn.
This month sees me with my head in books preparing a paper to be named Voices, Power and Space (with a subtitle to be confirmed) to present at the Literary London Society’s Annual Conference for 2019 ,'”Neighbours of Ours”: Cities, Communities, Networks’. I’ll be taking some time out on the delightful island of Gozo, taking my notes with me and hoping to pull them into some sort of shape.
Earlier I was out the back of my flat on the patio with a coffee, trying to alay the morning brain fog. Four children appear with a shopping trolley. Having negotiated the slope down out of the next block, they lift the smallest and most vocal child into the basket at the front, “Let’s go to the park,” he shouts.
At this point I’m torn between – ahh kids, who needs to spend a fortune on toys and going over and saying, “This could end in tears.” The small boy crawls out and a girl climbs in. As soon as the pushing towards the park begins she starts crying, “I’m scared, I’m scared,” but submits to being pulled back into the block. They are out of sight now but I can still hear the squeals and an adults voice.
Half an hour later, still have a large degree of brain fog, it’s as if my head has been in a bucket of goo. I don’t know why but this is always worse on a Monday. The kids are back, now they are five, they still have the trolley and now they have a drone. The trolley is briefly abandoned. In its first flight the drone crashes into a tree and falling this side of the fence rather than in the park. They stand around it, like a stone circle, accessing the damage I presume, then it’s back to their block leaving one girl to drag the trolley back behind them.
Trolley – two hours of fun. Drone – two minutes. (No far so injuries, except to the drone.)
The Keys
The chain with keys has fallen from the stars in my brain,
my mind clanged with pain and with sound.
My entire body became an iron key,
Lord, for a gigantic door
whose lock I cannot reach,
unless you raise me in your arms.
Come on, as big as you are,
come on, as indifferent as you are,
turn me and break me
and open that door at once!
Come on, open it at once!
Cheile
Lanţul cu chei mi-a căzut din stele în creier,
mi-au zornăit minţile de durere şi de sunet.
Trupul meu tot deveni o cheie de fier,
Doamne, pentru o uşă uriaşă
la al cărei lacăt nu am cum să ajung,
decât numai dacă mă ridici în braţe.
Haide, cât eşti de mare, tu,
haide, cât eşti tu de indiferent,
răsuceşte-mă şi rupe-mă
şi deschide odată uşa aia!
Haide, deschide-o odată!
SHORT BIO: Ploieşti-born Nichita Hristea Stănescu (March 31, 1933 – December 13, 1983) was a Romanian poet and essayist. After finishing the local high school, he went on to study Romanian language and literature at the University of Bucharest, graduating in 1957. Nichita Stănescu made his literary debut in the Tribuna literary magazine. His editorial debut, in 1960, was the volume of poetry Sensul iubirii (“The Aim of Love”), He was the recipient of numerous literary awards, the most important being the Herder Prize, in 1975 and a nomination for the Nobel Prize in 1980. The last volume of poetry published in his lifetime, in 1982, was Noduri şi semne (“Knots and Signs”). After consuming three marriages and excess drink, he died in 1983.
It is 40 years since Blair Peach was murdered by the police Special Patrol Group on a demonstration in Southall. The community turned out in large numbers to confront the National Front. The police, predictably for that time, not only defended the far right but virtually rioted against the community.
The brutal events are recounted in a detailed personal account today in the Morning star https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/day-blair-peach-died-%E2%80%93-personal-account
Though unaware of these events at the time I was involved in CND and would eventually attend Rock against Racism gigs in Hitchin. These events became well known in the punk community.
Blair Peach and will be remembered in a march in Southall at the weekend. It is also worth remembering it took 30 years for the state to admit responsibility for the actions of the police that day.
Image John Sturrock Instagram @johnnysturrock
Conversations with God I
We need to talk.
I know, I KNOW!
Well what’s up?
I don’t know where to start…
Start at the beginning.
You mean when I was born?
If you must.
I was born upside down, I feel…
now I feel like I’m getting everything wrong.
Look at it another way.
What, sorry?
Try looking at things from another perspective.
That’s a bit Zen isn’t it?
Is it?
It is.
Are you sure?
Yes, well…
Fairly sure then, that’s a start.
Is it?
It is.
2012
Holding an event for young people 11- 16 in the Tulse Hill area. We have a great team and looking forward to a great day. Get in touch if you know any young people that might be interested. A parent or guardian MUST enrol their child in advance. Contact me.
Saturday 6 April 2019 7.30 pm – 10.00 pm
Bringing anti-war poems to an event organised by The Things That Make For Peace, who are working to provide unity around an anti-war perspective on the 70th Anniversary of Nato , at the Poetry Cafe there will be a talk and poetry, music and song 
https://poetrysociety.org.uk/event/70th-anniversary-of-nato-an-anti-war-perspective-by-the-ad-hoc-committee-for-the-things-that-make-for-peace/
Saturday, 20 April 2019 at 19:00
Joining a stellar line up at Water into Beer in Brockley, 209-211 Mantle Road, SE4 2EW London. A night of poetry and spoken word featuring Tim Holehouse, taking a break from his european tour with Brady Palermo, giving us tales from his 13 years as a nomadic musician, punk poetry from The Uptown Portrayer Punk Poet and Thomas Vincent and feral feminist vibes from Glittasphyxia. While I hope to deliver poems of love and transformation.
More info https://www.facebook.com/events/407286220075088/?active_tab=about
We had a great launch of our Women and Homeless project yesterday, on the eve of international women’s day at Roots and Shoots in Kennington. I gave an introduction and reflection on the From the Ground Up training programme run by The Pavement and Groundswell and delivered my poem The Truth about Hats, a discourse on women’s history and struggles.
This highly instructive event including a presentations from and discussion and Q&A with Jane and Diana Rosenthal (Magpie Project) Connie Cullen and Amelia Grant (Shelter) and Katie Smith (Women’s Aid) with music from a Sarah Hough (Groundswell) accompanied by Bene Charles and Hugo Darino. And after a break further presentations and discussion about Good Practice with Gill Herd (Solace) Rosa Heimer (Latin American Women’s Aid) and Caroline Bernard (Homeless Link)
We were treated to the personal journey in and out of homelessness and beautiful music from Shirley Smith and finally presented a brief talk from Shadow Housing Minister Melanie Onn MP before the closing remarks and Suzy Solley and Sharron Clint (Groundswell). And miraculously almost finished on time. This multi disciplinary approach, including the lived homeless experience of people is essentially for tackling a subject so complex.
“Poetry is when our emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.”
Robert Lee Frost March 26th 1874 – January 29th 1963 was a US poet first published in the U.K. since his death questions have been raised about his character.
A winner of four Pulitzer Prizes, he remains a great poet in terms of output and influence. I just love this quote.
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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Will be joining Groundswell and The Pavement for the launch of our Women’s and homelessness project, on the eve of international women’s day, please RSVP to attend. I will be saying a few words about the From the Ground Up training programme run by The Pavement and Groundswell and delivering some poems on women’s history and struggles. It is a great event including a discussion and Q&A with Jane and Diana Rosenthal (Magpie Project) Connie Cullen and Amelia Grant (Shelter) and Katie Smith (Women’s Aid) with music from Sarah Hough (Groundswell) accompanied by Bene Charles and Hugo Darino.
There will be further presentations and discussion about Good practice with Gill Herd (Solace) Rosa Heimer (Latin American Women’s Aid) and Caroline Bernard (Homeless Link) and finally Closing remarks from an MP (yet to be named) and Suzy Solley and Sharron Clint (Groundswell). If you are working in the homelessness or related sector do try and get to this event
Friday 8th March
I have the great honour to be reading poems about women’s history and struggles including my poem Don’t You Know About the Match Girls? At the opening to a fascinating exhibition: Sarah Chapman, Matchgirl – Story of a Strike Leader taking place Friday 8th- Friday 29th March at the Idea Store Whitechapel, 321 Whitechapel Road, London E1
I will be joining match girl descendent Sam Johnson, Sarah’s great-grand-daughter and Toynbee Hall’s resident storyteller Sinead O’Brien. All are welcome to join us the preview of this exhibition.
The poem is based on my hearing of the story through the oral history conveyed by my family. Since writing the poem I discovered at the Matchgirls memorial walk organised by Sam that the story of the match girls victory was spread far and wide at the time, including reaching the Lancashire cotton mills where my grandmother worked, solving the mystery of how the women on that side of my family knew the story.
The exhibition, on the first floor landing, brings a personal slant to the famous Match Girls’ Strike of 1888, from the perspective of local, working class girl Sarah Chapman of Mile End.
Sarah was among the factory workers who met with the Directors of Bryant and May and courageously argued for better terms and working conditions. Sarah’s legacy continues today, but her role has been largely unnoticed until now.
email localhistory@towerhamlets.gov.uk if you intend to come or join the facebook event https://www.facebook.com/events/535503313603875/
Simply the most powerful poetry performance I’ve ever witness and the poem itself is so crafted, crossing continents and epochs smashing the faux debate between page poetry v spoken word into touch.
Great interview here https://rebelgrrrl.wordpress.com/2012/04/08/art-matters-an-interview-with-dominique-ashaheed/
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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What does it mean to love?
Lifting torment with a smile. Wanting to fill a book with it, a book so big there aren’t enough pages in the world to hold it while caught in a web of inexpressibility. Kindly challenging, fiercely defending. Offering patience and reassurance as a cup to drink from. Accepting the agony of separation, letting the other be free, accepting everything.
Author unknown. I found this in a tiny little file on my desktop, I was looking for something else, Of course I was. I’ve googled it relentlessly and nothing came up. Perhaps I wrote it in a moment of enlightenment, who knows?
A blog post by Anne Enith Cooper contact me here
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Friday February 15th 7-10pm
Residents of Cressingham Gardens and friends will be getting together for Love Cressingham, because we love our estate, we love our homes, we love our community and we are still here after seven years of fighting regen! Regen = demolition of 306 homes. It’s far from over. I’ll be the go to on the night I guess, head cook and bottle washer without the cooking. Hope you like our flyer.
Saturday February 16th 2-6pm
Bringing poetic energy to the 15th RECLAIM LOVE. I will be joining drummers, singers, rappers, beat boxers and dj’s, a host of loving souls. Reclaim Love is an awesome, annual free pavement street party to celebrate love , to share love and to have a whole lot of fun doing it.
Meet at 2pm at Eros, Piccadilly Circus, around the fountain, to arrive by 3.15pm to take part in the Universal Peace Meditation as we beam love, light, joy and peace all across the Earth. The aim is to we can make this a phenomenal, unforgettable, love- fuelled day in which we light up London with LOVE.
Call out for face painters, stilt walkers, huggers, anything to spread the love Contact Urtema Dolphin via the facebook event, see below
Full details https://www.facebook.com/events/2005913162862672/
Suddenly springing back to live, I blame the blood moon, after a time briefly touching the dark night and so to action…
Tuesday January 22nd
Joining Poets on the Picket Line bringing verse and solidarity at the Ministry of Justice where receptionists, security guards and cleaners at the Ministry of Justice (MoJ), represented by United Voices of the World (UVW) and support staff at the Department for Business, Energy and Industrial Strategy (BEIS), represented by Public and Commercial Services (PCS) union, will walk out together on strike demanding the London Living Wage of £10.55 per hour, plus parity of sick pay and annual leave allowance with civil servants.
This is the first co-ordinated strike between a TUC and a non-TUC union and the first coordinated strike between outsourced workers in government departments.
8.00am-2.00pm 102 Petty France, Westminster, London SW1H 9AJ Full details https://www.facebook.com/events/374959459944404/
Sunday 27th January
Checkin’ in with Poetic Justice, which means going north of the river but then how bad can that be in the days of a night tube
Kicking off 2019 returning to The Others in Stoke Newington for a night full of the powerful, thought provoking and expansive spoken word, hip hop and live music performed by some very talented wordsmiths.
Material expressed through the night is usually a mixture of activism, spirituality, awareness raising, philosophy, conspiracy “theories”, positive and profound, self/society development and all that stuff.
Poetic Justice events are a drop off point for donations of unwanted clothes and food parcels that will find their way to the homeless via Streets Kitchen.
Top Floor, 6 Manor Road London, N16 5SA 5.00-11pm Full details https://www.facebook.com/events/2005512962875979/
When a situation has become so absurd, so obscured, it’s hard to parody yet Michael Rosen pulls it off here with wit and alacrity.
New ‘Alice in Wonderland’ manuscript discovered: ‘Alice in the House’.
Alice walked into the house and it was very noisy. People were standing up and sitting down and nearly everyone was shouting things like ‘Here!’ and ‘No!’. That’s funny, thought Alice, where I come from it’s ‘here and now’. Maybe they don’t know what they’re doing, she thought.
Some people started talking about a motion. She had heard the doctor talking about that when her mother had had digestion difficulties and that’s what it seemed like when a lot of the people started shouting about passing the motion which was, sad to say, proving to be very difficult. Never put off till tomorrow, what you can do today, thought Alice to herself, remembering what her mother said.
Everyone was getting very cross and and shouting in particular at the Queen of the May.
‘She’s called that,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘because she may. Then again, she may not.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Alice.
‘Neither do I,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘why should I understand everything I say? I certainly don’t say everything I understand.’
‘Order!’ shouted the man everyone was calling Mr Squeaker.
‘Is he called Mr Squeaker because he squeaks?’ said Alice.
‘No,’ said a particularly angry, sneery creature called the Gibblet, ‘he’s Mr Squeaker because he’s a little pip squeak and we hate him.’
‘Oh,’ said Alice, ‘I think we’ll all get on much better if we don’t hate each other quite so much.’
‘Rubbish,’ said the Gibblet, ‘I hate teachers and it’s never done me any harm.’
‘Has it done the teachers any harm?’ said Alice.
‘Who cares about them?’ said the Gibblet looking happier for a moment than he had looked ever since he first met his little friends the Phonics.
Just then, one of the people who had been shouting ‘Here!’ and ‘No!’ got up to speak.
‘What we need now is impagination…’
At least that’s what Alice thought he said.
‘…otherwise we’ll never get out of this hole,’ he went on.
Oh, thought Alice, he knows about the rabbit hole I fell down, but why does he think we’ll get out with…what was it? …impagination?
‘We need to get off this page,’ he want on.
‘Ah, I see,’ said Alice, realising what this impagination meant. They need more pages.
Rather hoping she could make the Gibblet less angry and less sneery, Alice turned to him and said, ‘That’s nice,they need more impagination.’
For some reason this annoyed the Gibblet even more.
‘Impagination! Impagination!’ he snorted. ‘What sort of lily-livered, antsy-fancy, snowflakey stuff is that?’
He didn’t wait for an answer.
‘We need Norwich and Phonics,’ he shouted, ‘we need a Norwich-led Funiculum and more and more and more Phonics.’
This seemed to be a signal because about a hundred little Phonics rushed up to the Gibblet like a host of puppies and started licking him and making funny noises: ber, ber, ber and ker, ker, ker.
The Gibblet stood up and the Squeaker called out in his very loud voice: ‘The Gibblet!’
And then the Gibblet said, ‘I love you, Queen of the May. Your deal is wonderful. It’s the nicest deal I’ve ever seen. I want to take it home and clutch it to me like a long lost friend. I wish everyone else thought your deal was as nice as I think it is.’
At this a very large lugubrious-looking cat, the Rees Mog, gathered together an enormous amount of cat mucus in the back of its throat, swirled it round its mouth and gobbed it on the floor.
‘Fie on thee,’ it said in a tired, languid, mournful way, ‘I will awhile uphold the unyoked humour of your idleness. Herein do I imitate the sun who doth allow the base, contagious clouds cover up his beauty from – ‘
‘We need impagination!’ shouted someone behind him.
‘I abolished impagination!’ shouted the Gibblet back at him.
The whole house went very quiet.
‘Yes,’ said the Gibblet, his eyes gleaming while the little Phonics nuzzled his knees, ‘when the Mimsy Borogove brought in the Norwich-led Funiculum, we abolished impagination. How can you have impagination if you haven’t got Norwich?’ he said looking at the people around him as if they might just possibly be the kind of idiot who did think you could have impagination without Norwich.
He sat down.
Strangely no one in the house congratulated him for making this speech, for the only people who loved him were the little Phonics.
‘When you’re a big boy like me,’ said the Rees Mog, purring at himself in a large mirror he carried with him, ‘you’ll get subordinate claws like mine.’
This only enraged the Gibblet even more, because he remembered that time when an irritating woman called Mirther Kernel asked him whether he knew what subordinate claws were. And he didn’t. And Mirther Kernel laughed.
Alice walked on.
Read this poem recently at an event curated by poet Molly Rowan at Tate South Lambeth Library with the aim of exploring and addressing the theme of Shared Spaces. The last time I read it was at The Bowery in New York, I was invited as a special guess and also one of the judges of a intercollegiate per try slam by Christine Tims, a teacher in a community college in New York, a poet who curated events with poetry and dance. The theme of Shared Spaces struck me as ironic as 80% of the time I think we are in the Matrix and about 68% of that time I wish I’d taken took the blue pill. That poem is yet to be written. This is a poem about a journey through one of the spaces that we share unequally.
Up Town
The club was fairly dull
so I leave early though it has long gone midnight.
I walk past darkened offices
Past a bus stop, there’s an old man sitting with
dirty coat, grey hair, slicked with grease
his life a carrier bags at his feet,
He is smoking a cigar,
Not so dead to have forgotten pleasure then
but dead to me, to us.
Round the corner a white gleaming roller glides by.
On Charing Cross Road a guy supports a girl
who staggers and throws up on her shoes.
Near the square, in cafes smartly dressed couples
talk intensely, while outside
others fall about the pavement tables.
A young lad sleeps through it all in a doorway.
Three Turkish students search for a club
I give them a page from Time Out and
their gratitude almost overwhelms me.
At the bus stop beneath the square I take a light
from a French guy who looks bored.
We stand in silence and smoke in the rain.
A woman next to us mutters in Patois
about cleaning, kids and the rent.
Refuse workers clear up the streets already.
I wonder, if, or when
they go out to play…
Published in Touched
Wake at the civilised hour of 7am, the very best time to get up, feeling quite refreshed, look at the clock, close my eyes and next time I open them it’s 8am. I’m not sure if I slept. My eyes are heavy, close them again and next time I look it’s 10am. Now I know I’ve been asleep or rather in a half sleep, lucid, aware of my bed, my room. Curiously my sleep seems to follow the clock as if I have an internal unbidden snooze button.
While in and out of this peculiar state I’m reaching for a story; I’m not sure if it’s one I’ve read, one I’ve been told, or a recurring dream. It is elaborate and has many parts, a succession of unveiling, yet it is a haze. The tentacles of the story are there whenever I’m near sleep.
Something about the unknown being told, perhaps a wisdom tale, something about – then they realised. The story has a narrative voice which I can almost hear. Sometimes I see scenes, but I cannot grasp it or truly know it. It’s like recalling the feeling in a dream without the dream details, so I guess I should surmise this is just a dream.
I only sense that the people, who may be villagers, it appears to be a rural scene, perhaps from another time, realise they are not what they thought they were, they realise they were not what they thought each other were. Is my mind tapping into some great universal awakening? Is there indeed an awakening? Well that would be cool.
Am just soooooo frustrated with the meagre grasp of something which has shadowed yet evaded me for some weeks now. The images were hazy a few weeks ago, clearer now, I neglected to write them down.
Meanwhile it’s XR rebellion day 2. I’ve had mixed feelings about this campaign: the way they don’t appear to want a mass movement but rather a few committed individuals to do it for us but given almost the entire media and parliament is failing to respond to the IPCC (international panel on climate change) report that suggested unless we keep global warming below 1.5 deg we risk crossing the tipping point into uncontrollable climate chaos. Given the the IPCC have calculated that at the rate of present emission that will happen in 2030…
and given actually all of us can’t be there, I for one am still in bed today, in a state of mild mind fog….
and given we have so many other fronts to fight on, these seem to be the ONLY people drawing attention to this. 2030. We have 12 years according to the report that has rocked the work. It sounds like sci fi. But it’s not.
I hear the super rich are building bunkers and buying up land in high areas away from the risk of sea level rises. This is as foolish as it is selfish. It underlines the fact that there is no doubt already the most vulnerable communities face greater risk and the poorest will be disproportionately affected, if truth be told, they are already. And that is the slogans brandished in a sea of hope TELL THE TRUTH and ACT NOW.
So concluding, I reckon we should all get behind this even if it’s just a click or a share. Also I hear the One Million Climate Jobs campaign, promoting a transition to renewable have a motion for trade unions here
If I had said say 20 years ago, no let’s say after the miners were defeated in ‘85, that dark time, if I said, “Think this is bad, let’s time travel, in 2018, in 33 years time, 60% of working families will be on benefit because their pay is too low, 55% of homeless people will be in work because rents too high, only 8% of people will have council housing, our council housing will be a fire risk or falling down or sold of to the higher bidder, the nhs will have been cut so bad it’s barely functioning, and social services barely able to cope, while hundreds of homeless people die on the streets and hundreds of thousands of sick and disabled people have died due to an unfair welfare system, with an 80% target for refusals that forces those with fatal illnesses to appeal, the prisons will be bursting at the seams and privatised.
Phew that was a long sentence…. All this because we balled out the banks 10 years ago and have been paying for it ever since, yet our rulers still bow down to the god they call “the market” as Hayek pours himself a glass of champagne, and Britain in this state, wants to leave Europe, all this is happening in the fifth richest country in the world but that wealth is held in the hands of an elite few, there are pockets of war and refugee camps all over the globe, the biggest refugee crisis since the Second World War and the earth is screaming with forest fires, psychotic weather events, tsunamis and floods, the icecaps are melting and the the oceans are rising and whole of humanity faces 11 years to the Climate change tipping point.”
Would you have believed me? No, I think you would have said “Anne, that’s sci fi, that would make a great movie.” But what is missing from this picture? The resistance. The global resistance. I have no sense of how or if it is linked up yet but it is there. We can connect at least with Extinction Rebellion, we can join our trade unions, community and campaign groups. There are people planting forests, organising for a Just Transition from fossil fuels, see Reel News. The most successful and militant workers in the country are the most exploited, on minimum wages or less, on zero hour contracts, they are fighting back and winning. We are no longer fighting for the future, we are fighting for the now. Another world IS possible: Liberty, equality, dignity, peace, respect, hang this on our banners, hold it in our hearts, unity, solidarity and love is the way, adelante! #ThinkGloballyActLocally #11MoreYears #NowIsTheTime 💜
Emma Thompson, has described the documentary film #NaePasaran as, “An incredible testament to solidarity…” this film documents the struggle of the Scottish workers who defied, Thatcher’s friend, Pinochet and serves to inspire us to fight the new forms of fascism we see in the world today http://bit.ly/2ONVAi1 Out in Cinemas 2nd November http://naepasaran.com/upcoming-screenings/
Go see the light shine; the action, solidarity, unity and connection! It is on these pillars we can remake the world for all of us, yes every one of us, the fallen angels, the decadent, the dispossessed. The fifth element of course is love.
Marx understood this, suggested that a revolution would liberate all humanity, and he was right but imo that revolution will not be some great “moment” of sudden change. I believe already we see the growth of the new within the old, within the chaos, within the despair, within the desperation are so many seeds of hope. So many. Look around.
Change aint a coming, change is here; in Andalucia, in Ecuador, in forest planting in Bangladesh, community organising in Jackson Mississippi and Richmond California. i am sure there is more, research, see what you can find. Spread that news. Make it where you are.
I know times seem darker and more dangerous than ever but, as my mum used to say to me, the darkest hour is just before dawn. Be ready. Get organised. Trotsky argued we have to make the revolution permanent, so that it could not be rolled back, permanently evolving. We need so many fronts that our struggle becomes relentless like the waves on a beach.
Join the precarious workers demo on tuesday, join the extinction rebellion launch on wednesday. Join your trade union, community group or campaign. Together we are unstoppable, no one can turn back this tide. Yes it feels we are going backwards but that is just an illusion.
The truth is people make history and people will make a new world and around the pillars of our struggle we will wrap the banners of respect, equality, dignity, justice, compassion, peace, and love, and the greatest of these is love
#NewEarth #AnotherWorldIsPossible #WeCanStopClimateChange #Evolution #ThinkGloballyActLocally
So this is how it went at the passport office – i was already somewhat flustered when a five minutes walk took half an hour despite printed google map in one hand google map on the phone in the other.
Me: Hi, sorry i’m late i got a bit lost.
Official/ young/ female/ possibly North African or Middle Eastern: Judging silence
Me: Here’s my application let me know if i did anything wrong (putting old passport, photos, form on the counter)
Her: Where are you going?
Me: Spain.
Her: What are you doing there?
Me: Oh a kinda a course, kinda holiday.
Her: What happened to your passport? (She sweaked!)
Me: (Perplexed) Oh nothing, it just went thru the washing machine…
Her: So it’s damaged.
Me: No it’s fine, you can still see my photo and signature…
Her: No, it’s damaged, officially.
Me: Oh (thinking what that’s a thing?)
Her: Look the pages are stuck together.
Me: Oh, i didn’t notice that, just like that it was a bit crumpled. You can see my photo…
Her: So we can’t renew it today.
Me: What? urr, umm…
Her: It will take a week, there’s a security risk.
Me: It’s just been thru the washing machine adding (only to regret later) it could have been worse I lost it and found it the pocket of some combat trousers due to go to Care for Calais, it could have ended up in the Jungle….
Her: A look that said, I didn’t hear that and you are a very foolish girl (she must have been like half my age.)
Me: I still don’t get it, really. i go away on Friday, is there any way we can speed this up?
Her: No.
Me: Big silence
Her: Not unless you are going to a funeral and you need proof.
Me: I’m really not going away to do anything sinister, (regretting that i’m wearing a Palestinian scarf) is there anything else i can provide that might help?
Her: No. We just need to check if there is a pattern of this kind of kind of thing. It’s a security issue. It’s the routine. You might get it back by Wednesday, if you are lucky.
Me: Let’s hope so. Thank you. Thinking if i get arsy now there is NO WAY i’ll get it back in time
Her: Weak smile
So that was that. I cannot believe it! Every time i have renewed it i’ve gone thru this process, make an appointment about a week before, turn up with documents, job done… She did some telling off too, like why didn’t i renew it before, i shouldn’t book stuff before blah blah blah, I’ve been ill i said, which is true, she looked at me scaptically. Oh mercy. So left all kinda stunned and dazed and confused. Left? Right?
Fortunately the homeless guy sitting with a blanket wrapped around him, i’d seen earlier waved to me. I went over and we had a little chat, gave him some money and a copy of the Pavement Magazine, he didn’t have much english, said he was Italian. I paused a moment trying to beckon that vocabulary, it was only partially successful. Half came out in Spanish, plenty gestures, but managed to indicate what was in The Pavement.
He said he’d been on the street a year. i can’t even begin to imagine, said all he wanted now was to go back to his home in Italy. Didn’t even manage to say “Da dove en Italia?” But showed him where he could get some free food, some place to stay. Couldn’t remember “good luck” settled for, “Buena suerte!” (Spanish,) with my hands in the prayer position, “A casa,” i added.
When i left he had cheered up a lot and said beaming, “Mille grazie, mille grazie.” It’s so cold out there already. This is so wrong – folk on the street, wherever the are from, whatever their story. And figured my little problems are just a hill of beans. So the way i see it; if it comes i’m meant to be there, if it doesn’t i’m meant to be here, (though i know which i prefer,) its up to a higher power now and i don’t mean the passport office.
Myself and Sara Adem and Angie Hill, contributors to the book 306, will feature on Art Speak hosted by John Flannery. We will be reading from the book and in conversation about the varients and value of stories. The show will be broadcast on Soho Radio, KTO and Idenity Radio see below for dates and times.
Kilburn to Kensal Radio: ktokradio.com – Saturday 6.00pm 11th & 18th November
Identify Radio: www.identifyradio.com – Wednesday 15th November at 7.00pm & Thursday 16th November at noon
It’s also on Mixcloud available from Sunday 12th November 2018
Belatedly autumn makes its appearance and I have a late break to look forward to I will be on a writing retreat Opening Doors to Invisible Worlds at the beautiful Cortijo Romero in Andalucia. More than writing the package includes yoga or tai chi to start the day, Spanish lessons, mountain walks and access to a pool which overlooks mountains and valleys. The venue is mostly off the grid, a challenge and a blessing…
Sunday 11th November
Or shortly after will see the release of Requiem: A Reply to The Soldier by Rupert Brooke, a poem presented in a short film and dedicated to Veterans for Peace. Brooke wrote his idealist poem and somewhat imperialist work The Soldier before he was deployed to fight in the First World War. It is 100 years since the end of that bitter conflict which took so many lives on all sides. Dubbed the war to end all wars, sadly this has not been the case. The British Army has been deployed to or engaged in 48 conflicts since 1918.
Tuesday 20th November
Poetry from Myself And Brian “Beady Man” Wilson of transformation hope and defiance at the Reel News film show at the Effra Social, Brixton 8.00-11pm
Films
Save Appledore Shipyard North Devon – campaign to save the only merchant shipyard in the country from closure with the loss of 200 jobs – when the highly skilled workforce could be building the infrastructure for renewables.
BiFab Occupation – workers in Fife, Scotland, occupying their plant that produces wind turbine platforms and successfully stopping it from closing.
Our Power! Just Transition in Richmond – A “movement of movements” in a California city dominated by oil giant Chevron a just transition framework which demands a proper living wage for all, rent controls and curbing police violence.
Cooperation Jackson – Building a social and solidarity economy in Mississippi: moving to a zero waste, zero carbon economy through a plan based on people’s assemblies to create a “solidarity economy” of workers cooperatives.
full details here
Today is World Mental Health day. It seems there is a day for everything however I would like to say why I feel this one matters more than most. For a start it is not something we are very comfortable talking about, but we must. Not only is mental dis-ease, mental distress widespread, given austerity, it is increasing, and still much misunderstood. Our mental health is the foundation for a productive and enjoyable life and confronting the difficulties life throws at us.
When I speak to people about my diagnosis of bipolar, without exception, the response is, words to the effect, that someone in their family or a close friend, or indeed the person I’m speaking to has or is suffered some kind of mental illness. It is that widespread. If you are reading this probably you or someone you know is affected. You may not know it as given the stigma and shame attached to disclosing, you or they may be suffering in silence.
Many people are afraid of the services provided, they may fear being locked up or that disclosure will result in them losing their job or being shunned by friends. or family. They may be afraid of medication, or the stigma of being medicated, afraid of being misdiagnosed. Afraid of the shame of the label. They may feel the diagnosis itself is evidence of failure.
It’s true in the past many people were damaged by mental health services, and some still are. I have worked with people in rehab from services had been reduced to mere shells of human beings by the prolonged inadequate or inappropriate treatment; leaving them shuffling, their heads bowed, one unable to speak, another so wired he could barely listen. Yet after six weeks of writing poetry together these people were coming back to a semblance of life. Making jokes, complimenting each other’s writing, creating beautiful metaphors.
It is incredibly hard to get adequate, appropriate and timely support from services. Even if a person is “sectionable”; defined as a danger to others or themselves, there simply are not the beds. Often people who are sectioned are sent hundreds of miles away. Often services are not joined up. Finding the right service let alone appropriate treatment can be like going thru a maze blindfolded.
That said, my experience of services was on the whole good. Why? I’m not sure. Perhaps because I am literate and articulate. I had read RD Laing et al and worked in a service for users of the mental health service prior to “the episode,” as it is called, that led to my diagnosis. I experienced a six month careering journey into bliss then doubt, fear and confusion about what was real, followed by a sharp and sudden drop from heaven to hell; do not stop at purgatory, do not collect £200… I knew what was happening to me, and though I couldn’t stop it, I had the vocabulary to describe it.
My diagnosis was a relief, I was mad not bad. Medication was a live saver, literally. I was at the point of suicide when I was diagnosed. Medication is not however a magic wand. Getting on the right meds at the right doses takes time, it took me years, and constant vigilance in my case as in the beginning my mood continued to fluctuate widely especially when confronted with a severe stress; a death of a loved one or trauma such as bullying or unexpected adhominine attack. Medication will not help without healthy living; a good diet, exercise, and in my case that has involved years of therapy, and regular yoga and meditation.
Mental health symptoms are very physical. This further confounds the problem for someone or their nearest and dearest, of recognising what is wrong. There can be fatigue and lethargy, excruciating pains that may move around the body or an inability to rest, be still or focused, crippling panic attacks that feel like an electric shock. There may be accompanying negative thoughts but when the body is in so much pain the thoughts can seem not the real issue.
My perspective is the pain we suffer is a message from our body and mind that some ancient wounds need to be heard and healed and the best place to do that is with mindfulness, yoga or meditation. But that’s a big step and a lifelong journey. What do you do if yourself or you suspect someone you know is becoming ill?
Do not be afraid. Reach out. Recognise the signs. If for instance you notice or your friend tells you they haven’t spoken to anyone or been out for weeks, and just feel like they don’t see the point in anything any more chances are they are depressed. Possibly suicidal. Go and see them, take something nice, hug them, don’t try and “chivvy them up” though doing things together is good, and gently and kindly tell them you are worried they are ill, ask them if they have felt like hurting themselves and gently kindly suggest they need help.
If your neighbour suddenly starts playing loud music in the early hours and appears unkempt or strangely dressed for them and begins to talk to you intensely about things that have never interested them before; conspiracies, an alien invasion, the end of the world. That person has probably become very unwell. This happened to me recently some I knew was manic, paranoid and delusional, confessed to feeling lonely but didn’t believe he needed help, however I was able to put him in touch with his community mental health team and long story short he is now well again.
If you are the sufferer the most valuable thing you can do is develop insight. You are not your emotions, you have emotions. You are not your body, you have a body. You are not your thoughts, you are having the thoughts. Recognise when thoughts become negative. Write them down. Ask is this true? Put on someone else’s shoes, would you say to them the awful things you are telling yourself? Above all be kind, be gentle with yourself. If you are hurting you need love not criticism.
Reach out; to family and friends, if they are not support find people that are, a support group or community mental health service. Contact your GP, voluntary section support groups, crisis lines. Do something physical; walk, swim or jog if you can. Make something; a cake, plant a flower, sew, build. If you have a faith, prayer helps.
Above all know what you are going thru is temporary and there may be a gift in it to heal an old wound. Know you are more than your suffering. If you can accept your suffering is your friend, your teacher, your guidance that something is wrong – but it’s not you. You are not wrong. You are a shining spirit dimmed only by the dark night that you must walk thru, and always comes the dawn. Love yourself and know beneath the pain you are love embodied.
I will be joining other artists and activists at NO PLACE LIKE HOME
More info https://www.facebook.com/events/244399402934680/
I will be speaking at The News Club, a new fortnightly event in Brixton 
I will be joining an amazing line up of poets; Tamar Yoseloff, John Canfield, Karen McCarthy Woolf, Shazea Quraishi, Sophie Herxheimer,Rishi Dastidar, Rick Dove
At the Tate South Lambeth Library 7pm to explore Shared Spaces, an event curated by poet Molly Rowan
Tickets https://www.eventbrite.com/e/shared-spaces-a-reading-with-lambeth-poets-tickets-51136768451
2pm until 3pm Tent City at Fordham Park, Deptford
Speaking on a panel on housing which will cover gentrification and social cleansing, managed decline and the thorny issue of ballots. Sadiq Khan famously declared ballots for regen estates were too complex. Those of us that live on regen estates find it quite simple. Our lives, our homes, our right to decide. What do you think? Lets us know. Taking part myself and
Diann Gerson and Heather Gilmore: Save Reginald Save Tidemill campaigners, 16 maisonettes in Deptford under threat of demolition and Tidemill Community garden
Emily Jost: We Saved Northwold Campaign. Tenants and leaseholders who fought Guinness’s demolition plans and won. Now holding them to account re: infill plans, maintenance and preserving social rents
Paul Watt: Professor of urban studies at Birkbeck , Paul has written extensively on regeneration and social housing, neighbourhoods and communities
Martin Williams: Achilles Stop and Listen Campaign, Achilles Street resident and campaigner, area of New Cross under threat of demolition, includes homes, small businesses and community spaces.
The Tent City programme here http://pitpnxd.co.uk/tent-city
Full festival programme here http://pitpnxd.co.uk/home
I and other Ann(e)s will be reading poetry at 6.30-8.30pm Barking Library, Barking, IG11 7NB. Ok, that’s a long drag for us south Londoners but it will be worth it to attend ReadFest 2018, this event is part of a week long festival. A Bunch of Poets called Ann(e) is hosted by Pen to Print, an awesome resource offering free mentoring in Barking and Dagenham to get your book published. So get lost on the tube and rock up to see guest Poets– Anne Ryland and myself, supported by – Ann Dineen, Anne MacAuley, Anne Welsh and Agnieszka Dryjas
Tickets https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/readfest-2018-a-bunch-of-poets-called-anne-tickets-48193160039
Pen to Print https://www.lbbd.gov.uk/pen-to-print-creative-writing-project
ReadFest https://www.lbbd.gov.uk/readfest-events
Its Open House weekend, a chance to view exceptional architecture across the city, and Cressingham Gardens, which has a deserved place in that pantheon, will be open for business. Had Lambeth Council had its way nothing would be left of our beautiful estate by now but rubble. The first demolition date was 2017 but we are still here and still fighting to stay here.
There will be tours around the estate all weekend and a chance to view inside some of the homes. The Cressingham gardens listing on Open House is here https://openhouselondon.open-city.org.uk/listings/6047
There will be a chance to buy 306: Living Under the Shadow of Regeneration, the book co-authored by myself and other residents. The Cressingham book, as people now refer to it, is now on three continents; in the hands of academics, artists and activists in America, Europe and Australia.
“306 is a vital, lyrical, funny and anguished document of a London community under threat of destruction. The voices here are allowed space to reminisce about life in Cressingham Gardens fondly but unsentimentally.”
Toby Litt, Author and Senior Lecturer, Department of English and Humanities, Birkbeck
There will be a chance to watch readings from the book shot by the talented Rainbow Collective in the Rotunda. For the history of how Cressingham Voices led to the birth of the book see https://cressinghamvoices.wordpress.com/
Save Cressingham Gardens https://savecressingham.wordpress.com/
Open House full list of sites https://openhouselondon.org.uk/
Earlier I went round a bit of my block with our SHINY new LUMINOUS day-glow BALLOT US! window posters. I reckoned on this taking about 20-30 mins for 25 homes. Didn’t account for the time to knock and chat … here’s a poster… can you put it in your window… phew the weather… ooo your tomatoes… I’ve been decorating…. the bastard council… this is our grandson… Conversations also covered dealing with loss and grief, various aches and pains and other maladies to boot; we are all getting on, with getting on.
Spoke to a dozen people and got back about an hour later. Figure i’ll have to do the rest tomoro. Love my block! This block is so laid back. It must have ben about 28 degrees. I was clothed but barefoot, only one person I encountered was anywhere near fully dressed. People come to the door in whatever state they are in; one in tee shirt and boxers, another in nothing but a petticoat. Many of the doors are open. All we need is a few kilos of sand and we’d have a beach. Everyone’s already got the attire and the attitude already. We are so not done yet. #NoDemolition
Well its going to be a quiet one on the whole I hope, but am taking part in a panel discussion of homelessness at The Bylines Festival, the discussion is hosted by The Pavement magazine. Will be talking about the increasing housing precarity that is sweeping the UK.
UNFETTERED VOICES: HOMELESS PEOPLE IN THEIR OWN WORDS
It will take place on the Sunday (26th August) of this three day Festival at 11.30-12.30 in the Forest Forum.
The Bylines festival, in its second year is organised with The Frontline Club and takes place in Pippingford Park, Ashdown Forest, TN22 3HW It’s headlined by Pussy Riot and features other guests such as The Slits (!!!) Salena Godden and Alexei Sayle so that’s my summer sorted!
More info https://www.bylinefestival.com/
I will be taking part in the walk and the performance after please join us! The aim of the Matchgirls 130th Anniversary Memorial Walk is to celebrate the victory of the Matchgirls over Bryant and May in 1888, commonly known as the Matchgirls Strike, which helped lay the foundations of modern day Trade Unionism.
THE WALK
The 2.5 mile walk will take us from Mile End to Bouverie Street to retrace, as best as possible, the steps taken by the Matchgirls the day after they walked out on strike. So, don those Victorian outfits (see below for details) and join us for a commemoration of this landmark event. There will be an after-walk event in the Fleet Street area and more detail will be posted about this as the event takes shape.
Time: Assemble from 12:00 to leave at 13:00
Meeting Point: Trinity Green (next to Tower Hamlets Mission on Edward Passage Road, Mile End Road)
End Point: Bouverie Street and onto Bridewell Hall for the After Event
Dress code (optional but fun)
If stuck for inspiration just go on Google Images and search for “victorian working class clothing”.
THE AFTER EVENT
DR ANNA ROBINSON Poet, Lecturer University of East London
LEMN SISSAY Author, Poet, Broadcaster
DR MELANIE REYNOLDS Historian, Author, Associate Lecturer Oxford Brookes University
SARAH WISE Historian, Author, Lecturer City University
NEIL JAMESON Director, Citizens UK
TERRI BELL-HALLIWELL Sculptor, Founder http://www.inVISIBLEwomen.org.uk
IAN WATKINS Salvation Army
ANNE E COOPER Activist, Writer, Photographer, Poet
ROBIN HEAD Matchgirls Descendant, Secretary Somerset NUT
PLUS, we hope to have an exclusive recording from ANDREW CASTLE, Great Great Grandson of Annie Besant, Television and Radio Presenter, Former Tennis Professional.
https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/matchgirls-130th-anniversary-memorial-walk-tickets-43128736211
Background
On 5th July 1888, 1400 girls and women walked out of the Bryant and May match factory in Bow, London and the next day some 200 of them marched from Mile End to Bouverie Street, Annie Besant’s office, to ask for her support. A Strike Committee was formed and rallied support from the Press, some MPs, the London Trades Council and Toynbee Hall. The London Trades Council, along the Strike Committee of eight Matchgirls, met with the Bryant & May Directors to put their case. By 17th July, the demands were met and terms agreed in principle so the Strike Committee put the proposals to the rest of the girls and they enthusiastically approved and returned to work.
The action led to a change in legislation in 1908 the House of Commons passed an Act prohibiting the use of white phosphorus in matches. It led to an increased militancy across the working class, as Lyn Brown notes, ” The received wisdom is that the heroic London dockers of 1889 led the way towards social justice, greater equality and spurred the foundation of the Labour movement. In fact it was London’s working class women, a year earlier, who were the vital spark that lit the blaze that showed the way to trade unionism. The men learned how it was done from their mothers, wives, sisters, daughters and neighbours.”
https://www.theguardian.com/women-in-leadership/2013/nov/04/women-who-sparked-labour-movement
I will be taking part in a housing, music and poetry event; presenting the poetry of precarity and looking at some home truths, in a positive sense, of working class life, a fundraiser for the Grenfell peoples inquiry organised by The Rainbow Collective 1.30- 10.00pm DIY Space for London 96-108 Ormside Street, Peckham, SE15 1TF London
Rainbow Collective & Radical Housing Network present HOME TRUTHS
exposing the causes of the housing crisis + debunking the myths of immigration and homelessness + learning from our victories
An afternoon of films, discussion, spoken word and music. Bringing together artists and activists from variety of campaigns. Building a community of resistance to overcoming division to fight displacement, dispossession and privatization.
This event is a fundraiser for the People’s Inquiry project at Grenfell which is the development of a public archive of accounts and testimonies of the state crimes. It exists to support the processes of justice, not to undermine them and should have the support of reputable charities.
There will also be youth element which will focus on providing a platform for young voices and training them to develop their YouTube channel and their own voice. This project is being run by Dan Renwick the Director of Failed By The State.
https://www.facebook.com/events/464116670695716/
Tickets https://www.eventbrite.com/e/home-truths-at-the-diy-space-tickets-47463741328?ref=eios&aff=eios
And then have a couple deadlines looming for the end of the month so may be taking a bit of time out in poetical editing retreat; it’s a dynamic process, shifting between sofa – rewriting or restructuring, desk – making changes on the pc, bed – reading and making changes on the page, lots messy drafts, lots of coffee, rinse, repeat. But given the present hot climes am likely to take some of this outdoors. Note to self: Don’t forget to breathe, eat and do yoga! Take a break; Casualty, Poldark, The Hand Maids Tale… GO TO THE PARK!
“A year ago we witnessed Britain’s deadliest fire in living memory. The morning after, we learned that warnings about fire safety from residents had been ignored. Later we heard about the safety failures at national and local level, and companies hawking unsafe building materials unchecked.
After Grenfell, many argued that the atrocity should signal a turning point in housing policy. We have yet to see this turning point. We hear that cladding like that used at Grenfell will not be banned. Indeed, it took 11 months for Theresa May to commit £400m to remove existing cladding from tower blocks. Even this modest and long overdue announcement was revealed as a sham: the £400m was to be pinched from affordable housing budgets.
It is scandalous that politicians are whittling down public housing budgets and failing to take action to keep residents safe.
This political disregard for social tenants is rooted in state disinvestment from public housing, and unaccountable private interests taking over the building and management of social housing. Our estates are being run down and demolished while public assets are sold off. Meanwhile 80% of new homes built in London are affordable only to the richest 8% of the city.
The mayor of London is to enforce ballots on some estates facing “regeneration”. This is a start – but we need political will at all levels to ensure that development benefits tenants first, and that what gets built locally meets local needs.
A tragedy like Grenfell must never happen again. We need public investment in safe, decent public housing that is affordable for everyone. We want a housing system where tenants are listened to. And we need housing policy driven by public interest, not by the market.”
So a year ago we launched 306:Living Under the Shadow of Regeneration at the Cressingham Rotunda, a massive 85-90 people attended, thanks to everyone of you. Thanks also to Paul Sherreard and Patrice Lawrence for support Karen McCarthy Woolf, and Tolu Agbelusi for bringing their poetic beauty and Yomi Sode our warm and welcoming mc. And not to forget the Cressingham gardens Residents Association especially Andrew Sherman and of course all the contributors.
The Cressingham book, as people now refer to it, is now on three continents; in the hands of academics, artists and activists in America, Austria and Australia. And now for the letter B… Though initially conceived as a limited edition after the horrific events at Grenfell, we felt it made sense to try and reach a wider audience; what we have in common is the experience of a community that are simply not listened to.
The book was reissued in September and is available at the reduced price of £5 (+ £1.50 p&p if ordered through the website.) Though there has as yet been limited time for PR it has had some attention and outings. And we are looking to arrange more. Any ideas get in touch; things like can we do a reading, hold a bookstall, if you have press contacts.
The book had a review by Sophia Akram in The Canary “A small community has now triggered one of the biggest conversations on social housing since Grenfell.” Contributors read at the closing event for Sanctum Ephemeral, the exhibition by by Mark Aitken, and featured on Art Speak hosted by John Flannery with Anne E Cooper, Sara Adem and Angie Hill in conversation and readings from the book, broadcast on three radio shows. Also Anne E Cooper, Tijana Vukicevic and Carl Molam read from the book at a screening of Dispossession in the Rotunda,in the 4th May which was part of the Herne Hill Film Festival.
Contributors to the book have been working with The Rainbow Collective, documentary film makers from the Ledbury estate. Tijana Vukicevic and Carl Molam have completed their shoot and the first two beautifully cut films were screened at The East End Film Festival in April. Other contributors to the book have been in conversation with Wandsworth radio about life on Cressingham, a project which is also set to continue.
Prior to the launch Anne did readings at The Morley Galley Journey to justice event, Reel News film shows and Brixton Bookjam, thank you for support on our journey. In fact none of this would have been possible with out your love and support. You know who you are, Many thanks.Plans are underway for an event in September about austerity, housing and precarity, get in touch if you would like to be involved and watch the website for details.
What people are said about the book –
306 is a vital, lyrical, funny and anguished document of a London community under threat of destruction. The voices here are allowed space to reminisce about life in Cressingham Gardens fondly but unsentimentally. They know where they live isn’t a perfect place, but it’s their place and they’re fighting to keep it. If you read 306, I think you’ll hope they win the fight.
Toby Litt, Author and Senior Lecturer, Department of English and Humanities, Birkbeck
A must-read primer for anyone interested in regeneration and its multiple effects. Giving an extensive voice to the residents themselves, they conjure up a rich mosaic of community how it is lived; in chance encounters; in a life that is lived both behind closed doors and in open, shared spaces. When the architect, Ted Hollamby, designed the estate, it was with family, community, outside spaces and quality of life for all, no matter what their income. To Lambeth Council, it may be little more than prime real estate, with a nod to the needs of community in terms of provision. The residents, and those who have worked with them to produce this eloquent book, show that Cressingham Gardens, and other estates at risk of ‘regeneration’, are much more than that: a place to call home, and worth fighting for.
Katharine Quarmby, award-winning writer and journalist
This is a marvellous book which perfectly captures in word and image how the dream of regeneration – as espoused by local authorities and the regeneration industry – can in the words of Anne E Cooper become a ‘living nightmare’ for estate residents. She and her fellow Cressingham Gardens’ contributors should know, since it is they who have had to live through the regeneration with all of its Orwellian doublespeak language.
Dr. Paul Watt, Reader in Urban Studies, Department of Geography, Birkbeck, University of London
By September we had sold out of the first edition and were able to issue a revised edition with some important updates to the introduction and appendix. Overheads for this new edition are slightly less so we can make it available at
Seeds and Fuses 