It's not a calendar (yet) and as such is a repeating thing - a study of the passing months. When it does shrink down to becoming a calendar it becomes dated and therefore will only be valid for one year.
I may be thinking of these titles in terms of plants (bedding ones in particular)
During the course of putting the Advent thing together, I realised that I have been trying to build a calendar since 1983. It started in a large sketch book with the front page signed by my father. It feels like Ive added a bit every year, but never felt the drive or need to finish it off - maybe I am because I realise that I am approaching old age! He was younger than I am when he signed it.
It started off with my acquisition of the Julian calendar , or at least a spiced up verbal definition of the same. I am sure that in parts it isn't anywhere near correct, but will at least do for now. I felt it very important to get the very basic black and white (Giff) images rolled out - looking very much like potential lino cuts.
Ten years centred around Shipping Hill was very much concerned with what was happening right there outside.
Breath in breathe out go through the seasons, go through life.
January, a man with two faces.
The one - that of an old man
looking back on the past.The other - that of a young man looking forward.
or/ The figure of a man clad in white garments
and blowing on his fingers.
Under his left arm, he held a billet of wood.
o by the by
has anyone seen little you - i
who stood on a green hill and threw
his wish at blue
with a swoop and a dart
out flew his wish
(it dived like a fish
but it climbed like a dream)
throbbing like a heart
singing like a flame
blue took it-my
far beyond far
and high beyond high
bluer took it-your
but bluest took it-our
away beyond where
what a wonderful thing
is the end of a string
(murmurs little you-i
as the hill becomes Nil)
and will somebody tell
me why people let go
e e cummings
Rich, but dismal colours,
glazed in a wet sheaf.
The rain is pouring down in white sheets.
It's dancing splash,
upward from the bottom of the windowsill
glazed in a wet sheaf.
The rain is pouring down in white sheets.
It's dancing splash,
upward from the bottom of the windowsill
Different tones of patter
At the window, on the roof
percussion for the wailing wind,
sometimes shrieking through cracks.
Rocking the place: buffeting gently.
Dancing with the grass,
bending many trees in unison.
At the window, on the roof
percussion for the wailing wind,
sometimes shrieking through cracks.
Rocking the place: buffeting gently.
Dancing with the grass,
bending many trees in unison.
We are not asleep
can't you feel it in the air?
down by the streams
theres not many sees
but we are coming on strong
In a couple of months
we will take over all
we are just the spirits -
the life and soul of the party.
Earth Love.
I slap burst forth
crying with a rapt reckless yearn
an untaught abandon
which leads on and returns
standing far out of reach
lost excitement wavers
visions want and craze veils
sorely, soulless, nightly.
A rooted radiance
as equal parts roam
with reflections waver
that emptily feels forth
to alight fixedly on shimmers hidden self
of shadowless black gripping single eternity
She winces, sad and strange
whisper dreams encaged beast
raging freedoms fall
mourns
Beauties faceless darkness
spellbound silence teeters.
Drawing rising strength up
searching in answers quests
Can you wade on the land
and walk alone
holding my hand, hollering moon?
March
A man of tawny aspect
with a helmet on his head
leaning on a spade
holding almond blossoms
in his left hand
with a basket of seeds
on his arm.
Bob Meecham 1983?
*
Out of the lie of no
rises a truth of yes
(only herself and who inimitably is)
making fools understand
(like wintry me) that not
all matterings of mind
equal one violet
e e cummings.
Seven golden daffodils, gleaming in the sun,
to light the way of evening, when day has done.
I don't have no money,
I don't have any land,
not even one dollar bill
to crinkle in my hand
But,
I can show you the morning, on a thousand hills,
and kiss you, and bring you
seven golden daffodils.
Lonnie Donergan
Sunset on the waters
and the rocks stand out like boulders
light translucent brambles
line the sides
dripping dangly moss
shooting lights past boulders
gently soothe over the top
swirl to a heap
rumble bubble leap glide and fall.
The bath is filling
the noise surrounding
the amber light is dimming.
Hiding between tall upright trees
reaching for the sky
groping for breath
umber amber sepia stones
lie relatively undisturbed
whilst the clear, sometimes milky
hair thin lines of water
criss cross pass over
here and there a lighted obtrusion
and the luminous moss
stands sponge like absorbing
and soothing.
May May its a beautiful day.
The May Apple Ball
Fritz the cat steached out - mee-owed - head and feet above the crowd.
*
A fresh smell
a fresh heart
sweeps clean,
lightly hovers daintily in mid air
it came from over there somewhere
and disappears
to other fresh smells.
A delicate blue on the distant horizon
the air has a nip for
the sun is still rising
The wind takes a feather
and blows it away
a souvenir of a beautiful daydream.
Another day begins
another day.
*
Sprites.
A deep dark rich sky
behind the fire
the dry wood burns
not only in itself
but also in the air
exploding in sparks
it leaves pin thin wisps
of trail behind it
and every now and then
a shiver of the complete picture
of the whole
- every spark of them
all at once
dancing, swaying in "do it"
with the heat in no breeze
clear crisp night.
76
July
A man clad in long flowing garments
having a scythe in his right hand
and a sickle in his belt
-riding a lion
The Wright Brothers, Shipping Hill 76.
August
The maiden crowned with ears of corn
and bearing stalks in her hand
- the righteous virgin lived here on earth
and plenty made abound
- but after wrong was love,
and justice sold
She left th'unrighteous world
and to heaven was extolled.
Cave Lodge. Thailand.
Dumfries, 1975
L.S.A. Bromley 1975
September
A man, past the prime of life
heavily laden with corn
in one hand he carries a sickle
in the other - a pair of scales.
Little Orchard Village St Agnes 2011
October.
A picture of hawking
a man, full of merry glee
enjoying the fruits of the earth
&
revelling in the midst of plenty.
*
and they fly and they fly and they fly away
November.
An elderly man, very stout and quite exhausted with his labours.
with his right hand, he is wiping
the sweat fro his brow.
And in his left, he holds a large knife
with which he has been pruning the plants
he carries on his arm
(he is riding a centaur, carrying a bow and arrow)
Imagine learning how to fly, then realising you had dragon's eyes.
I wonder, is this following of the passage of time and its subtle deviations and how we cope what has really underpinned my practice all these years ho ho.
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