Homework for 5 July 2018

The homework set by Angela for the session on 5 July was to consider carefully this speech from The Tempest

‘Our revels now are ended’

Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air;
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yes, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

William Shakespeare
From The Tempest Act 4 Scene 1

See what really stands out for you from this speech. It may be one line or the moods of the whole. Make of it what you will and write a poem (max. 50 lines) or prose (max. 300 words) based on your reaction. Bring it along to share at the session on 5 July.

 

I AM

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Unsure of where my margins lie
I
Know only that
In my fishy depths strange energies
Pulse,
Tossing me hither and thither.
And yet,
The storms that make me heave and writhe
Pull my tears into the sky
To fall as dew on a rose’s bloom
Or rain on forest canopies.
I, passive,
Am filled by others’ lives
Their stories flowing into my depths
Until
Tranquil now, a mirror, I
Reflect the stars and sun and moon
And, yes, your face.
I cast myself in arching bows
A dove of peace upon my breast.

Kath Sunderland

 

Cave painting

Rembrandt_The_Artist_in_his_studio
Rembrandt | The Artist in His Studio

Cave painter

in his studio
his eyes
are black

self portrait
requires
hand on

balanced
brush or
dust for

blowing
and an
inward

turned eye
the depth
of parietal

art’s mirror
to espy and
translate

to white
canvas
or cave

wall to
speak of
community’s

necessity
without
which there

is no
life or
growing

neurological
pathfinding
at all

in his studio
Rembrandt’s
eyes are

black as
also the
cave painter’s

forty
thousand
long years

before his
yet no
insight

do they
then or
today

our own
inward
eyes seeing

to the
back of
our soul’s

deep caves
ever
lack

Simon Marsh

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Cave painting

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cave painting | homework for 10 may

I don’t know why I do this,
But something inside me needs to be expressed.
I don’t talk much.
I just feel, and see, and hear, and touch and smell.
So I make marks on the wall.
Marks that look like the things around me,
And express the things I feel inside.
Marks made from the juice of the berries I crushed,
Mixed with my blood.
I place my hand against the cold dry wall.
I fill my mouth with the warm, bitter tasting fluid,
And spit it at the back of my hand,
Until my hand and the wall are coated deep red.
Then I take my hand away,
And reveal the print of where it was.
This is me.
This is my mark.
And I was here, do you see?
I was here.
I was here.

Kevin Turpin

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Dear Molly

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Dear Molly

It’s that time of night when fear grows tumours. But it’s also when I find a mental clarity which often eludes me these days.

Before I woke I dreamt of the day we met. Once again I saw you, walking towards me through the mist, your face, unaware of watching eyes, wrapped in a dream. And just as it had all those years ago, the veil of your hair, dew-laden, shimmered as if with a thousand tiny pearls. As soon as I saw you, Mol, I swear – the minute I clapped eyes on you – I said to myself: That’s my girl; that’s my girl.

My heart was racing when I woke and there was an ache I’ve not felt for years.

So here I am, writing a letter I won’t send like an old fool. What happened, Mol? What went wrong between us? We were great at first, you can’t deny that. Those early days, when the bed was our universe, was that love?

Having written the word ‘love’, suddenly I’m not sure what it means. I read somewhere that Eskimos have over fifty words for ‘snow.’ If that’s true then ‘snow’ becomes a generality, the heading to a category, like ‘plant’ or ‘animal.’

Maybe ‘love’ is the same.

I’ve got down the thesaurus you got me that Christmas because you were sick of me saying that everything was ‘great.’

Here are some words for love: attraction, desire, passion, adoration. And yes, in those early days we ticked all those boxes. But what about later?

There are other words in that old thesaurus: affection, kindness, friendship, treasure.

It seems to me, Mol, that friendship and affection somehow got lost along the way. How did that happen? Was it laziness? I think on my part it was stupidity. I guess I thought that as we were a couple it was job sorted. I kind of stopped seeing you, if you know what I mean. You were just a necessary presence in my life, like air or water.

I know now you tried to pull me back. ‘Listen to me! Why don’t you LISTEN to me!’ God, how many times did you yell that at me? But why did I need to listen to what I’d already heard a thousand times or about something that didn’t interest me?

That’s the problem, I switched off sight and sound so what was left?

I’ve just thought of Dante’s Inferno. Didn’t he have different levels of Hell? Well maybe there are different levels of love and if you don’t move from one to another you get stuck in a groove until it becomes unbearable. Once kindness, affection and friendship have been worn out there’s nothing left but indifference and ritual.

I’ve heard that you met someone else and are doing just fine. I’m glad, you deserve it. I met someone too and, yes, I’m very happy. Because I learnt my lesson, Mol, I’ve moved to the next level, to the treasure at the heart’s core.

Kath Sunderland

Homework for 22 Feb, with love x

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photo at pixabay
In the month of Valentine Angela’s homework for our next meeting on 22 February is to write up to a page about ‘Love.’ It can be a short play, prose or poetry about love. Angela said she would prefer it to be about romantic love although it could be ironic or about sibling love. Angela cited Shakespeare’s Sonnets on love as being good examples which are particularly ironic about love.

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