Tag Archives: Abegail Morley

Flashback Spring (May)

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Photo by Boris Pavlikovsky on Pexels.com

If I thought April had been a whirlwind, I wasn’t quite buckled in for May!

I was enjoying off screen time in the garden, had already taken photos of the blossom and enjoyed the early Spring flowers.

You know it is easy to misremember how it was? I closed the last flashback with the realisation I had not travelled more than 1.5 miles from my home – actually my perimeter was a lot smaller in April. I hadn’t started walking outside of my home and the supermarket is not that far away so thinking back, the frame of my life was caught in a circle of 3 roads, just one small block of life!

This was the month it expanded to 1.5 miles.

I do remember I stayed in, if I wasn’t in the garden I was in the house. Most of the street were out in the back gardens, enjoying the sun, building new sheds, cabins, garden furniture, slides and swings whilst I was indoors fighting the good fight for Furlough or burying my head in the sand of a writing world that became my Narnia.

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May started with more festivals: Avon Book Festival, Stay at Home Fringe Festival (organised by the Students/graduates of Glasgow Uni), The Urban Tree Festival and of course HAY (which I managed to blog in a timely fashion). Huge gratitude to everyone who has worked so hard to give creatives access to platforms and festivals at this time.

Big gratitude to Julia Webb for the prompt/course she ran this month. To Kim Moore for braving the online world of workshops and furthering my year of learning. To Carys Hannah who started a Golden Girls Watch Party, which reminded us what laughter is and made us all hope we get to grow old.

To Anna Saunders and the team at Cheltenham Poetry Festival for delivering a feast of poetic pleasure with numerous events and a great line up of poets. To Seren for creating a series of reading events, AWP for giving us a night with Joy Harjo (Poet Laureate of USA). For the universe for keeping my neighbour safe the morning she climbed up on our conservatory roof to clean and I couldn’t stop her!

Thanks to Helen Ivory & Martin Figura for events at the Butchery and to Jinny Fisher for her Poetry Pram Party. Thanks to Jane Commane at Nine Arches Press for videos, live readings and Book Launches, to Emma Wright at the Emma Press for Book Launches and webinar readings/Q&A. To Phillipa Slinger and Chloe Garner who moved Ledbury Poetry Festival and the Salons online.

This month I also enjoyed the Saboteur Awards and Book Launches for The Unmapped Woman by Abegail Morley (Nine Arches Press), Dorothy by Briony Hughes (Broken Sleep Books), Apple Fallen by Olga Dermott-Bond (Against the Grain).

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And I finally realised online events meant we could travel after all… and travel I did, first stop back to Australia. I headed back to Perth and Freo. Thanks to all at VoiceBox. I reunited with some of the Perth crew at Zoomouth, which was brilliant!

I finished the 6 weeks Writing to Buoy Us course with Cath Drake and writers from Europe and Australia. I started a Hybrid Experimental course with Tawnya Renelle https://tawnyaselenerenelle.com/ , who I also met through the Stay at Home Fringe Festival. And who also needs a huge shout out of gratitude. I was glad to help where I could at the beginning and have loved watching the take-off!

I completed work on the animations for Poetry Renewed with Elephant’s Footprint and wrote lots in journal form and a few poems. Covid had crept into the writing and I was attempting to not write about it in the beginning. And the BIG conservation started about the artists place in all this, whether it is our job or not to almanac the times (which is what a lot of writers/artists do). I believe most of us do, but also agreed that writing books about it probably wouldn’t even make it to the slush pile, of course I am sure there will be some, there already are. But I’m still processing last year and things which happened at the beginning of this one (pre-Covid).

May was the month: I realised my back can’t manage Yoga and gracefully I saluted the sun for one last time, started to walk in nature, used my walking stick for the last time (hadn’t needed it for 3 months), I blamed the yoga but looking at this it was more likely all that sitting at the desk! It marked the milestone of my first submission in 5 months! I have been very slow to get back on that horse!

INKSPILL Guest Writer Roy McFarlane Workshop ‘Missing You’

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In this workshop Roy uses the poetry of Abegail Morley roy-abegail-morley and

Sarah James roy-sarah-james information on purchasing copies of their collections can be found in Related Links at the bottom of the post.

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Missing you

Wow, after that incredible and powerful poem that you’ve written (Being There Workshop), let’s write I miss you poems, how do we say I miss you, that sings a litany, a beautiful melody so far removed from tireless clichés, this is the one, this is where we write them into life, we go back to those beautiful moments and make time stop or we create a sliding doors (the movie or alternative universe) moment as in this wonderful poem by Abegail Morley from The Skin Diary

Before you write off your imaginary sister

remember how she didn’t take her blunt playschool scissors

to your Tiny Tears doll, didn’t lop off a curl,

how it didn’t make you cry for three nights in a row,

your only consolation, not inviting a mantra to your lips:

You are not my sister, you are not my sister.

Think of that night she wasn’t at the tap-end

of the bath, not blowing bubbles through her fingers,

not sloshing them over your face, how water didn’t slop

over the bath’s rim, how you didn’t slip

when your mother hugged you out in a towel.

Memorise how she didn’t cuddle close for those stories,

clap when they escaped the Gingerbread House. Learn how

she didn’t travel with you on the school bus, wasn’t there

when you rubbed your fingers over the invisible bruise

that couldn’t yellow on your thigh, wasn’t bashed by her bag.

Before you know it, she’s not at your wedding,

taking the posey from your nervous hands, doesn’t smile

when she doesn’t do it. Bear in mind she didn’t

have a look in her eyes when she didn’t hold your son

in her arms in amazement. Learn by heart those miles

she couldn’t take because you couldn’t call her at two a.m.

thinking he might die from colic. Remember how

she doesn’t say she loves you more than ever, and how

desperate that cannot make you feel. And know now

all you can say is, I miss you, I miss you.

Find an arc in your poems from the first stanza that sets up the premise you are not my sister, you are not my sister to the pay back, I miss you, I miss you.

Or this gorgeous (can you hear my Craig Revel Horwood impression) poem from Sarah James Plenty-Fish

Bagging Up

I found it this morning: a single pink bootee

gaping white like an empty shell.

When I see flowers,

or bonnets and frilly dresses

next to the boys’ dungarees

I picture you.

You should be grown tall by know.

But I can still hold you: fosilled

fragments from the scan cupped

in my hand: small as a bullet,

or hole in the heart.

I imagine dark curls and shy smile,

though when you speak,

it’s merely an echo of their toddler talk.

I write this to you,

my child that never was,

yet is,

but

I write it for me –

though words won’t bend

to explain that longing for you,

I love the boys no less.

So, as I fold away bibs and bodysuits

And bag up blue for my friends,

The pink of your bootee creases my thoughts.

I ought to throw it, finish this, say goodbye…

Instead, I reach up, hide it high

In a cupboard my sons must never find.


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Exercise

Write them, write their beautiful stories, you don’t need a prompt for this one.

We started with objects at the beginning, so let’s finish with the idea of what we possess after our loved ones have passed away, and again explore beyond the normal aspects of gift, but maybe they left you with a burden, left you with a secret, left you with a joke, left with your beautiful memories; the page is yours.

 


 

RELATED LINKS:

Buy The Skin Diary by Abegail Morley here

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Buy Plenty Fish by Sarah James here

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