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All images and words © Jenny Arran 2019

Poetry -  recently published 

You can also read a handful of occasional thoughts to do with inspiration and creative practice here

Wake to Listen

 

 

I dream of rock form

and hear the river.

 

I wake to listen and

walk the curved back

of the ridge.

The intensity 

of mass

rising. Chalk bone 

under soft skinned 

grass.

 

I walk palimpsest here

among the Hawthorn

in the hollow track

footfall as gift

footfall as question.

 

The soft blue

of a flint flake shines

out of the tuned earth

my thumb smooths 

a silent orbit of its limits. 

 

Surrender, you said.

Persevere.

I am here

on the wind’s edge

Quietly gathering 

things 

back to myself.

Low down

Listening

stone shape 

in sheep space

An instinct of stillness. 

Through grass

written tall 

against the last of the light.

 

Something here 

whispered 

gifting its strength in the dusk.

 

The quiet song 

of our familial 

bond.

 

I wait for the sky

pooling black 

star - full

in warm darkness

 

and feel the rock form 

and hear the river.

 

 

Published in Unpsychology Magazine Climate Minds Issue 4, March 2018

The Mountain’s Voice

Slate smooth.

Amber through darkness.

Tannins of peat and sheep 

cropped turf.

Water of rock 

and rain 

rushed 

to stillness.

 

In this dark pool 

under the sky

rock body 

holds time 

in liquid form.

The mountains’ voice.

Its quiet insistence

ripples my listening thoughts

 

Wrapping its cold question

So neatly around my offering 

of warmth

I would dissolve

For its answer.

 

I swim. 

In a dim liminal memory 

of time kept silence.

And the quiet grass 

and the shining sky.

 

 

 

Published in  Watermarks - Writing by Lido Lovers and wild Swimmers, Frogmore Press, 2017

 

 

 

Call

 

Know this soul

that burning hard

as rocks

that fierce iron ache

that blinding face

of sky

behind a loved 

line of hills

that bone chill 

and rook’s call

is only the shell breaking.

That longing that has you

running to feel

your physical body

that cannot be stemmed by blood

or what you call love.

Don’t try to find
a pain to match it

It is wide

as a storm

full sky

taking each 

face to earth, 

back to flint

fingers to fire. 

That clarity.

I call you.

Published in Unpsychology Magazine Climate Minds Issue 4 March 2018

Words - from an exhibition

These three poems came out of the art making, thinking process for my installation in the exhibition 'Matter' at Glynde Place this year. The video, sculpture, poetry and process all informed each other and became 'entangled' as the installation and were meant to be read both as fragments and a whole. You can see/read more

in my blog 'At the Sweet Shop'

Listening

in the silence of the peripheral

the broken

heap

 

for your soft 

gloaming 

 

the warm beat 

of a familiarity

 

tangent

in my proximity

 

the pull of matter 

invisibly held

supple between knowing

and known

 

our boundaries

of awkward movement

a meandering task then

the push

to understand

 

stillness

to lean the 

weight 

silent 

 

to watch 

the birds 

wheeling in 

sky grace

 

and the curve of the hill.

winding in

the loping curves 

roping in trees

drawing in

the soft fall of 

their pliant wrapping

a tenderness

 

in the motion 

of hands

 

untangling the

spooling rills 

in the quiet 

flex

 

winding

turned ideas 

windblown 

to silence

 

and given in time

 

weaving small threads

in the quiet 

 

shifting skies 

and rook calls a whirl 

of black
on the bare trees and

spring on the hill behind

 

is given in time.

Oak and Chestnut mainly,

some Pine gathered

from the woodpiles

of boatbuilders and carpenters

all just not, quite

the little flock of outsiders

watching me paint

in left out quiet

from the corners of my studio.

 

 

Gradually they watched

insistently, together

fragments hummed

with being

unseen

 

much silent noise

on our unknown frequencies

 

gathered their vibrance

in object presence

to the elements of painting

to hum 

their being