Mrs. Potts experiences Lines out Loud.

Mrs Potts was on her way to the Bendigo Writers Festival. This was the first time she had attended and she was experiencing fluctuating anxieties. As usual she had her clean handkerchief, ironed and folded; an umbrella, her favourite one with the frill; lunch, liverwurst and raisin sandwiches; and a snack, in case of peckishness around morning tea time. She worried to herself as she tripped along the road, Oh, I hope I look sophisticated enough for a writer’s festival, I wonder is my dress too long? Should I have worn my thin stockings instead of these warm ones with the darn on the sole? She gathered her thoughts as she crossed at the fountain and directed them towards the session she was booked into. Lines out loud, a poetry session. She liked the sound of that. She had always enjoyed poetry.

As she entered the building her thoughts returned to the worry side of the fence. Oh dear, I hope they haven’t started, oh where am I going to sit? Oh um, ummm, is it appropriate to sit in the front row? I can see better from there, but maybe I will be asked questions, maybe the speakers will see me and know I am not intelligent, maybe I will sit here in the middle, but then what if I suddenly need to go out? Oh dear I knew this was going to be hard. No the back row, the back row is safe………… Oh here comes the MC, this is so exciting, clapping, yes, yes, I’m doing this right. The hall fell silent and the audience sat alert and ready for the performance.

The first poet was introduced and began reading her poem. At this point Mrs Potts had a sudden and strong urge to sneeze into the silence. She reached into her sleeve for the freshly laundered handkerchief, chosen especially for the day, only to find that it wasn’t there. She groped up her sleeve further but with no success; she then tried the other side. No luck, she was getting frantic and eventually succumbed to a muffled sort of snort before she found the handkerchief in her bag. She brought it out with a rather large flourish and gave her nose a thorough blow. She became aware then of the audience surrounding her and thought to herself, Oh whoops, that was a bit loud, the lady in front has turned around to look at me. She doesn’t look happy!! Oh dear, oh dear she looks so bookish, I am just a silly old lady without sophistication, I shouldn’t have come, Oh dear. The poet continued to read but Mrs Potts was feeling so nervous she hardly heard the words. Even worse, she felt another sneeze coming. She was boxed in left and right, she couldn’t get up without disturbing people, she couldn’t stay without disturbing people and her sneezing and blowing was threatening to erupt.

Poor Mrs Potts. With these myriad anxieties interrupting her concentration, she was having a rather intense afternoon at the Bendigo Writers Festival. It was in the midst of her fretful ruminating that she heard the announcement that she had come for.

“Our next presenter is a world renowned poet who we have great pleasure in welcoming to the Bendigo Writers Festival …” Mrs. Potts sat up very straight and all thoughts of skirts, sophistication, noses and handkerchiefs drained away like water down the sink. The presenter continued.

“Her poems have been published worldwide and translated into many languages, they have brought words of hope to many dark corners and inspired great environmental achievements……” Mrs. Potts beamed at the ladies to her left and right. This is what she had come to hear, yes, this.

“So without any more talk I would like to welcome Mabel Potts up here on the stage to conclude our Lines Out Loud poetry session.”

The crowd clapped animatedly, looking around the room with anticipation. Mrs. Potts rose from her seat and glanced shyly around at all the expectant faces. She looked down at her attire and hoped it was suitable, then walked graciously up to the stage and with great decorum, and not one single sniffle, brought out her favourite poem with great reverence, and began to read her lines out loud.

Impressions

They talked of words, they wrote

And spoke, of books

They looked and listened and thought

Ideas spewed forth, the talk

In fertile ground took hold

It grew with trunk and branch and root

Some wrote, some stuck and blank

Think tank, their minds just space

Were searched and probed, unlocked

Till forth came blogs with prose of truth

From deep within their hearts and heads

The quest complete their task replete

Gifts from my Dad

I came across a fifty dollar note in a draw in my Dad’s den one day, many years after he had died. He would have stashed it there to exchange for currency from a foreign country so he could purchase seeds. He explained the reason for this to me once, I can’t remember exactly why currency was needed. Anyway Mum said I could keep it and so I put it in an envelope where I intended to keep it for a special occasion.

Flap were playing at the Theatre Royale and it portended to be a good night of dancing. Feeling broke and stingy I decided to wait till I was paid, and purchase my ticket if there were any left. Till I remembered Dad’s fifty dollar note. I went down and bought that ticket and took myself out dancing till midnight. The music was for dancing, the crowd was out for a good time and the band were up to it. So thirty dollars down and I still had another twenty left to spoil myself.

Looking through the list of events at the Bendigo Writers festival I was keen to go to a couple of ticketed events, Bob Brown for inspiration and John Wolseley because I have loved his art forever. Again, feeling that inherent stinginess, I thought to only go to the free sessions, that is, until I remembered the money from my Dad! Straight away I took the money down to the bank, rushed back home and booked my tickets. What pleasure I had anticipating the talks. I think the anticipating was even better than the actual thing. How grateful I am.

Thanks Dad.

Never say die

The Writers festival is over, it’s been a week now since our first class. I can feel my creativity and the desire to express myself failing under the weight of pressing academic assessments awaiting empirical evidence, lectures and theoretical tutorials. My intellectual readings are encroaching on the time I can spend devouring fiction. I find myself pausing in my writing and correcting spelling mistakes. When that happens I know I am fading. Fading fast. Help, help, hold on!!!!The blog is not over yet, your voice has not finished, don’t let it die. Plonk away at your keyboard, dream away in your head, sneak some time for your creative soul. 

Got what I came for.

“I used to be pessimistic but now I find optimism a much better option.” So read the blurb for Bob Brown’s talk at the Bendigo Writer’s Festival. What was it about these words that caught my eye?

I am in the last semester of a bachelor degree and I have learnt many things about the world; history, social justice, how to think clearly and present an argument and why our society behaves in certain ways. I have also learnt about the degradation and destruction of the environment, climate change, poverty and injustice. There is a scene in one of my favourite movies, The fifth element, where the fifth element is being fed the world history alphabetically. At the point she reaches W she begins to become unwell. There are times when I feel like the fifth element, I feel the weight of the knowledge that I have learnt and I am not sure where to file it and sometimes I do feel unwell. I thought maybe Bob Brown would have a meaningful message for me.

There were three other featured events, all of which looked equally interesting. But I had to make a decision, I could not attend them all. I love food and ‘The Good Life’ with the Gourmet Farmers interested me when I saw the mention of cheese, as I am a cheese maker myself. Tariq Ali and ‘Beyond Extreme’, and the promise of discussion about change was something else that caught my eye. In order to tackle all the above mentioned issues, change is needed. Then there was ‘Inspired by life’, John Wolseley and John Clarke. I have admired John Wolseley’s work for many years. How did I make a decision?

I felt I could afford two, Bob Brown definitely and John Wolseley and John Clarke. Then I discovered to my joy that as a Writer in Action I had a ticket to Tariq Ali. How exciting to get to go to three of the featured events. THEN I had a message from a great friend of mine, he had won two tickets to the Gourmet Farmers and wondered if I would care to join him. Yes, perfect.

These four events each had a strong message which, when put together, has given me exactly what I hoped for. Bob Brown spoke of our right to be optimistic because we do not know what the future holds. Pessimism will not help to solve any problems, it is our optimism and action that can bring about change. He spoke of the bright eyed youngsters that he encounters and the optimism this instills in him. Tariq Ali had a message of hope. He spoke of hope as an active emotion which will bring about change, hope being the opposite to despair which is passive. Tariq Ali believed that people have not given up the struggle for something better. John Wolseley and John Clarke introduced the beauty of the natural environment and the creative energy that it inspires, which in turn inspires people to develop a care for it. So creativity was introduced as a way to bring about change. Finally the Gourmet Farmers. Their message was that to live well involves eating fresh locally sourced products. Bringing food back to seasonal and local will reduce dependence on fossil fuels and contribute to a healthier environment.

Optimism, hope, creativity and good food. These are the building blocks of the good life. Bob Brown added that better to “Put problems you can’t solve on the shelf and work with the ones you can.” He also said “dance and find loving partners”. So I shall sally forth in the world with hope for a good meal made with loving creativity while I shelve all the not so good food, (no I think I am not getting this quite right. Maybe I will try again).

I shall sally forth optimistically hoping for a creative dance before I am on the shelf? (hmm, maybe that is not right either).

I shall sally forth in the world loving creativity and dancing with those that I can? (I like the sound of that one).

So with optimism and hope I will sally forth in the world, dancing and loving, between eating the freshest food and solving the problems that are not on my shelf. Yes!! I have gleaned some wisdom to ponder and direct me in the days to come. Thank you thinkers, I am grateful.

The spell was cast

It began with a gift, a Kris Kringle from her niece. A diary. Illustrated with whimsical sketches and small quotes. How was she to know then where it would take her? On opening it she discovered the words that started her off on the journey. A quote by Oscar Wilde, an author inhabiting her ‘to read’ list,

“I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on the train.”

And the spell was cast. The door was opened and she looked further through the diary discovering its delights. First came a page for listing dreams for the year. An immediate invitation to her imagination and every line she filled with pleasures to be had. Next came the practical section of a week to a page, small boxes waiting for important dates and events to anticipate, a little section on the side for taking notes. And finally, the week to a page. Oh what beauty, five lines for each day, empty now, but waiting for her words, and how they came.

The pleasure in each day was the moments she sat down, diary in hand and embellished the day on those pages. Inspired by Oscar Wilde’s words, mermen and elves appeared, fantastical endeavours were recorded amongst gentle recollections of pleasure and moments shared with the loves of her life. As the words flowed onto the pages of the diary the strength of the spell gripped her tighter and she found descriptions and phrases forming in her mind desirous for life.

These insistent words found their way onto a document where there was room to move. Here she began writings of past and present happenings, comfortable, poignant, sentimental and grateful. Pieces that questioned and mused. Through these words she celebrated and honoured the events and people who inhabited her life and gave space to the characters who had appeared in her diary. She began a series of pieces and imagined them as a blog open to share with others.

Two friendships blossomed in her life that year, creative men, bright and clever who brought playful language into her days through clever texts and strange and wonderful letters. Encouraging her writing and exploration of words and expression. She was surprised at the delight she took in these communications which left her always with a smile on her face.

And then she found herself enrolled in a writing subject after four years of theory and empirical studies. She hadn’t intended to do the Writers in Action course. It had come into her inbox and was deleted without a thought. But needing a third subject to complete her degree she had been encouraged by a friend and enrolled with some trepidation.

Although she had always been a writer of letters and small snippets here and there, looking back she wondered over the many things that had happened to stimulate her creative writing that year, and she smiled as she began her first blog. “Hello. Hello? Am I here yet? Can anyone hear me?”

What do harps have to do with emotions anyway?

The harpist played …… and it was nice. I listened respectfully thinking that I should be enjoying it more than this, I watched the movements of his hands and felt …… nothing much. 

That is until he played a tune called Lily’s lullaby. And I was moved. It stirred and stimulated emotions I was not intending to feel. My tears were wet on my face and my feelings from deep within the pool of my being were swimming around in response. And I marveled at the way music has an uncanny knack of reaching that part of me. But not all music, I did not respond to all the music he played, just that one piece.

Somehow certain music can connect with some part of me which often catches me off guard and I find myself transported to an emotional state of such clear and pure beauty. I experience joy, exhilaration, elation and deep feelings of love of such intensity, like both the point of a pinnacle and a warm blanket wrapping around me at the same time.