Tag Archives: creativity

Guest Post: Victoria Field

This week I have the pleasure of welcoming poet Victoria Field to my blog to talk about her new collection, A Speech of Birds (available: Francis Boutle Publishers). I first met Victoria through Lapidus – the home for those interested in words and wellbeing. She is a trained poetry therapist and described by ‘Poetry Review’ as one of the UK’s pioneers in writing and healing, having co-edited three books on therapeutic writing (https://thepoetrypractice.co.uk/home/about/).

She has also had three previous collections of poetry published, the most recent receiving the Holyer and Gof Award for Poetry and Drama. However, I have to admit to having a particular partiality for her memoir of pilgrimage, marriage and loss Baggage: A Book of Leavings (published in 2016): https://www.amazon.co.uk/Victoria-Field/e/B0034P81Z4.

A Speech of Birds brings together poems which evoke place and the turning of the seasons. They gently unpeel on the page. They draw the reader in, bringing forth emotions of loss and joy and everything in between, but most of all inducing a moment of stillness and reflection.

I chose one poem from the collection, ‘For Destruction, Water, Boscastle, 2004’, to be reproduced here and asked Victoria to give the reader some ideas about the roots of the piece and the writing of it.

Not Boscastle, but the Lake District. Photo by Mark Vesey.

 

For Destruction, Water

Boscastle, 2004

The day our love was over, seventy cars
were swept into the harbour, a helicopter
lifted six stricken children from a drowning roof.

When she moved into our bed, there was only an inch
of air below the ceiling as the woman, gasping,
crossed her lounge and swam up the stairs.

It was unexpected, even though a tourist,
I don’t know from Adam, photographed
a black wall of cloud shadowing Crackington sands.

No one cares about the cars
but I can’t forget the puzzled eyes of our dog
in the rear window’s crazy slide-by.

At first, it was a bit of a laugh,
getting drenched in a downpour showing
no signs of ending – sometimes we want things

to be other than they are – sea-spray to come vertically,
a river where once was a road  – to see ourselves afresh
through another’s eyes. A skidding bus,

raindrops big as sweets make us feel more alive.
I kept going to church, mumbling the words
like that farmer stuck at the top of a tree,

reciting prayers he didn’t know he knew.
I packed box after box
and you wept at the sight of the van

while all the shoes from Clovelly Clothing
and a Coke machine for good measure,
washed up useless on beaches in Westward Ho!

Summer visitors took shelter in the Wellington Hotel
where a local recalled the other river, sixth-sensed
its hurtle and dash down the village street,

shouted Everyone out!  It was a miracle nobody died
when mud filled every crevice of the deserted bar.
Now it’s all been rebuilt – some say improved.

No, no one actually died.

 

Victoria Field

A Speech of Birds, my latest collection, includes, as well as recent work, some poems first drafted more than fifteen years ago.

Poems sometimes arrive like ‘morbid secretions’ (Housman), or more happily, burst out like ‘brief musical cries of the spirit’ (used of Jane Kenyon). Others emerge slowly and need to be wrestled with for years before they feel ready for sending out for publication. For Destruction, Water is one of the latter kinds.

 

 

 

Boscastle in North Cornwall is a place I’ve visited many dozens of times. Like a favourite poem, it is always fresh and capable of revealing new depths. I first went there in the mid 90s with a man I later married. I was new to that part of the world and could hardly believe such beauty existed. It was a time of  personal upheaval when I was about to exchange a globe-trotting job for rootedness in a small town in Cornwall. There are only small towns in Cornwall.

Since then, I have walked the cliff path in both directions, in all seasons. I’ve been up and down the Valency Valley, alone and with friends, on days trips and combined with overnights in the haunted Wellington Hotel or the refurbished youth hostel. For six months I lived nearby on Bodmin Moor.

Bostcastle is where a dear friend from Devon and I met regularly for years, to walk, talk and catch up over lunch.

It’s a place where I feel porous. Boscastle has entered me. I’ve left traces of my past selves there. I’ve done so literally when swimming in the rivers or sweating on the cliff tops and transpersonally, in an out-of-time way. I’m connected to Boscastle through my own memories and also the novels and poems of Thomas Hardy (Beeney Cliff, A Pair of Blue Eyes), poems by Charles Causley and contemporary Cornish poets.

So when my marriage finally collapsed in the same week as the village was destroyed by floods, I conflated the two events. Perhaps it’s a case of the pathetic fallacy writ large, or else a way of seeing personal grief in the context of wider public events. Probably both.

Poems are always ongoing conversations with other poets. I love Robert Frost and his poem Fire and Ice is a touchstone for me. It’s one of those short rhyming, perfectly-formed diamonds of a poem, easily carried in the head and the heart.

My title, For Destruction, Water is a homage to Fire and Ice, and came first, before I wrote the rest of it.  In the mid-noughties, I attended a Poetry School class with Penelope Shuttle in Falmouth and I remember working on the poem then.

I’ve found a draft on my computer dated March 2007 and around 30 subsequent revised versions. It’s been longer, shorter, funnier, sadder, whinier and more and less personal.

I sent it out from time to time and eventually it  was published in Raceme in 2015. Then I included it in my memoir, Baggage, published in 2016. The umbilical cord was cut, the poem was out in the world and I stopped revising it.

Putting together A Speech of Birds meant revisiting all my poems to decide what to include. I wondered whether For Destruction, Water was too old, too worked.  But to quote Faulkner, ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past’. Revisiting places, events, poems and experiences can always lead to new insights.

Boscastle isn’t the same after the floods of sixteen years ago, but then it was never the same. Nor am I.

Footnote:  some readers have contacted me concerned about the reference to ‘our dog’ in the poem. I made that bit up – our dog stayed happily in the former marital home and died at a great age. According to the internet, in spite of an estimated two billion litres of water flowing through the village, miraculously no companion animals were reported missing.

 

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Final Day: Sun

15cmx10.5cm. Watercolour pencil & oil pastel on paper.

The inspiration for this piece is the mural by Edvard Munch which I saw in Oslo several years back. It is huge, whereas my image is small. Munch’s sun is exuberant, a stark contrast to his many more sombre and tortured images. Using the sun as a symbol of hope is perhaps trite. I do want to believe we will come out of this pandemic wiser and kinder. I am not sure I can believe it. I am not sure whether the sun is rising or sinking.

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

 

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 9: We are Inter-species

Photo. Original image: A4. Acrylic & collage on paper.

 

Sometimes things go wrong… I have failed to upload my track, so this is the text:

‘I did this collage in March. I wanted to make a statement about how we humans are part of a delicate ecosystem formed with other animals, plants, the earth… and we ignore this at our peril. Since then I have become saddened at the way our own species appears to have become increasingly divided and factious. I want us to celebrate our diversity and delight in our differences. I want us to call out injustices. I want us to remember we share 99.9% of our DNA. We are the same family. We are the same species.’

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 8: See you in Scarborough

15cmx10.5cm. Watercolour pencil & felt tip on paper

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 7: Love Matters

15cmx10.5cm collage & oil pastels on paper

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

 

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 6: Over the Rainbow

15cmx10.5cm. Oil pastels and pen on paper

5th June 2020: death toll tops 40,000 in the UK

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 5: Zooming

15cmx10.5cm. Collage & pen on paper

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 4: Social Distancing

15cmx10.5cm water colour pencils, acrylic, pen on paper

Every day, it seemed, our language was being altered with additional vocabulary. ‘Social distancing’, the words not new, but when put together, creating a new concept. The inspiration for the image above came from the work of Madge Gill (1882-1961). ‘Gill made hundreds of beautiful coloured drawings, mostly of women, alone or in a crowd. With their blank, staring eyes and faint smiles, they might represent Gill’s stillborn daughter or the situation of women more generally.’ (Voyaging Out, British Women artists from suffrage to the sixties, Carolyn Trant, page 69.)

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 3: Birch Trees

15cmx10.5cm. Watercolour pencils & acrylic on paper

I have been reading Gossip from the Forest by Sara Maitland. In it she writes about the birch. She says the birch is called the ‘majestic sceptre’ of the wood. Druids claim it as the sister tree of the oak. It is used to make witches’ broom sticks and maypoles. As we went into ‘lockdown’ the Spring began to blossom all around us. The birch greened, their bark became dazzling in the light. The flowers burst forth. The birds sang. Here is a recording I made on one of my daily walks during that time.

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.

The RA mid-Summer Exhibition, Day 2: Dear Mr Eliot

15cmx10.5cm Pen on paper. Text: first four lines from ‘The Burial of the Dead, The Wasteland’ by TS Eliot

 

The RA (Royal Avenue) mid-Summer Exhibition

Generally I dislike the mid-summer solstice. It always comes too early to be mid-way through the summer, to be mid-way through the year. This year it feels even more poorly placed. For me, the first half of 2020 has been weighted with a stew of emotions. First off, there was my contract with Constable for three novels – an ambition finally realised which I have held since I was 19. Then my father-in-law died. Then the pandemic descended. Then George Floyd was murdered. And all along, others have tragically died or been killed or been attacked or have had their lives turned upside down in one way or another.

I am aware that every day in every year is soaked in suffering for many, many people, not to mention for the earth and our fellow species. More often than not, my experience of this is mediated through the TV screen. Undoubtedly, this has continued even as I have hunkered down into my own ‘back-yard’.

There has been the counterbalance, in the form of acts of kindness and concern, cooperation and innovation. Plus, perhaps, a shifting in our joint assessment of what is important and needs preserving or changing.

These last six months, my small world has become more freighted than usual with a diverse swirl of feelings. I have responded to this with images and texts. I have decided to show them in the RA (Royal Avenue) online mid-Summer exhibition. There’s no doubt, that in some cases, the idea for the piece has outstripped my skills for realising it. However, for me, they do still capture an essence of a moment in the last half a year.