SUNSET AND BEYOND





Today I’m on the English side of the Bristol Channel/Mor Hafren (1), in Weston-super-Mare. The tide goes out a long way at Weston, and this early morning image is not unusual. The picture faces in to Brean Down, memorably depicted in Dion Fortune’s occult novel The Sea Priestess.
This is the first time I have been to the English west country coast for three years. It’s longer since I’ve been to Weston. This visit has some of the features of a homecoming. Crows on the beach are a familiar, welcome and well remembered feature.

I’m out early (6-7 am) and there’s limited human activity as yet, though I am glad to see some. At this time I find a stillness here that includes the town itself, both as it meets the coast, and inland, as it begins to slope upwards from sea level.


I’m gradually reconnecting with a place I have known all my life, discovering how I and the town have continued to age and change. This is the first time I’ve appeared with a walking stick. I’m glad to find that I’m fine with walking on the beach. For me, Weston is a place layered with memory and changing perceptions and understandings. It has depth as well as extension. It’s good to be here.
(1) The names, geography and something of the spirit of place are described at:
MOR HAFREN

Still meditating on the way I want to write prose poetry, I notice that recent work tends to have a different feel to the earlier pieces I have read and connected with. This gives me an enhanced sense of a rich tradition to work in.
In The Valley Press Anthology of Prose Poetry, (2019), [1], I find longer pieces with more story telling, adjacent to flash fiction yet not the same. The poet’s state of awareness continues to take precedence over encounters and events.
Here is an extract from Anne Ryland’s Running, I become. She is in Northumberland, England, running towards the Scottish border.
“Running, redrafting myself, I return to my primal language of sigh and puff and laugh; I become sweat and tear, the low-thud song of my lungs. I become a woman wintering; I follow the pink-footed geese crossing the hard blue sky in a great wavering W, and when it sharpens to a V, a letter of purpose, I join the formation of those who know where to go and how and why, gliding upstream in their upwash, their wingbeat. Running, I become the border.”
[1] Anne Caldwell & Oz Hardwick (eds.) The Valley Press Anthology of Prose Poetry: Scarborough, 2019
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In the dance of waxing and waning, I am enjoying this waxing moment in the wheel of the year. The moon, a blue May moon, has been moving towards full – reaching it today. We are within three weeks of the summer solstice.
For me the energy has been palpable, even on the days when I was personally fatigued by high temperatures. Plants offered images of this energy, by bursting into full colour – lavender above, poppies and daisies below: power along with beauty.

On one of the long hot evenings, I took a picture some of the birches planted outside our building. They are getting stronger and, in this season more verdant. Five together are beginning to feel like a miniature grove. Features like these help to make urban Druidry easier. On the same evening I also photographed the waxing gibbous moon. It seemed apt, and resonant with the energy I was experiencing from the sun and on the earth around me.



Recollecting a lush 1st May as it was in the late morning. Green and white abundance crowding a knotty tree trunk. Exuberance and fecundity close to the earth. The energy of willow reaching down.

Throughout the day I was reminded that this day was also a full moon – a flower moon. Hoping to take a picture in the evening, I was frustrated by cloud. Yet the power of the unseen moon felt present, all the same.

The American born poet Ezra Pound (1885-1972) is credited with the first English language haiku, written in 1913 (1,2). He described it at the time (1) as a ‘hokku-like sentence’ and used two lines rather than three. A title provides some of the context, which differs from Japanese practice.
IN A STATION OF THE METRO
The apparition of these faces in the crowd:
petals on a wet, black bough.
Pound was born in Idaho, USA, but lived for most of his life in England, France and Italy. He was part of a generation eager to learn from China and Japan. Poets and artists alike were seeking inspiration outside their received inheritance of European derived culture. They wanted to shake it up.
Pound became a key figure in the modernist poetry of his age. In the years leading up and into World War 1, he was involved in the brief yet influential Imagist movement (3) whose three key principles were:
1 direct treatment of things, whether subjective or objective.
2 use no word that does not contribute to the presentation
3 regarding rhythm: to compose in sequence of a musical phrase, not in the sequence of a metronome.
It is easy to see how a Japanese Zen form could be a welcome influence, especially concerning the first two principles. But the point was not simply to copy the Japanese form. That would not be possible, and would not support the clarity and authenticity sought after. The languages are different. The Anglophone poets would not be judged in part on the quality and presence of their calligraphy. The form would need to find a new home in a new language.
My personal attraction to haiku is its brevity and its focus on being in place. Place is paramount. Time is usually abbreviated to an extended moment allowing for a minimal narrative. In Pound’s metro station piece, the ‘apparition of faces’ is not fixed. It is in motion, though very briefly, enough to be perceived by the poet/observer. Then there’s an attention switch to the petals and the bough – but the duration of the switch is likewise minimal. Narrative is confined to an extended moment of living experience.
Within such moments, I find a withdrawal and emptying out of personality and a sensitivity to interbeing (4), where the distinction between observer and observed disappears. They are not exactly one, but they are not separate either.
Hence for me, reading and writing haiku can be a contemplative practice and part of my inquiry. There are of course other ways of using this flexible form, but they all demand a momentary heightening of focus and attention.
William Carlos Williams (1883-1962) was an American poet of the same generation as Ezra Pound. One of his best known poems is a disguised haiku, arranged differently than is now conventional. I don’t know exactly what he meant by the opening phrase ‘so much depends upon’, but I like to think of as an invitation to open our doors of perception a little wider.
So much depends
upon
a red wheel
barrow
glazed with rain
water
beside the white
chickens
The unvarnished haiku would be:
A red wheel barrow
glazed with rain water
beside the white chickens
(1) Haiku in English: The First Hundred Years chief editor Jim Kacian, editors Phillip Rowland & Alan Burns. New York & London: W. W Norton & Company, 2013 (Introduction by Billy Collins)
(2) William J. Higginson & Penny Harter The Haiku Handbook: How to Write, Teach, and Appreciate Haiku. Tokyo, New York, London: Kodansha International, 2009 (25th anniversary edition, forward by Jane Reihhold)
(3) https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2017/08/07/poem-au-vieux-jardin/
(4) https://contemplativeinquiry.blog/2017/06/20/embracing-interbeing/


Change is coming as the days lengthen and temperatures begin to rise. I too have begun to feel spring-like – more energised and available to the world.


Stepping out, I am in harmony with the life and growth around me. I become aware, again, of the resilience and potential of the plant kingdom.

I celebrate the life force within and without, both through movement as I walk and in stillness when I pause.

I learn again that a familiar space can be ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.
I open myself to spring 2026, the new season, as the Wheel continues to turn.


4pm, 9 February, Gloucester Park. I notice the ground in front of my feet. New life is emerging, pushing through last year’s fallen leaves. Crocuses – yellow, white, mauve – are making themselves known. Recent rain gives the blades of new green grass a fresh vitality. Feeling curious and energised, I enjoy an extended moment of contemplation on this small patch of land.


Then, looking around me, I find a contrast between the ground – active, emergent, blooming – and the trees, with their skeletal branches and latent potential. The exceptions are the willows, already moving towards spring.


I reflect on my different states of attention. If I walk briskly through the park, the flowers in particular are easy to miss. They are small and not immediately arresting. To appreciate them, I have to decide to stop and look, emptying my mind of other concerns. Then I can become truly present to the world in front of me, a living world that wants to survive and thrive. Contemplating these flowers, I feel a strong sense of kinship and belonging. The same world is their home and mine: I feel grateful for being born into it. May the abundance of our world be protected and preserved in the days and years ahead.



The year has moved on from its midwinter moment. I am just beginning to feel the pull of Imbolc (Candlemas in the Christian year). This feast marks the returning light and early signs of spring. I recently saw a local picture showing a newborn lamb.
In the Gaelic traditions Imbolc/Candlemas (1 February) is dedicated to Brigid/Bride. The lines below are from the Scottish Highlands and Islands. They seek protection and are not specifially seasonal.
“The genealogy of the holy maiden Bride
Radiant flame of gold, noble foster- mother of Christ.
Bride the daughter of Dugall the brown,
Son of Aodh, son of Art, son of Conn,
Son of Crearar, son of Cis, son of Carmac, son of Carruin.
Every day and every night
That I say the genealogy of Bride,
I shall not be killed, I shall not be harried,
I shall not be put in a cell, I shall not be wounded,
Neither shall Christ leave me in forgetfulness.
No fire, nor sun, nor moon shall burn me,
No lake, no water nor sea shall drown me,
No arrow of fay nor dart of fairy shall wound me,
And I under the protection of my Holy Mary,
And my gentle foster-mother is my beloved Bride.”
Carmina Gadelica: Hymns and Incantations collected by Alexander Carmichael. 1994 edition by Floris Books, Edinburgh, edited by C. J Moore.
The work is an anthology of poems and prayers from the Gaelic oral tradition in Scotland. They come from all over the Scottish Highlands and Islands. Alexander Carmichael compiled the collection in the second half of the nineteenth century, thereby creating a lasting record of a culture and way of life which has now largely disappeared.
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