Sunday, January 31, 2010

Temporarily disheveled

My feathers have been in disarray these past few weeks. (Actually, the ones I'm showing here belonged to Murray, plucky bird that he was; no doubt, still a zealous preener.) 

In time, I might find language to write about aspects of my recent 'in-house' process, but for now, suffice to say most of the changes taking place involve 're-' words... recognizing, reconfiguring, recycling, re-booting, remembering, redistributing, recharging, releasing - and ultimately, the realization that I feel a sense of gratitude and relief at finally reaching a place of relative respite and reasonable resolution.  

There's a way to go yet (isn't there always?) but let me risk saying this; while so much depends on the angle and way we look at things, the straggly bits really do have a habit of finding their place. Which is pretty remarkable, don't you reckon? 

There are times when - no matter how squiff & skew we let our tail feathers get - grace abounds. 


Miriam Levine's poetry collection The Dark Opens has kept me company during these 'off the wire' days. 

Thank you, Mim. Your writing is tough and delicate; striking and wise. The dark does indeed open and when it does, light is already there, eager to come skipping on in...


  1. Heveled, disheveled; as you say, it all depends how you view them. Thanks, C.

  2. ... May you see crepuscular rays in your time of dishevelment .... [just finished writing a blog post on this wonderful word and its impact and meanings - to flick to yours with all your 're' words...and somehow, they seemed to come together] ... and now look, my word verification is 'realita' - can you believe it? I love the feathers in the nest ... a stunning piece.

  3. Disarray back in array. Three cheers for Marray. (And you). x

  4. A spirited post! Life unravels and re-winds, unraveling again, on and on. When the "re" is completed it's never exactly the same, as in revision.

    Thank you again for your kind words about "The Dark Opens."


  5. Hi Pen - I love these altered words... one of my current favourites being "'whelmed." I much prefer that to its alternative 'overwhelmed.' The former leaves one with room to maneuver, the latter suggests a breakdown might be imminent.

    So, too, with heveled and disheveled, or gruntled and disgruntled?

    L, C x

  6. Mary, hello!

    'Crepuscular rays!' Ah, thank you - crustiness & light in the selfsame image...

    I will visit your blog soon-soon to read your piece and find out more. Seems I'm more snail than lion at the moment, sliding along on an inward breath (whatever that means?) and taking longer to get places than usual. 'Tis okay, though, and not a bad thing.

    Lovely, as always, to see you here.

  7. I love this, Mim - the idea that when the 're-' process is completed, things are never quite the same.

    The dictionary defines revision as 'a revised edition or form of something.'

    I take this to mean that the old form continues on in some way, in the way that the revised version will always contain the imprint of what preceded it, but the new form offers something that the old one couldn't.

    Thank you.

    L, C

    (Your writing continues to linger...)

  8. My feathers are drooping - soooo hot and muggy in Sydney town. Perhaps my beaded brow set something free - Rilke popped into my head and I haven't read him for years. Light and dark emerged in the frazzled memory cells. Lovely post, by the way.

    Here 'tis, tangles & all.


    Slowly the west reaches for clothes of new colours
    which it passes to a row of ancient trees.
    You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you
    one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth.

    leaving you, not really belonging to either,
    not so hopelessly dark as that house that is silent,
    not so unswervingly given to the eternal as that thing
    that turns to a star each night and climbs –

    leaving you (it is impossible to untangle the threads)
    your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
    so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
    one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.

    Rainer Maria Rilke

  9. Your feathers sound like my cos lettuces, lmbr -not especially perky in this heat! (And yes, we really are having hot summer days in Dunedin... makes a gal want to skip through sprinklers).

    Dear Rilke. I've kept returning to him over the years. A Cape Town friend have me his 'Letters to a young poet' in the early 90s, just a couple of days before we immigrated to NZ. I don't think I've read this 'Sunset' poem, though... what a treasure, thank you. It not one to be tampered with, every word carries light and weight. If I may uplift one line or two, let it be these...

    '.. leaving you...
    ... your own life, timid and standing high and growing,
    so that, sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out,
    one moment your life is a stone in you, and the next, a star.'

    It's so exactly how it is.

    Many thanks - and wishing you some coolth.
    L, C