Is there beauty in grief?
Today, I've been ruminating over ideas of beauty and grief. The squeeze of light between darker forms.
I spend a lot of time outdoors, growing things (or helping). As a family we have an allotment, and while I'm no gardener, I often go there to find solace, quiet, like most people. But since living with grief, I've found myself spending more and more time there, wondering about the obscure joy we experience as a result of extreme, emotional pain, and whether this is part of our healing, part of our grief - or simply the unfortunate, but natural meaning, or 'form', of 'beauty'.
I'm working on two pieces that explore this duality - the existence of ugly trauma, and some kind of beautiful aesthetic and/or felt experience. I'm working on two poems at present. Both, examine influence over the physical senses, rooted in earthly experience, as well as the internal workings of someone's fractured, complex mind, and this intriguing idea that a fulfilling, or enlightening, or enriching experience, can't exist without another more terrible thing. But is this the balance we need? Is this balance, 'beauty'?
and now I’m reminded of the time you found two
black bees locked together in a barrel of collected rain,
you lifted them out with your big, gentle hands,
your lovely hands,
and the little black bees
held on to one other, holding on to you
as the sun uncurled her light from the clouds
and you blew and blew on their little backs,
making them dry
and perhaps it wasn’t just the act of saving them
that was beautiful,
but the act of saving them
with the sadness of finding them
in their sad, sorry desperation for life
their kneeling souls, bound together;
and perhaps the new chance of life you gave
was the beauty?
or perhaps it didn’t belong to that,
perhaps it was made in the moments
before you reached down into the dark pool
their dying forms conjoined in the water
under your enormous grace,
with the sun showing her golden face
over their circling deaths,
their thin little hearts
and the obscurity of this,
the duality of this
perhaps, perhaps this
belongs to beauty.
Helen has been awarded a professional development grant to write her second poetry collection, 'A mountain that is your grief you can't utter'.
Read all about it below. . .
I'm delighted to announce that I have been awarded a grant from Arts Council England to support the creation and development of my next poetry collection, with the working title 'A mountain that is your grief you can't utter'.
This step in my career is an important one, allowing me invaluable time the explore new, and deeply personal themes within my work. As many of you know, anthology Eighty Four was inspired by the sudden loss of my brother to suicide, who passed away in September 2017. The shift in creative focus and personal perspective brought about by this life-changing event, will be at the heart of this new writing project.
I will share works-in-progress, and my experiences of writing about trauma and grief with writing communities online, with established writers' groups, and in education settings. Poems and updates will be posted here, on the blog section of my website. All feedback and thoughts will be encouraged, and a useful part of the editorial process.
What do I hope to achieve?
In short? I hope to find the words to express my grief.
Loss itself is a long and difficult journey. Articulating this journey is a whole other matter; a river beside the road that, even if seeming too dark, or too deep, is worth wading in...
The long version? Stick around to find out! Blog posting will begin Wednesday 7th May. Comments will be open.
Who will I be working with?
I will be delivering a trauma writing workshop for The Poetry School, and working closely with Writing West Midlands on broadening audiences scope for the new work. I'm delighted to be working with Mario Petrucci again, who will act as editor and mentor. Publishers, Faber, Nine Arches Press, Vanguard Editions, and Verve, have all agreed to read the completed manuscript.
Deepest thanks to Will at The Poetry School, my father David Calcutt, Jonathan Davidson, Peter Stone from ace_national for your support and guidance, and Victoria Richards for contributing a wonderful critical review to the submission.
My essay on the art of conversation has been published by Boundless. Here's a quote to get you in the mood for reading...
In 1996, Raymond Carver, wrote, ‘There is no God, and conversation is a dying art.’ The quote features in his collected poems, All of Us, that among many things, explores loneliness and isolation. I look at society today, and can’t help think we’re somehow there, in that lonely room without company. And what’s depressing is that it seems to be by choice.
I’m not saying that we are all trapped in a physical space we can’t escape. It’s our thinking to which I’m referring. We seem increasingly isolated from each other, and each other’s minds, and living in this socially disjointed and uninspired way may not only be having an impact of our own sense of self worth, but also our understanding of what it is to be human.
Read the full article here: https://unbound.com/boundless/2019/02/05/conversation-as-art/
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