Monday, July 21, 2008
Monday, June 16, 2008
Wild in the City 1
Runaway Art
by Cathy Park
A troop of springboks
has escaped
from Oppenheimer Park
Have you seen them?
They broke away
from their memorial tether
one promising spring morning
when the slow-warming sun smiled
even on the sleeping shreds of vagabonds
blurry faces turned up to the light
These wild creatures
were last seen
heading out the North gate
bronze flesh glinting
hooves exuberant on the stunned sidewalk
they headed east
beneath the spring-splendid oaks on Wolmarans
Have you seen them?
Have you sensed their untamed presence
in the long hours of the night
as you stare out onto the murky street below?
Have you heard faint hooves on cement
as the dawn grows
behind your closed curtains?
Have you noticed a cloven print
in the mud from the leaking sewer
outside your flat?
Have you caught a flash of fawn
disappearing round the corner
in the homeward-bound evening?
Will you accept their invitation
to wild spaces, sweeping land,
freedom
between the bricks and sidewalks
of the city?
A troop of springboks
has escaped
from Oppenheimer Park
Have you seen them?
They broke away
from their memorial tether
one promising spring morning
when the slow-warming sun smiled
even on the sleeping shreds of vagabonds
blurry faces turned up to the light
These wild creatures
were last seen
heading out the North gate
bronze flesh glinting
hooves exuberant on the stunned sidewalk
they headed east
beneath the spring-splendid oaks on Wolmarans
Have you seen them?
Have you sensed their untamed presence
in the long hours of the night
as you stare out onto the murky street below?
Have you heard faint hooves on cement
as the dawn grows
behind your closed curtains?
Have you noticed a cloven print
in the mud from the leaking sewer
outside your flat?
Have you caught a flash of fawn
disappearing round the corner
in the homeward-bound evening?
Will you accept their invitation
to wild spaces, sweeping land,
freedom
between the bricks and sidewalks
of the city?
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Drunk on Autumn!
All that liquid sunshine has obviously gone to my head, as you will note when you see the upside down photo of the previous entry! That comes from my attempt at being sleek and hi-tech by blogging live from my Sony Ericsson phone (photo courtesy of phone too!), which somehow posted the photo the wrong way up. But it lends a funky / impressionistic air, so will leave as is....
Golden autumn days
Autumn called to me from my window so I've now escaped from my office! A brisk walk @ Zoo Lake & now vegetarian lunch at great restau recently discovered.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Beloved
Beloved
by Cathy Park
Sometimes
in moments like this one
with crickets crisply chirping
and the moon's chord
curled creamy around her dark side
A longing sings out from my heart
stretches across silent starless spaces
then thrums from star to star
loops around the moon
and curves back into my heart
in search of You
Have you passed already
Are you on your way
Or have You been here all along
in the crisp chirping below
and the creamy chord
of the moon above?
Saturday, April 5, 2008
The Light at the end of the tunnel
I went out in search of something, and found this, one sunset Saturday.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
bits and pieces 1
I recently heard that a poem I wrote a few years ago is going to be published in an upcoming anthology of women's writing. Yayyy!
Here's a sneak preview for those of you who won't make the book launch!
A tree poem
a winter tree showed its heart
to me
one crisp afternoon
when birdsong pierced cold
through the milky sunlight
from its wide-girthed trunk
a mighty limb had been sawn
in its place
an almost-perfect oval of woody insight
called to me as I passed
boldly bare
free of knobbly bark
its ring told of its life
in swirls and whorls
I craned my neck
up, up to its crown
of brittle leaves
still and golden in the light
under my feet
its roots wound deep, deep
to where spirit gives birth
to earth and stone
I reached out to touch
and a current of connection
silent and strong as oak
coursed from its flesh
to mine
sometimes
only a wound
can reveal the naked heart
a winter tree showed its heart
to me
one crisp afternoon
when birdsong pierced cold
through the milky sunlight
from its wide-girthed trunk
a mighty limb had been sawn
in its place
an almost-perfect oval of woody insight
called to me as I passed
boldly bare
free of knobbly bark
its ring told of its life
in swirls and whorls
I craned my neck
up, up to its crown
of brittle leaves
still and golden in the light
under my feet
its roots wound deep, deep
to where spirit gives birth
to earth and stone
I reached out to touch
and a current of connection
silent and strong as oak
coursed from its flesh
to mine
sometimes
only a wound
can reveal the naked heart
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
on salt and happiness
I'm at my desk, with the river flowing companionably past and music dancing from my speakers. I can see a pair of ducks going for a sunset swim in one of the curves of the river, prehistoric-looking hadedas are cawing their distinctive call and soon I will stop writing for a cold beer and grilled haloumi cheese.
Today I saw a bird of prey - a small sparrowhawk - alight on one of the high branches of the blue gums outside my window. In the past weeks I have seen various birds of prey, all from my window here: today's small streamlined hawk, yesterday a big tawny bird with hooked beak, last week a pair of kestrels gliding and calling to each other with a silvery piercing cry.
For me, these hunter birds signify strong, intense times... which is what the past few weeks have been.
There have been losses of the heart, shifts in business, power blackouts, a spate of crime stories close to home, uncertainty about my country and where it's going...
as well as flowing moments in workshops, beautiful sunsets, yesterday's moment of elation and wonder when Bob Marley's 'Is This Love' plays on my car radio and I catch a glimpse of a bright shining rainbow in my rearview mirror...
so sweet and salty moments, all flowing one into the other.
The story below is from a friend. It has really helped me make sense of pain and has given me a strong visual image for finding ways within me to contain pain and difficulty and to rise above it too.
Teaching Story
An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.
"How does it taste?" the master asked.
"Bitter," spit the apprentice.
The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, "Now drink from the lake."
As the water dripped down the young man's chin, the master asked, "How does it taste?"
"Fresh," remarked the apprentice.
"Do you taste the salt?" asked the master.
"No," said the young man.
At this, the master sat beside this serious young man who so reminded him of himself and took his hands, offering, "The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. . . . Stop being a glass. Become a lake."
from Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening
Today I saw a bird of prey - a small sparrowhawk - alight on one of the high branches of the blue gums outside my window. In the past weeks I have seen various birds of prey, all from my window here: today's small streamlined hawk, yesterday a big tawny bird with hooked beak, last week a pair of kestrels gliding and calling to each other with a silvery piercing cry.
For me, these hunter birds signify strong, intense times... which is what the past few weeks have been.
There have been losses of the heart, shifts in business, power blackouts, a spate of crime stories close to home, uncertainty about my country and where it's going...
as well as flowing moments in workshops, beautiful sunsets, yesterday's moment of elation and wonder when Bob Marley's 'Is This Love' plays on my car radio and I catch a glimpse of a bright shining rainbow in my rearview mirror...
so sweet and salty moments, all flowing one into the other.
The story below is from a friend. It has really helped me make sense of pain and has given me a strong visual image for finding ways within me to contain pain and difficulty and to rise above it too.
Teaching Story
An aging Hindu master grew tired of his apprentice complaining, and so, one morning, sent him for some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master instructed the unhappy young man to put a handful of salt in a glass of water and then to drink it.
"How does it taste?" the master asked.
"Bitter," spit the apprentice.
The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake, and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, "Now drink from the lake."
As the water dripped down the young man's chin, the master asked, "How does it taste?"
"Fresh," remarked the apprentice.
"Do you taste the salt?" asked the master.
"No," said the young man.
At this, the master sat beside this serious young man who so reminded him of himself and took his hands, offering, "The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains the same, exactly the same. But the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. . . . Stop being a glass. Become a lake."
from Mark Nepo in The Book of Awakening
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Thoughts on Solitude and Togetherness...
Solitude
a quiet bedroom, time to reflect, time to gaze out at the river, stopping occasionally to sip a frothy cappuccino and write some thoughts in my journal.
Cappuccino for Two
A buzzing coffee shop, we sit knee to knee, our conversation forms a cosy bubble around us as we laugh and remember to wipe our milk moustaches off our faces.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Last day of 2007!
What better way to celebrate the ending of a year and the start of a new one than with a Carnival street procession through Jozi?
On the 31st December every year in Jozi, the City of Jo'burg hosts a Carnival with floats, performers and musicians, that parades through the streets of Hillbrow, through Braamfontein, across the Mandela Bridge and into Newtown. Many of the artists I have worked with for the past few years are involved in the creation and management of this event.
For the past 2 years, Caroline (my best friend) and I have taken part (unofficially) in this exciting event... our unofficial underground status gives us the freedom to arrive and join the parade anywhere we want, and to move around bestowing magic, fairy dust and butterfly wishes on all we see!
Yes, as you may have guessed, our respective costumes are Fairy Princess (mine) and Butterfly (Caroline's). We both feel right at home in these characters - in fact, I feel like I'm finally back to my true self when I"m flitting around in pink, sprinkling sparkling fairy dust over all and sundry. It gives us an excuse to be friendly and fun to everyone we meet and to help adults and children believe just a little bit...
When the parade set off yesterday, we were standing on Kotze Street (main road in Hillbrow, an inner city Bronx-like area) on the sidelines with the crowd while the floats assembled and the police cleared the streets. I looked around at people's faces and the longing to believe seemed to be at war with world-weariness and scepticism on their features.
There was a squat Zulu man in the crowd behind us mumbling 'Voertsek' (Afrikaans for 'piss off') under his breath as the MC announced the beginning of the Carnival procession. A few moments later, as the floats began to get underway and the music and shouts from the performers filled the streets, he came to stand next to us and asked us what the whole thing was about.
We explained and he listened with interest, then shared that he is an actor putting together a Zulu mini-series. We asked him if he wanted some magic wishes to help him with his dreams and he laughed and nodded. Caroline (aka Butterfly Lady) gave him a gold metallic butterfly and I waved my wand over him and wished him blessings. His face was alight with a big white smile and he laughed and said, 'I believe!'
Magic in the dust
Cathy Park
There is a longing
in me
for myth and magic
the ring of steel on steel
at dawn
the brush of a velvet sleeve
the drift of flowing robe on marble floor
magic words
spells and curses
goblets wine-shining in the firelight
wizards and witches
choosing sides
in the never ending dance
between shadow and light
a time
when each character
knows his significance
and stands noble and steel-jawed
when a kiss sears the lips
and the two lovers fill the frame
beneath the glowing moon
a place
where there is nothing else
but noble acts
death-defying
dragon-slaying
moments
grand gestures
bold declarations of love
not just this
grimy
gritty
turning of the cogs
of one ordinary day into the next
yet
on this ordinary night
in this light
my room
looks like a queenly chamber
the velvet throw on my bed
is ruby red
and somewhere
out there
swords clash
and warriors dance
between shadow and light
2007
Cathy Park
There is a longing
in me
for myth and magic
the ring of steel on steel
at dawn
the brush of a velvet sleeve
the drift of flowing robe on marble floor
magic words
spells and curses
goblets wine-shining in the firelight
wizards and witches
choosing sides
in the never ending dance
between shadow and light
a time
when each character
knows his significance
and stands noble and steel-jawed
when a kiss sears the lips
and the two lovers fill the frame
beneath the glowing moon
a place
where there is nothing else
but noble acts
death-defying
dragon-slaying
moments
grand gestures
bold declarations of love
not just this
grimy
gritty
turning of the cogs
of one ordinary day into the next
yet
on this ordinary night
in this light
my room
looks like a queenly chamber
the velvet throw on my bed
is ruby red
and somewhere
out there
swords clash
and warriors dance
between shadow and light
2007
First day of 2008!
At my riverside window seat on the first day of 2008! I woke up to the sound of the water flowing over the rocks, as it has done for eons and I felt reassured...
New Year's Day often feels laden with the boundless possibility (and thus responsibility) of the 364 days ahead and the gentle sadness of another year gone, never to be repeated.
So to hear the river doing what it always does, and now, to see three black African ducks swim in a gentle tripod to the bridge, hop onto its cement walkway and sit sunning themselves - all this soothes my Western time-is-limited-so-hurry-up mind and shows me that sometimes, sitting sunning yourself on a warm patch of rock is all that matters.
New Year's Day often feels laden with the boundless possibility (and thus responsibility) of the 364 days ahead and the gentle sadness of another year gone, never to be repeated.
So to hear the river doing what it always does, and now, to see three black African ducks swim in a gentle tripod to the bridge, hop onto its cement walkway and sit sunning themselves - all this soothes my Western time-is-limited-so-hurry-up mind and shows me that sometimes, sitting sunning yourself on a warm patch of rock is all that matters.
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