Currently Reading

“Under the ravishing light of an Alaskan sky, objects are spilling from the thawing tundra linking a Yup’ik village to its hunter-gatherer past. In the shifting sand dunes of a Scottish shoreline, impressively preserved hearths and homes of Neolithic farmers are uncovered. In a grandmother’s disordered mind, memories surface of a long-ago mining accident and a ‘mither who was kind’.

In this luminous new essay collection, acclaimed author Kathleen Jamie visits archeological sites and mines her own memories – of her grandparents, of youthful travels – to explore what surfaces and what reconnects us to our past. As always she looks to the natural world for her markers and guides. Most movingly, she considers, as her father dies and her children leave home, the surfacing of an older, less tethered sense of herself. Surfacing offers a profound sense of time passing and an antidote to all that is instant, ephemeral, unrooted.”

Text reproduced from https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/1908745819/ref=ppx_yo_dt_b_asin_title_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1 (accessed 01/03/22)

CharterHouse Heritage Park & Kitchen Garden, Coventry

Kitchen Garden Harvest

I am about to get very busy with a number of Volunteer roles based primarily at Charterhouse Gardens & Heritage Park for Historic Coventry Trust whose vision is to find innovative ways to sustain historic places and to inspire, involve and connect people with the city’s history.

Historic Coventry Trust have a portfolio of properties preserving the heritage in the City and which they are custodians of. These include Charterhouse, a medieval monastic house. Charterhouse Heritage Park, a wildlife rich habitat and Paxton’s Arboretum located at London Road Cemetery, one of the most important Victorian cemeteries in the country, the recently renovated Burges & Hales Street, home to independent shopping, the City Gates, two medieval gatehouses that formed part of the City Wall, Priory Row, 15th Century timber framed cottages in the Cathedral quarter of the city (both have been renovated and re-imagined as luxury bolt-holes in which you can book a stay) and the recently renovated music and entertainment venue Draper’s Hall located adjacent to the New Cathedral and Cathedral ruins.

The roles I will be undertaking include Heritage Park Volunteer, Volunteer Research Assistant and Volunteer Kitchen Garden Assistant. The roles include environment management including growing and harvesting fruits, vegetables, foraging and fermenting, gardening, helping to clear weeds, seasonal planting and horticulture, landscape management over the River Sherbourne, the wider woodlands, Charterhouse Heritage Park and Paxton’s Arboretum as well as researching the history of the sites through specific themes and briefs set by the Trust, to help people engage further with the sites through the stories uncovered. The aim is to build and expand the knowledge bank of the sites, which feed into everything from tour guide content, talks, to educational, interpretation and training material. And finally I will be bringing new life to the Charterhouse gardens through the planning and development of the kitchen garden, planting the raised beds and herb garden and following the journey from soil to plate, producing a large harvest and keeping a natural diary to document the journey.

I am passionate about people, place, culture & heritage and how we can co-create meaning, agency, a sense of identity and belonging through collaborative creative practice. I will be conducting these activities alongside my own research organised around four routes; Place, Memory, Identity & Mapping as well as investigating sites of interest, from the statue of a Druid to a mythical island. I will also be continuing in my role as one of the Non-Executive Directors at Holyhead Studios, Coventry, where we host a variety of artists practices from Printmaking to Conceptual Sculpture.

For more information about the portfolio and the work of Historic Coventry Trust click this link Historic Coventry Trust.

Groundhog Daze

hppltbyrd1

Hippolyte Bayard, Portrait of Self as a Drowned Man, 1840

A pathetic shadow is cast/a blast received from the past, sitting
Too weak/to attempt/too attempt/two attempt
Three attempt
Stairs
When you can stand/stand no more/look to the floor
Hot ssss__hhh__aaking palpitations
Sickness vibrations/infinite derivations
Ill defined divagations/multiple citations
Hot sss__ hhh__ a[ching] palpitations
Clinging to…,ears ringing
…Ipad
The darkness is singing, a song
…please move along
…a technical life raft
A digital light/an unwelcome draft
A dark night/an unwelcome draught
Someone laughed/a chill to the marrow
A chill to the morrow/a song of sorrow
Pulse…pulses….pulsing
Almost con-vul-sing
Can’t catch my breath/the sickness unto death
A need to stave the wave/a life I try to save
A diminishing circle of com/
To hold down the Fort
Da
I have to go out/In sane
See words upon the window pane
Home/Sick
Day in/Day out
Groundhog Day
Groundhog Days
Groundhog Daze
Grinding ways
Blinding ways
A life as sickly haze
A body tries to raise
Days full
Of Storm, no lull
Of darkness of sickness of corporeal thickness
This w[hole]
Trying on the soul/heavy on the heart/ LEADEN torture to the mind
In a sickly bind
One step forward/two steps behind
A noose one cannot cut loose
A heavy shroud to wear
Rip, rend and tear
How to repair…a body without spare
Suffocatingitis
Suffocatingitwill
S___u__ff___(0)__c_a_ting

© Denise Startin

…it clings…

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Ob[l]ituary 2013 – 31st July 2017 (it’s not an end but it has to end)

“If you asked me now who I am, the only answer I could give with any certainty would be my name. For the rest: my loves, my hates, down even to my deepest desires, I can no longer say these emotions are my own, or stolen from those I once so desperately wished to be.” – Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

you would not be there to witness the gift bestowed upon me…yet… Albert’s Hall was thronging, hundreds of feet were pounding and my partner punctuated the air…yet…that moment in the spotlight was silent and empty like your grave…

and in that breath I swallowed your death…

…and you cling…

 …yet…there would be no warm embrace, no look of confusion, elation, swelling pride, bewildered furrows, eyebrows acting in amazement, the joy of light and tears in your eyes, on your cheek, no nervous energy coursing round your bodies, no celebratory gustatory delights, no fire to alight your memory
…and you cling…

without speech, in silent voice, telling me how proud you were, how happy you were, whilst the worry lay buried, you would not, could not, speak to me about the future or how you would not, could not, support me

…and you cling…

you would never know I was there, that for one small significant moment the ‘kid’ did good, beyond your wildest dreams, beyond her wildest dreams, yet she would continue to bear this lack, lick this porous festering wound for the rest of her life in utter silence…open wounds are susceptible to infection…in the mud decrepit dangers lurk…

…and you cling…there is no vocabulary to hush this conflict…detached poems speak voices of the dead

….and you cling…and her fury renders her speechless

…and it clings…a stain on the tip of her tongue…a ghost building, silhouettes of words [where] a certain set of gestures are housed

…and it stings

like any clandestine affair my glasses aren’t rose tinted, they are cracked, splintered, broken, smothered in the dirt of you, black excretions of filth exuding through the cracks, the grime of you inhabits […] the stench of you burns […]

in my nostrils, rolls around like grit in my eyes, feels like ash in my mouth; I roll your name around lovingly on my tongue, caressing you

..and it clings…

i roll you around in my mouth and you grate, setting my teeth on the edge. The grime of you inhabits every pore, dirty, filthy little memories secreted away, skin seething like ants

…and you cling…and it stings

no amount of washing can erase your sweet aroma, your putrid stench, your incessant demands, your impenetrability, your indifference, your pushiness, your excess, we sold our souls for you, I had holes in my soles for you, I have holes in my soul for you

...and it stings…and you cling

still you beckoned me with your availability, your parlor games, your desire to cater to every whim, the promise to fulfill any fantasy. Your body gorged my vision, replete with the extent of you, I could never see the end of you, never see beyond you, never get outside you, never get inside you…yet…always the feeling of you moving inside me

…and it stings…and you cling…and it rings

every day over and over, no touch can sooth or break this fever, no difference between aching and waking. What happens if your today keeps exploding? What went wrong with tomorrow? Where is your moment? Has it gone?

and you cling…and you cling…and you cling…and it rings…and it stings…and the past […] and so it begins

i have not uttered a word of this to anyone, not even to myself…

...and you cling, and the nightingale sings, and the melancholy rings, and the past […] and the future stings…and the falling begins…

i have lost my place, i’ll never be myself again

After her…After him…After the Great Wen*

© Denise Startin 2016

*The Great Wen is a pejorative term coined by William Cobbett in 1830 in reference to London.

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