Chant du monde boréal
Sandshifter, 60N.
Where it all makes sense.



Through Chronicles from Arcania, I shall attempt to share walks with you, this poetics from 60N, where I feel at one with our Earth, my sense of place so maritime.

Friday, 2 April 2010


Now that March eventually vanished... And April fools back in their box,

Mother Earth can reclaim her rights, at least today on this island. The mechanics of our atmosphere and its relation with our solar system, in terms of climate & weather, is something man cannot grasp fully or control. Hence the many myths, predictions and daily topics of discussion among ourselves! Like many of you, I keep an eye on the garden, and since we can but accept the many faces of the sky, I keep my toes & fingers crossed until the last days of my life!

 Those final days of March were both exciting and prolific. Concentrated around a weekend of poetry & cultural celebration orchestrated in Lerwick, my nomad mind wandered around the middle eastern part of the world, as soon as I started to share thoughts and ask questions to Choman on separate occasions. We spoke of her native Kurdish world, of its customs, beauty and scars... Re-ignited many pictures and emotions in an attempt to understand. Choman speaks of her world as both a philospher and poet in a very clear & objective voice. As a historian, I too am used to a myriad of images and reports from a western viewpoint but when one digs inside it all and taps inside other places, the other side of the mirror becomes understandable and clearer too. By this I understand, local culture and place of man on Earth. I still remember Choman evoking specific habits (such as that of sleeping on the roof during summer in spite of being eaten alive by mosquitoes!); memories of home. And when asked what kind of music she listens to, Choman whispers a taste for both her Kurdish music and The Cranberries... She is and feels a nomad in her heart. All in all, rich moments of sharing around a table in Lerwick that ignited errance in the world. Set politics aside and then the real world unveils itself to us. Please do click on the following link for further enlightenment: crossing the bridge

As part of her final workshop, Choman Hardi set us homework. We were given a poem, The Shadows, by Manuel Altolaguirre, and then we were asked to "observe something over a set period of time and then write about it as life unveils." 

Since have been keeping a closer eye on my trees here in the garden, I just chose that and gave it life on the final day of March as snow reappeared on tip-toes on our hillsides and even sprinkled our garden. I thought of those less fortunate snowed in again just sooth o wis... March skies decided for a final breath of arctic taste. As soon as I finished my homework, I shared it with Choman. It's called EarthWatch.


March, 31st.
 Morning in cotton pyjamas, as snow holds tight to our hilltops.

On the tenth day
since we at last crossed equinox,
I watch our world swing in north wind
from the freedom of my window -
our hair still tangled in our dream,
like a forest of willow trees
somebody planted
as hedgerow.
Each of their leaves,
feeble foetus, destined to dress strong skeletons -
each little life in the making
hangs to its fate,
as March re-writes definitions
that always seem raw, unfinished...

© Nat Hall 2010

And now that light has returned...

And I can drive safely again, I will make most of April time and keep my watch on this wild world!


  1. Beautiful poem Nat, your lines create mind images and
    the idea that hair tangles like willows.

    Makes my bald pate almost envious and the I remember of how it was to comb them out :)

  2. Thank you kindly, Sir Heron :)
    but wooopppss, didn't want to make you nostalgic with that comb ;[
    Happy easter to you, my friend :))