Pirate

Changement de pavillon linguistique


Le nomadisme ne connaît pas de frontière!
Cela me chatouillait depuis quelque temps... A bon traducteur Google, salut!
C'est en surfant sur le blog copain québéquois de La Taversée que je me suis dit,

"Eh bien quoi, pourquoi pas un petit détour géopoétique SPECIAL FRANCOPHONE POUR UNE FOIS?" Après tout, cela ne fait de mal à personne!
Que mes lecteurs se délectent dans une langue qui fait le bonheur des deux côtés de l'Atlantique Nord :-) 


Pour toutes celles et tous ceux qui ne connaissent pas cet atelier de géopoétique, allez donc surfer sur le lien suivant (que vous trouverez également sur le côté droit du blog sous l'inscription: "Constellations")

La Traversée - Atelier de géopoétique québéquois

Benoît, Victoria et les amis de La Traversée, bonjour du milieu de l'Atlantique!

Mr Kenneth White ne cesse d'agrandir son archipel et regarder le monde à partir d'une île se révèle à la fois fort agréable et aventureux, puisque la longue vue vous permet, à partir d'une péninsule, la vision hyper-grand angle... Une longue vue, voire un télescope! Quel bonheur de se trouver balayé(e) par les vents, maquillé(e) par les embruns tout en se disant que, de toute façon, mieux vaut les odeurs d'iode et de kelp pourri que celles des abattoirs ou des longues queues aux embouchures d'autoroutes... Ha-ha, la vie d'insulaire sur cette latitude a le goût de sel! 


Chers amis du Canada, et du monde francophone,
je vous suis sur vos blogs respectifs, et j'aime vous lire quelque soit la langue choisie.
Ce mode d'expression reflette assez bien l'esprit de Kenneth White, qui se plaît à converser oralement ou à l'écrit dans ces deux langues, que je considère "jumelles".

A bon voyageur, salut, et bonne traversée!

Hissez haut, hissez haut!

taste of summer

Only a few hours ago,  it was all so different then... 

If I could smell my end of term like drying kelp on the shore, now I can see and feel starlings feasting on it!

June went out with a bang... Light night, shetland-blue in colour, placid, peaceful.
July began with rain and fog. Yet the island feels mysterious and by some twist of cosmic proportion, blue filled our impetuous sky as school bell went.  We rushed outside to the harbour in search of light, friendly faces and tasteful lunch :).

The island still harbours the world... If hamefarers made their way back to their place of birth, visitors wander through da street and Esplanade, always in search of adventures. Today Marco Polo anchored in Bressay Sound. 


Too soon again, I'll put back on my guiding cap and share treasures with explorers! :)

Others wander across oceans en solitaire to moor moments in one harbour...

Of all the flags found along bollards, I pictured this one at lunchtime. One day ago, Thurs 1 July, Canada celebrated a birthday. My heart does not forget dear friends from Atlantic or Pacific... 


Talking of which...


Atlantic Home 

Oh, wow, I found a bottle in the sea.
water-washed words,
it spoke of shores,
my horizon can imagine...
and I, the raven follower, begin to dream;
Richibucto,
Kouchibouguac,
Blueberry Field, Miscou Island,
Hopwell Rocks,
Chignecto Bay, Bay of Fundy,
your Confederation bridge as a lifeline to Prince Edward and unity -
raven's homeground, twin with my world...
North Cape,
Pleasant Valley,
East Point Lighthouse,
Peggy's Cove,
Caribou,
Cape Breton,
Ile Madame... I love this sudden switch of tongue!
au nom des lèvres du St Laurent

Now I feel home on either side of Atlantic.

Nat, 5 april/avril 2009

Atlantik Hame 

Der, I fin dee a'da shoormal,
wirds fae dy wirld ida bottle laek a hansel by da banks broo,
dey spaek o mony geos an taings,
laand oda corbie an da craa…
Noo let me tell dee o me side,
fae Muckle Flugga ta Foula,
a hundert islaand ida sang whar I feel hame
atween solan an Atlantik…
Fair Isle, Papa Stour, Muckle Roe.
Fae da mainlaand,
Tangwick,
Eshaness, wir wastside –
Saint Magnus Bay
ta protect wis.
Dat brig o saand
ta Saint Ninian mair ta da sooth…
Simmerdim,
sky athoot da staars,
whar men still wirk ida paet banks,
an peerie fokk hide ahind stanes…
du micht even see a njuggle drink ida burn if du’sna fairt.
…I too switch tongues to please my heart,
my nordic home and Atlantic.

© Nat Hall 2009  

adrift in the world... looking eastwards

retour aux sources

Back to grassroots.
Nor-norn-norse-north. I still remember my loving godfather's words when I announced him we were to settle on some archipelago west of Norway.  

"So you're going back to your roots," he chuckled.
"Yep," I then answered with a grin.

Nine years later and within a single week, my Norman heart beats to new sounds; records new words and photographs eyes and smiles from the other side of the North Sea.
Shetland cultivates special bonds with the Scandinavian world & her Norwegian neighbours in particular. Their friendship is sacred and tattooed forever on every rock. 
Please check the following links:viking heritage and shetland heritage

 adrift & yet firmly anchored

It all began with a meeting in the staffroom; connecting and sealing friendship with some daring "Viking" expat,  who lives & breathes in a very similar way...  Once eyes cross and find a point of fixation - this strange ability to read beyond the envelope and feel, well, alchemy starts. 
Very little did I know such simple moment would lead to such extraordinary humane adventure!

Norway Liberation Day 2010 celebrated in Shetland 

Anita Orheim sets a precedent for the 65th Anniversary of the event, which coincides with VE Day on 8 May.
She orchestrates it from her adopted home; brings in family & friends from her home island,  invites both communities to reinforce their bond and invites the Coastguard vessel Aalesound to represent the military from Norway for the occasion...

I, her humble eyes for the day

My will to help with photographying the entire event opens new doors from the moment Anita accepts my offer. One precious week to prepare myself and be able to exchange a few words in her mother tongue with our Norwegian guests... A new challenge is set!

And what a start... M/S Nybakk

From arrival on Thursday night on choppy waves... Bressay Sound jigs NE style as we gather by the Alexandra Building. A bit of home is about to moor at Victoria Pier.

Skipper and crew all on deck waving at the small welcoming party.

Mooring ropes fly at around 8 p.m.

Emotions begin to  fill hearts and throats...

Please check out: MSNYBAKK.COM

KNOPER - KNOTS... Knotting friendship

Anita ensured I would get maximum exposure to her Norwegian world by allowing my lens to enter the belly of the boat. My enthusiasm overrode anxiety and it took one evening to connect with it all. Arve Nybakk's my teacher for the knotting exercise.  Anita's a natural, I, a novice!

That Friday night, I began to store new & vital vocabulary and tasted Norwegian hospitality around a table full of life, food and smiles...  What a grand way to tie friendship and forge new bonds! Per-Kåre Nybakk, our boat's skipper, aka da Chief, is watching...

8 May

through the lens

From Scalloway's Shetland Bus Memorial & Lerwick War Memorial to the official reception on board the Aalesound and more informal party on the Nybakk...

The day was filled with emotion and humanity.

Waving goodbye on Saturday night proved emotional for Anita in particular. I must confess my throat also felt tight and dry as my hand went up... 

I now look at it as the start of a beautiful friendship. Within three days, my heart drifted eastwards and I remain forever grateful to Anita for such humane experience. 

Tusen takk, Nita!

 

  This poetics takes a new turn, as I begin to enjoy the cultural flavours of your homeland...  
Norwegian news 

Hyggelig å hilse pådeg,

Freddy og Karin Silden, Arve Nybakk, Ann Mabel Nybakk, Tor Kråkenes, Audun Nybakk, Arvid Haug, Willy Berg, Alf Sjåstad, John-Arne Nybakk, Marius Nybakk,  Per-Kåre Nybakk,

  I think we now have a result.

Wanderer...

...Because my heart's insatiable.

Flight of The Thunderbird will take you to the Canadian wilderness, one of the places in the world where my spirit likes to wander. This piece of flash fiction was written in 2006 and appeared in the Poemata Winter Issue, Canada.

Flight of the Thunderbird

Each child is born with a meaning,

with forces that surround them.

Yes.

“Hang on in there – don’t let the darkness fill your soul” he whispered to himself. There was something that kept Makya cling to life: light. Light reverberating against ice, blue tainted white of the crevice, which suddenly unveiled itself under the weight of the hunter. He felt as if a dozen knives had penetrated his left boot. The pain grew so intense he sensed their blades piercing his heart.

Betrayed. Makya felt betrayed by the glacier he had endeavoured to conquer in his long search to find himself. Betrayed by the mountains he’s learnt to love like a mother, nourishing earth to which his mind was connected – land & body, equal measure. Betrayed by a crevice he failed to spot from the surface; a crack so deep, steep and narrow.

His breathing slowly stabilised. Makya looked towards the sky, then around him at eye level as if in front of a mirror. He listened for the ice lament – the faintest cracks in its motion. The Great Spirit was his witness. Makya knew his voice could be heard everywhere, from the ripples of the water to the sweet breathing of flowers… Maybe, he thought, in his native Canadian sky the Great Spirit chose Bear Glacier to reassure Makya, who found comfort in this mighty river of ice.

There is no death, only a change of worlds. His ancestors had taught him well. To him, the white man brought only misery to his kind in his effort to whitewash faith, the Great Spirit – a way of life missionaries eradicated from his land.

The ice was beginning to welcome the lukewarmth of crimson, sliding slowly towards his eyes. Makya reached for the front right pocket of his ragged jacket to hold so tightly in his hand his wooden travel companion carefully carved in the shape of the thunderbird. He was calling to the spirits. Makya has always believed that his lost ones wandered in the invisible air, waiting for children to find them if those offspring could be patient. Makya had to learn the sound of their spiritual song. Now he became a young adult he could in turn call upon them. One spirit would become the guardian of his soul. He also knew no living ones could help him get out of his trap. So he brandished his totem friend towards the light.

Above his head the moving icesheet grew purple. The wind had answered his prayer – it held the line with the spirit. Makya smiled for the first time. The crack widened. “Go reach the stars and dream the dream” he muttered to himself – “you have the wings of the eagle, the thunderbird that soars inside.” The spirit had lifted his pain. Makya placed back his totem in the cocoon of his pocket and clambered back to the surface. His two ice-picks would become his talons.

Makya found himself. He, who slid so deep in that crevice, had come closer to nature’s earth. No he crawled back towards the edge of the Glacier, where he felt familiar soil – dust of the flesh, bones and the blood of his tribe’s long gone ancestors covered with snow and fallen rocks. Eagle Hunter regained his way.

© Nat Hall 2006

Involvement with CPA's e-Poemata (and full Poemata)