côté cour & côté jardin

Old habits die hard


An empty stage demands respect. When we arrived for our four hour long technical rehearsal, Lerwick's Garrison Theatre felt like a great vessel's empty hull. Keith's Morrison & David Wagstaff's team of technicians - light, sound engineers hovered like sailors back and forth before the cast left the dressing rooms. 
I sat in  the front row on the old velvet chair and watched the crew at work.

I love the warmth of each spotlight. Arrays of colours lit the very belly of our craft.  When I look back at those moments, I remember an array of orange and yellow shining on the chair placed in the centre of the stage.  In the backdrop, a blue ocean.  

Peter eventually sat on the chair, as light beamed down. 

Serpentine's  "A" was just about to shine and emerge from a mist of smoke. Peter Ratter's Three Brides - The Un-Wed  did not fail to impress, neither during technical rehearsal nor  at this year's 62nd Shetland County Drama Festival.  Avant-garde, from the technical, production and visual viewpoints, it did not leave the 2012 adjudicator indifferent.  How could it?

The visual stunner 

Prompts, costumes, make-up, monologues, repartee, light. Peter  playwright & director made it a show to remember. Powerful snapshots of Gothic literature united from his brainchild and vision. 

Judge for yourself. 

The Count, The Creator & Created and the Poet... 

Their unwed brides. 

The play was presented on Friday 16 March 2012 at The Garrison.

Then lights switched off and back on for a second time on côté cour & côté jardin once the set for Jane McKay's If You Go Down To The Woods was ready for its Première on the following night.

We spent evenings of laughter, passion and devotion to bring the farce to its climax. 

On côté jardin (left handside of the stage from the audience's viewpoint), a white door where mystery and misunderstandings would emerge... On côté cour (right handside of the stage), a black door, from which more confusion via strange comings & goings would flourish and unFURl.... Hungover Dan soon woke up to un-real moments!  Clues of many kinds - furry gloves by Betty's French friend, Monique, red sauce by a sleazy photographer, Frank, a strange creature captured & printed by Graham, and even a parcel by a pothead, yes, the Deliveryman! - would ultimately reveal a farcical tale of a very furry kind.  Betty's falling in love with Frank.
The Norwicks' kitchen will never be the same again!
Betty tries to lure us with her sudden escapades to the ponies... Igraine is young and naive... Janet, her friend, tries to keep Igraine's feet on earth. Monique cannot put her hands on Betty until she brings a rolled sheepskin... 


Shock horror! Betty and Frank - two consenting adults - armed with a knife, tail-chase themselves like two children!

Directed by Jonathan Sinclair, If You Go Down To The Woods, kept us  on our toes till its première, and received an award for Jonathan's debut as Director. 

Congratulations to all involved in this madness - weekly Tuesday nights and Sunday afternoons are tattooed in my heart with sheer moments of giggles and laughters!

What a great remedy to winter blues!

On a more personal point, it was a formidable opportunity to rekindle my flame for theatre and be part of such a great adventure, the very first of many to come, as a member of Serpentine Drama Group. 

Born To Be Wild! 

Oh, and if you want a taste of it, just click here!

one world, many tongues

world poetics under one roof


When Kate called me to read in French, I knew she was up to something. Let me rewind to that final week of February. Somewhere, I read that the Island's main Library would host one of those nights when folk gather to share a verse, a tune or a stanza... Karen usually orchestrates those wonderful nights, but for this once, she would ally with the Adult Learning Centre  for something very special. And so she did. With Jen Hadfield as Reader in Residence, who, in the past already requested such reading in my native tongue, The International Poetry Night was born.


And what a night. 

Genny & Kate

On Friday 2 March, the Library kept its doors open till late. Our co-hosts gathered so many voices under one roof.  Karen always hosts such nights in style. This time, Orkney beer and fudge were available to be sampled at the event's interval. 
Whereas Jen made a very brief introductory appearance, her co-hosts, Kate and Genny, enacted a farcical scene before a fifty strong audience. 

Polish born Klaudia Marosek

So many voices, languages filtered through the mesh of the open mic'. English, Polish, Hungarian, Lithuanian, Bulgarian, Russian, Frisian, Gaelic, Shetland dialect, French, Moroccan, Malaysian... A world symphony motion!  It felt just home.
Not only poetry, but songs and dance for some of the performers. 

Local fiddlers Bernadette & Jim

This night of world celebration united fantastic voices, who have elected their home on the island,   

Bulgarian born Radina, with Alan

Nordicblackbird in full swing

would remind us all that their respective native tongue adds so many colours to the poetics of such a small community such as ours. Cultural joy to be able to breathe and walk through life with more than one language. Too many folk take it for granted. And although Shetlanders experience such bi-lingualism through their own dialect and English,  their own midder tongue once suffered through cultural cleansing at the start of the 20th century, when English reigned king in the classroom. Too many local dialects, patois and languages have suffered too much already. In an effort to revive local languages and dialects, regions revive their own, hence declaring their unique cultural distinctions. At local level, the island thrives to keep it going and has even taken the step to re-introduce it in today's classroom, via Shetland ForWirds, even though it is fighting against  linguistic imperialism as notably exposed by today's media. 

Hungarian born Fari Batai

Jen at the mic'

For the first time, I discovered Robert Burns in Hungarian through Fari's voice. How enchanting! Re-discovered the magic of those more northern and eastern European languages. Whit a hansel! What a present!
To hear it, or any language spoken by folk in the island really defines the wealth of our local community.
Jen reappeared during the session to share with us her version of  a traditional Irish tune entitled She Moved Through the Fair - a song which is familiar to my heart thanks to Kate Bush's own version. Precious moment from our Reader in Residence.


Steve Davidson and Alan McKay closed the Open Mic' session with a Gallic tune, a bourrée. (Part One)
Scot born Steve is a francophile and an avid & very accomplished musician, who spends parts of his summer holidays somewhere in Auvergne (among his favourite destinations) with a gang of kindred spirits in an attempt to widen his love of traditional Gallic music. 


For Steve & Alan's Bourrée (Part2), please click here. 

Shetland Library's hospitality

My renewed thanks to Karen and Kate for such a brilliant night of celebration. Blending with the world feels such a privilege, especially when we live on an island somewhere in the North Atlantic.

                                                                              

seasonal wonders

My idea of Saturday afternoon


I spend my workdays in the town.


Five days a week, as soon as dawn vanishes, my mind is set for tarmac and corridors, a blue office behind thick glass. As a general rule, weekends belong to the island - its barren hills and elliptic bays, when I do not end up at a friend's for a slice of life in tête-à-tête... I try as hard as I can to replenish larders and shelves some time between day 1 and 5. 

Now, last Saturday broke the rule. Yet, and since am not bound by timetable, I took my time and involved my other half in the expedition. A simple thought would create twists for such a chore... The town usually bustles as soon as the week is about to end, as busy shoppers wander around Commercial Street and the two local supermarkets. To add to the "island mayhem", a local craft fair & food festival were housed at Clickimin... 


Some twelve miles (around 20km) separates us from the island's only urban centre. A North-South stretch of tarmac, slightly sinuous in places, allows us to reach it in some 20-25 minutes... Yet we went off the beaten track to peep at meadows filled with life, as we left our hut in mid-Afternoon. Magic places, Aith Meadows, Fladdabister... Patchworks of colours during summer - teeming with life & breath taking scapes. In November light, autumn visitors land and find shelter around pastures, ditches and fields. 




European White-fronted geese graced part of the afternoon as we meandered along Aith Voe, that long and narrow inlet of sea that serves as a local harbour & safe haven for seals, waders and seabirds. So soft in mild November light. Their pink bills differs from that of their counterparts from Greenland, that come in greater numbers around the island... Scarce treasure :-) 

As we pursued our way northwards, the sea was bashing the coastline. 


By the time we reached the town, we pit-stopped at Clickimin Loch to try and find an even scarcier visitor, a Great Crested Grebe. The last one recorded on that expanse of fresh water dates back to 1976 (!) How happy we were to find it as soon as I stopped the engine. Exotic fellow just before sunset... 


Funny how a single food shopping trip can turn into a wildlife adventure... 

All bird photographs courtesy of my other half,

with grateful thanks :-)

in memoriam

culture of peace


 Né sous une bonne étoile.


I still remember my maternal grand mother who hammered in my heart how fortunate I was to be born in relative peace time. "Relative" in the sense no bombs fall on my head in spite of fears incessantly generated by some politicians backed (or pushed) by their generals. So far in my lifetime, I witnessed extraordinary events: the Fall of the Berlin Wall, German re-unification, collapse of communism pre-seeded by glasnost - in other words, historical steps towards peace between nations tarnished by blood over centuries. Peace secured all around fields our ancestors fought in the name of their rulers... We all have a poppy to wear. For centuries, families have lost loved ones in the name of political madness. 


Since early childhood, I have learnt to remember those who fell in the fields of northern France and Flanders. On every 11 November, we were led to the monument aux morts by our teachers. Wherever I stand, I remember all men who were sacrificed in a name of a war, irrespective of nationality, since nationalism was invented to elevate states to extreme competition and human carnage . Nobody asks to die in such ways. In the name of politics, propaganda glorifies any conflict. Nobody plasters Dulce et Decorum Est on the door of their parliament, hospital or court of justice. And yet war poetry is studied at secondary level. Pupils learn and forget the messages of brave young men, like Wilfred Owen, who dared to denounce the true face of war and condone its illusions.


Earlier on at school today, I attended Armistice Day Ceremony within the walls of the old institute. Our Lord Lieutenant stood in full regalia, together with officials & other dignitaries to celebrate forty nine pupils who fell during WWI.   Poignant moment, as wreathes were laid under the framed list of the boys, and selected pupils read out their names after the reading of In Flanders Fields . Two minutes ' silence were observed on the eleventh hour in the entire establishment, as the rest of the island and at national level. Our local piper & final words from the local history teacher closed the ceremony. 


My heart warped through time as I remember the picture of my great grand father, a stretcher-bearer, gassed at Verdun and at Le Chemin des Dames and think of all men and women embroiled in all recent conflicts. As if human flesh was still regarded as a "commodity"...

By celebrating Armistice Day, we remember all those who have been sent to nothing but reckless butchery. 

 

I wrote a haiku this morning before I left for school. It read:

Coquelicots -

pinned on the tartan of your scarf,

explosive red in foreign fields.

#haiku fae 60N

post scriptum to "new writing adventure"

This much anticipated adventure with The Serpentine Writers/Drama Group has begun in earnest!


...Am back into Theatre.


Happy poet :-)

New writing adventure

Am really  looking forward to joining The Serpentine Writers' Group this month, as this will enable further creative growth, which I take as a new challenge. I humbly accepted friend, poet, playwright and actress Jane McKay's invitation earlier on in the summer and  am now eager to share with the group. Jane has kept a critical eye over my verse (haiku & other forms) for some time now and may this new association allow my work to find a new élan & flourish in a new environment.

Serpentine Writers

Our very first gathering is scheduled for this Thursday (3 November) at The Shetland Library. New material is ready. Joining a new group is always exciting, as I still remember the very first steps into Shetland Arts (Trust)'s writers groups, South, Lerwick and Westside. 

New eyes, blood and pens. 

Winter adventure on the island

Moments of pleasures

To many folk coming to do their weekend shopping in Lerwick, Victoria Pier, adjacent to the Small Boat Harbour, rhymes with carpark & familiar trawlers from Shetland, Banff or Peterhead most of the year. 
To the explorer-yachtsman (or cruise liner)-visitor, it may feel like the starting point of some delectable adventure. This focal point, officially open in 1886 as the main landing area for fishermen and wealthy visitors traveling on steamers, hosts (during the high season) memorable events - marquis and booths, erected around Johnsmas (Summer Solstice), celebrate A Flavour of Shetland and renewed bonds with Norway through (notably) the Lerwick-Bergen Race... Victoria Pier welcomes the world to the island's pictoresque (and only) urban centre.  Small cruise liners tie themselves to its bollards - tenders from much bigger cruise ships whizz through the Bressay Sound to bring their hords of passengers to our shore. Excursion coaches' drivers and Tourist Guides wait with a smile... 
The "Bay of mud" turns a beehive! Visitors to Lerwick Harbour


During the winter months, STGA Accredited  Green Badge Tourist Guides prepare for the next high season through an elaborate educational programme. With an ever-increasing number of cruise liners pit-stopping in our Venice of The North,  a new class of guides are training for 2011, as some 58 cruise ships already line up on paper, together with The Tall Ships Races back in Lerwick... The Tall Ships Races 2011

Yesterday morning, Victoria Pier basked in generous winter sun. Saturday shoppers flocked to "Da Street" (the main commercial artery) whilst we began an adventure. Down to Sumburgh we went on our minibus! Wilson was at the wheel, Lawrence & Catriona, at the microphone, whilst our cohort of guide trainees held to clipboards and pens on their final demo tour. Deborah and I sat at the back. As we crossed the 60th Parallel, our nordic sun powered our smiles. Mr Tulloch delighted us with his expertise & experience at the mic' down to Grutness map via Fladdabister and Bigton  before he handled me the device for a demo tour at Sumburgh Head.  

My love for this headland and nature reserve has not waned away from my wardening time within the RSPB, au contraire - as a matter of fact, it glows like the sun. Our trainees already felt it last May in the presence of our seabirds during a first demonstration tour. Yesterday felt no different. Our winter wildlife bathed in light. Guiding is fun in all seasons!
 
Lunch at the Sumburgh Hotel... Early afternoon at Jarlshof.

Jarlshof, that name invented by Sir Walter Scott for the purpose of a novel, remains one of the best places in Britain to walk through time, from the Late New Stone Age to the late 17th century of our era. I never tire of its stones! Whilst Lawrence began the site tour, Deborah ended it with passion. Jarlshof

By the time we returned to our minibus, the sun glittered on Atlantic and Horse Island.

Guiding, training or mentoring rekindle taste for adventures. Yes, we are blessed to live and share this magical environment. I am eager to reach our Vernal Equinox and see how our trainees progress toward their final assessment. Our nordic garden never fails to foster our inspiration.

January, fire power

return of the light

"Day-night... Day-night... Day-night!"
As trivial as it may appear to the visitor to our shore, the most noticeable sign towards the Vernal Equinox remains our return towards light.
At fixed times in the day, 0800 and 1600, we no longer endure darkness. And if our British Met Office provides us with acurate information, we are currently re-gaining 2 minutes of light at each sunrise and each sunset... Heart-warming.

Today, I took two photographs from my school bus on the way home.

...And saw a fire-breathing dragon, as we made our way to the 60th Parallel...

As if our sky was whispering us some omen.  Such sight made me smile!

 

return of the sun

It is now rather well known some islanders go to great lengths to celebrate an old ritual - that of the return of the sun. Between mid-January and April, torches illuminate our nights under a name some may find odd or exotic: Up-Helly-Aa. It is not one single fire festival, but a season of torch-lit processions, longship burning and merryment behind the closed doors of our halls!

A bit like in the Beowulf movie, though minus the curse. Each procession is led by a squad disguised in full Viking gear - led by a Guizer Jarl, that is a notorious Viking Chief or hero carefully chosen by the selected squad leader. Each autumn, carefully chosen boatbuilders and craftsmen meet inside a galley (longship/boat) shed and spend many evenings building a replica Viking longship they will set on fire with their torches in the depth of winter. Teams of seamstresses elaborate the squads' costumes and a Proclamation Bill appears on the morning of the celebration at around 0600.

fire power

It is also well-known men like to play with fire, since they invented it.

This year's season of fire festivals kicked off last weekend in Scalloway, the island's ancient capital. Islanders' tradition. The Lerwick one always follows on the final Tuesday of the month. The Jarl will be given freedom of merryment in the town and will visit a myriad of places prior to the evening procession. A Junior Jarl squad procession also mirrors its senior one. It departs from the Anderson High School and da boys will burn their peerie (small) galley near the burning site of the senior one at Islesburgh.

Each replica Viking longship has a dragonhead.

...We, or some of us, would appear to like dragons and fire on the island.