On Fanö

Tags

Ann Bilde, Arcadia, Caledonia, Catalonia, Christmas Morning, Elysia, Fanö, Frisia, Grønne Lanterner, Jutland, On Fanö, orcadia, Oxford, Rome, Scotland, Skye, Snowdonia, Tunisia

The second song I’ll be singing in Edinburgh is a tribute to my wife of 25 years and the island we lived on for 17 of those:

Grønne lanterner lyser i natten;
grønne lanterner viser mig vej;
grønne lanterner, så nu kan jeg finde
  Fanø, min havn og dig.

Green are the lanterns that shine in the night;
green are the lanterns that show me the light;
green are the lanterns that usher me through
  to Fanö, my home, and you.

    – Ann Bilde

  I’ve climbed upon
the mountains of Snowdonia,
  made my way down
  by stick and ski.
  I’ve wandered through
the hills of Catalonia,
  where feeling’s strong
  and thoughts are free.
I spent my youth in Scotland,
and when I flew the nest
I went with you to Jutland,
and then we moved out west.
  I’ve walked across
Skye in Caledonia;
  thought that was where
  my heart would be.

  But I woke one day
  and broke away
from every point of view.
  I was bound for Rome,
  but I found a home,
on Fanö, thanks to you.

  I’ve camped out in
the open on Orcadia;
  the roar of silence
  thrilled my ear.
  I’ve stood out on
a cliff top in Arcadia;
  the misty light
  was crystal clear.
I spent my youth in Scotland,
and when I flew the nest
I went with you to Jutland,
and then we moved out west,
  where light’s more bright
and shade is even shadier,
  and there’s a silence
  the mind can’t hear.

  I woke one day
  and broke away
from every point of view.
  I was bound for Rome,
  but I found a home,
on Fanö, thanks to you.

  I’ve clowned around
the gardens of Elysia;
  I’ve sung and danced
  on Oxford’s lawn.
  I’ve ridden in
the desert in Tunisia
  on Christmas Morning
  to see the dawn.
I spent my youth in Scotland,
and when I flew the nest
I went with you to Jutland,
and then we moved out west.
  I’ve travelled to
the rest of what was Frisia,
  but that’s not where
  my feet are drawn.

  ’Cause I woke one day
  and broke away
from every point of view.
  I was bound for Rome,
  but I found a home,
on Fanö, thanks to you.

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Lucky Charms

Tags

A Moonflower, Ann Bilde, Candelabrum, car crash, Lucky Charms, original versions, Oxford, posting schedule, Red Moon, Regret

I intend to post here once a week. Thursdays or Fridays as a general rule. In due course I will probably say something about each of the eight sonnets showcased last week, but if there is anyone who would like to learn something more about one in particular before I get round to it, then feel free to say so, either by commenting here or contacting me by e-mail. Otherwise, what I intend to do next is present some of the other sonnets I sing, one at a time. Unless they are part of a sequence.

I’m very much a revisionist, and although I do occasionally feel like I’m hacking at a stone that should be left, I soon get over that. Often I see it as a good way of warming up when I want to write something new and don’t have a clue what that will be. Sometimes I’m perhaps fooling myself, but then I do sometimes actually succeed in improving some old pieces. I have made significant amendments to several pieces many years after having abandoned them.

I choose to update some of my pieces so that when/if I recite them tomorrow, they will represent me where I am today in relation to those pieces, rather than where I was yesterday in relation to them. The new versions don’t mean the old ones were inadequate. But I do like to think that when I change something I’m improving it.

One of the very first sonnets I wrote was “Lucky Charms”. I wrote the first draft in Oxford on 23^rd December 1985, the day after the events described at the outset of “Regret, and four days after a friend and I had been lucky to survive a wipe-out on the motorway unscathed. I sensed a guardian angel had saved me that day. As the ending of “Regret” records, I fell in love with someone in Italy. Her name is Ann Bilde. I went to Denmark with her, we got married, and in May we’ll be celebrating our silver wedding anniversary. Her birthday is on 19^th December.

So this sonnet has meant a lot to me personally. It was first published under the title, “A Moonflower”, in my collection of poems from 1987 called Red Moon. This is how it looked then:

A Moonflower

The sun had folded into clouds swarming in the west,
I felt at peace and thought about the way that I would rest,
The waxing moon reminded me, her messenger by birth
That like a flower I was planted in the listening earth.

I wandered through the dusk without a single fear,
The wind brought different noises to my silver ear,
The future of a car, the sainthood of a brook,
I was a little thirsty, so I went to take a look.

The water was refreshing, and I felt very good,
I decided to enjoy the wonders of the wood,
The precious trees invited me with their smiling charms,
Exhilarated, I embraced them with my gracious arms.

Before I fell asleep, curled up beside a log,
I found a revelation in the calling of a dog.

Please excuse my very poor punctuation for a start.

I later rewrote it, smoothing out the metre and excising the worst poeticisms, and managed to get it published in Candelabrum in April 2003 looking like this:

Lucky Charms

The sun had been surrounded by a gang of clouds out west;
I felt serene and thought about the way that I would rest.
The moon appeared, invigorated by a day in bed;
I sensed I’d better find a place that I could lay my head.

The silence of the countryside was music to my ear;
I listened briefly to a blackbird singing loud and clear.
The roaring of a car nearby turned out to be a brook;
I noted I was thirsty and resolved to take a look.

The water was delicious, and the air was sweet and good;
I walked upstream and came upon the shelter of a wood.
The ground was buried under leaves, a million lucky charms;
I tumbled down and pulled them to me with my legs and arms.

The stars conspired to close my eyes, and there, beside a log,
I found myself enchanted by the calling of a dog.

Here’s a recording (a release, folks!):