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Friday, 14 October 2016

Fragments and thoughts : sited poetry readings. Photography courtesy Jennifer Deakin.

 To the Garden: A Walk and Talk Through Time and the Seasons with TS Eliot -

To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.

  - T.S. Eliot, Burnt Norton

Reading from Sonia Overall"s "The Art of Walking"
in the rain / departure

leaving, door wedged open

water pooling, you step into the rain


filaments of longing curling

like burnt hairs


you turn up your collar                        
  (Sonia Overall,  The Art of Walking , 2015)





Trish Scott, Research Curator, Reading from "Burnt Norton"
"Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,          Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting." (Burnt Norton, TS Eliot)


Patrick Seery, Walking with the Waste Land Group contributor,
Reading from "Burnt Norton"


"Garlic and sapphires in the mud                    
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
Appeasing long forgotten wars.
The dance along the artery
The circulation of the lymph
Are figured in the drift of stars
Ascend to summer in the tree
We move above the moving tree
In light upon the figured leaf
And hear upon the sodden floor
Below, the boarhound and the boar
Pursue their pattern as before
But reconciled among the stars.
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance." ("Burnt Norton" TS Eliot)



Diana Lane, Walking with the Waste Land group contributor,
Reading from "Burnt Norton"
"To be conscious is not to be in time                  
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered.
III
Here is a place of disaffection
Time before and time after
In a dim light: neither daylight
Investing form with lucid stillness
Turning shadow into transient beauty
Wtih slow rotation suggesting permanence
Nor darkness to purify the soul
Emptying the sensual with deprivation
Cleansing affection from the temporal.                       
Neither plentitude nor vacancy. Only a flicker
Over the strained time-ridden faces
Distracted from distraction by distraction
Filled with fancies and empty of meaning
Tumid apathy with no concentration
Men and bits of paper, whirled by the cold wind
That blows before and after time,
Wind in and out of unwholesome lungs

('Burnt Norton" TS Eliot)Time before and time after."
Final reading from Burnt Norton

        " The detail of the pattern is movement,            
As in the figure of the ten stairs.
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being.
Sudden in a shaft of sunlight
Even while the dust moves
There rises the hidden laughter
Of children in the foliage
Quick now, here, now, always-
Ridiculous the waste sad time
Stretching before and after."
("Burnt Norton" TS Eliot)


Rotating our Walking books at the Walpole Bay Shelter



"All The Leaves Are Brown/Cliftonville Dreamin'," Julia Riddiough
"Margate at 9 Years Old", Keith Grossmith


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