Frances-Ann Norton: Poetry

Three Funerals and a Veil: Dream Poem 16 It was her Father’s funeral Again She was all in black, white tights and a long black veil She wrote her name in black – on her shirt hem - over and over. She lay on the floor People were a bit shocked but just looked. And she was thinking, ‘I only have to do this one more time and that will be three funerals for Dad’.

The water III Strange and strong Not fragile Fragmented – the elements Fragmaformation Transforfragmented Oily roiling of the waters Mighty roar To Ripulous ripples.

A Birthday in Rydal Mount. Shifting clouds Like sand through a time glass All the shades of blue night Morning never staying still And behind the mountain The rock the bedrock The place of scrub Herdwick and hardy flocks And amidst it all the rain Softly wet.

The water II: After Bill Viola’s Tristan’s Ascent. Beauty of our fragility The beauty of pure life The announcements of Drops of water on our faces. How, how, how? Once we were dust of the ground Once we were raw Once we were elemental. Our parts divided To water, metal, earth. The flood. oh take away the water It is drowning us We are engulfed and dispersed We are subsumed in this Torrent of life. Save us Or we will drown. The rain goes up My senses are raw with the horror The dark – the slab The rain going up The noise tremendous.

After: Ori Gersht Big Bang 2006: II A subconscious awareness of a subtle horror A Dutch master’s dark and light beauty And suddenly noise and violence Shattered glass blast Glass grinding crunch Shredded shards fall in slow-motion Fatal beauty Hidden power Hungry explosive devours beauty and perfection And leaves a single bud blown By the back-draft of the moving air bombed erased lives Scattered fragments Collateral damage The troubles 9.11 7.7 Paris Boston Ground zero The uneasy beauty of destruction The finality of death Latency of Amazing grace And instant irradiation.

Madeleines All rise Magdalenas and Madeleines soaked in tea Treats and tastes Small cakes full of Sweetness And savor.

The water: after Bill Viola. Whatever enters your heart Is a guest from the invisible world Entertain it well. Rumi The ones that are left behind The ones that have gone before The wall of water Is a veil of light A shadowland A mist of becoming A journey A lifetime of onwards ever onwards

Still life: after Ori Gersht’s Big Bang 2006. As I turned round I caught from the corner of my eye a darkened space illuminated by white roses, as in a Dutch still life of bygone days a movement from the centre shattered the scene of pastoral beauty  of muerte natura  and all exploded  shattering every petal and stem  sending fragments cascading outwards  in divine trajectory  and after the dread explosion  the plague  of a rain of blood in slow motion down and down and down  the pieces fell in devastating confetti  left waiting  in the black  one stalk of geranium waving back and forth  through shards of glass and slowly falling debris.