The Night I turned into a Metal Spoon

Singing as the Darkness Lifts, Episode 29

This morning the air smells clean and fresh, it is raining and there is no hint of petrichor. I smile because although I am not totally specific about the smell my senses are alive.

Last week I could not determine the scent and I blamed the cold virus for affecting my sense of smell. I also now blame it for turning me into a metal spoon during the week. It was an interesting dream and wonderfully vivid… temporarily I was a human-sized spoon heading for the centre of the earth. Sometimes when I wake up after a dream the images disappear quite rapidly, but I can definitely still picture this one! Perhaps the way my head concaved into the bowl of the spoon might make its way into a poem. It might be a good prose poem!

So the week started at a slow pace because I had to wait for the sneezing to stop and then unsnuffle myself. I loved it when my sister rang and asked me if I was resting and staying hydrated because that’s what I always tell her to do when she is under the weather. It was lovely to hear my advice in a different voice and I did indeed follow it. If you listened to last week’s blog you probably noticed I was a bit snuffly, but I decided I still wanted to set it down because I wanted to remain committed to what I had planned to do with the blog and podcast. It feels important to me right now to be a completer!

I enjoyed regaining my sense of taste and smell and it reminded me of the strange things that happened to my senses after I had covid. I felt really unwell when I had it, but was rather entertained when I felt better and noticed that pints of water tasted like double cream, parsnips no longer tasted nice, and sometimes when I stood up I felt as though I had drunk half a bottle of champagne. Sometimes even now water tastes creamy and I wonder why this is.

For Eat the Storms this week Damien Donnelly shared work from The Whiskey Tree’s Untamed Nature collection. I loved listening in because I had not been able to make the zoom launch and I always enjoy listening to how the poems sound in the authentic voices of their writers. The interview with Alan Parry was good too. I love hearing about people’s journeys into writing and finding out what resonates with them.

I also got to hear Susan Richardson read my poem ‘Silence’ on the Thousand Shades of Green poetry podcast finale for Season 2 on Friday. This podcast is the perfect length to accompany a tea break or in my case on Friday a water break. I like to make sure I am hydrated and was reminded of why water should be my choice when I got the judders from taking decongestants with caffeine in them this week. The caffeine is handy when you need a boost, but it still has potential to make me think too fast and reminds me of the time I got myself a long lasting stutter on the letter t in an assembly one morning after too much strong coffee. Almost as impressive as the time I was asked in the Post Office what I was posting and I stumbled on, “It’s a, it’s a, it’s a” before being able to complete my sentence. Hearing Silence read was powerful for me as I think I mentioned last week that my relationship with silence has altered in the past six months. I am grateful to One Hand Clapping for giving the poem its original home, Susan for voicing it so I could listen and to Black Eyes for including it in my forthcoming collection.

Alt text describes this week’s photo as, “A shadow of two people on a road”. I don’t have anything to add except there is a marking on the ground that could be seen as a seam or a zip between the two people. I do love a shadow photo!

I leave you today with a poem about moles that almost wanted a home in my second collection, but just deserves a little outing all of its own…

LEARNING ABOUT MOLES

After thumbs had numbed

and tongues cooled

on hot days between school and bus

we ended our eating of ice pops

in different ways.

She curled the plastic over and over

and sucked,

drawing the last of the liquid up

towards the opening

scissored by the sweetshop man.

Perhaps like her mother

turning the toothpaste tube tighter and tighter.

I preferred head back,

eyes closed against the sky,

a peristaltic squeeze

until the sweet trickle

became just a few more drops.

Now I learn that moles squeeze the mud

from earthworms before they eat them.

But do they suck them up from tunnel floors

or blind-eyed catch them dangling?

A Blue Apple and An Ammonite

Podbean Link for those who like to listen

This morning I cannot determine what scents are in the air. I have a cold and am temporarily blocked from my observations of smell. It feels a bit strange to not be able to notice so do let me know what the air smells like where you are!

When I was little my brother would let me in to his museum for a small pocket money fee. I liked looking at the shells and fossils and interesting finds he had gathered together there in his attic bedroom. He knew stuff about the exhibits. I liked the way they were laid out and the textures and shapes. I also liked spending time in his company and finding out what was new. Amongst the sharks’ teeth I think there was also a large dinosaur tooth of some kind. I remember the shine of the fool’s gold and of the mercury which we rolled across the lino to one another.

On Saturday I enjoyed the feeling of empowerment of singing with the local community choir, which I have recently joined. There are people there who can put in all ‘the twiddly bits’, and there was also me owning the words, “l’m not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me.” (I still make sure I don’t try to sing the high bits I am not capable of, but I am right there with the rest of it! My grandad loved ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ and I thought of him instead of worrying about how out of my register the ‘where’ bit seems and just stayed immersed in the sounds of those that can sing that bit well!)

This week’s picture brings me great joy and it means the release of my new book is soon. It is the cover of my forthcoming second collection of poetry and it evolved from an idea presented to me by my editor, Josephine, on one of our zoom meetings and I love it. Jason Conway then took the idea and turned it into the cover. It looks good, and although of course one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover I am happy for any potential readers to begin to make an assumption based on this one! ALT TEXT tells me this is “A book cover with a blue apple in a spiral”. I say it makes me feel very proud to see it.

Five galleries, featuring plenty of exhibits, await readers and I look forward to hearing what people think.

The back cover blurbs bring me joy. Having done a few myself now I can see this from both sides and I love that people have taken time to do this for me and my words.

Helen Ivory says: ‘Sue Finch’s voice is both steady and questioning as she sets down the archive of her life museum and invites you to lean in for a closer look. Each exhibit feels like a very personal and off-kilter chronicle of a collective memory where wolves and silence stand with their backs to the corners of the theatrical space of a museum cabinet in which Smurfs and giraffes have walk-on parts. And it’s well worth imagining the gift shop – that unsettling pelican’s disco moves stencilled on a tea towel; a postcard steeped in the metal taste of the narrator’s own blood.’

Damien B Donnelly says: ‘Ponds, pitfalls, pandemics, peacocks, pelicans and funeral preparations. On view in Sue Finch’s second collection is a kaleidoscope of memory, moments, fears and desires, curated in a lyrical museum with spotlights on circus tents, taxidermy tables, distant dreams and swirling nightmares. The recollections are residues on the tip of the tongue, the names of each already faded, fallen or pulled like the pelt from the flesh with only a metallic tang left in its wake and the future is a disco very deep in the woods with tunes yet to be identified. This is a Daliesque ramble through the gardens of life, an asymmetrical, syncopated joyride. Welcome to the Museum of a Life is triumphant with its directions, distractions and dancing Deathwatch Beetles. Buy a ticket in advance to spare yourself the disappointment of this museum being sold out!’

And Ivor Daniel says: ‘At once mindful and surreal, these poems take us on a journey through the Museum of a Life, passing from childhood, through vivid everyday events, to love and dreams, and to considerations of mortality. The intriguing exhibits include the small but profound miracle of a tortoise waking from hibernation, the revelation of night skies in the armpits of a lover, a poet rescuing a giraffe after an earthquake, a dancing pelican and other such wonders. Like all the best museums, this one does not have too many rules, and we can walk amongst and interact with the poems at will. Sue Finch welcomes us into a world of multisensory surround sound. Unsentimental yet tender, this collection is an original and imaginative celebration of the temporary treasures of life, and of the human condition.’

My one to one work with people as a coach is beginning to give me testimonials which seems to me a bit like having blurbs about oneself. I like this idea. If you have ever wondered what it is like to be coached by me then do keep an eye on my website to see what others think. I have set out there what I know I provide, but I am sure you will enjoy reading what other people have to say too!

When I am selecting a new book I look at the cover, read the blurbs and then take a peek inside. Is that what you do? When I know I love the author’s work already I just cannot wait to read their new stuff and if I get a taster beforehand then that’s super cool! Which brings me to ask… Have you seen the cover for the new Caroline Bird collection, AMBUSH AT STILL LAKE? It’s a cracker. Loving the anticipation of waiting for that one.

I will leave you today with the news that my ‘Unwanted Rabbits’ found a good home at The Broken Spine

Unwanted Rabbits

I have fitted forty-two of them

into the bottom of magicians’ hats

thrown in some dandelion leaves to keep them going

while they wait to be pulled free.

I took the ten largest ones to the field behind the supermarket

where they can fend for themselves

and do a bit of breeding.

The ones that have been thump, thump,

thumping out the loudest warnings

I am going to take to the top of the cliffs

to make burrows.

I imagine them echoing out announcements

for the Northern Lights,

becoming famous

for being able to predict the arrival of that electromagnetism.

The pure white one with a serene smile

is on a lead tied to the fence post

because its eyes are different colours –

one red and one blue.

I am planning to make it

part of a fortune telling act.

The tiny ones look like they would sell well,

but I am not sure how I feel

about making ‘For Sale’ signs for bunnies. 

I imagine the tender ones skinned on trays

in a butcher’s window

with a price per pound notice

written in red ink.

Perhaps I should never have asked

how many unwanted rabbits there actually were.

And yes, I admit it, I did ask,

but please bear in mind

I didn’t ever mention I needed living proof.

These rabbits have been turning up

on my front doorstep for days now

and I am almost out of ideas.