Friday Fun: Remembering a Week of Peace

You may be bored already of my sharing endless pictures of the mountains last week on Twitter. I had such a peaceful and happy time housesitting for a friend of mine in a village close to Vevey on Lac Leman in Switzerland. It was the first proper holiday in nearly a year and a half where I didn’t have to rush around, meet lots of people, fall sick or receive any bad news. I got to read, write, sleep, walk, eat cheese and chocolate and watch the latest season of Borgen. And cuddle up with two adorable pets.

Sunrise over the Dents du Midi from the balcony.

Sunset over Lake Geneva from the other balcony.

It wasn’t always sunny – nor was it easy to take poetic pictures because there are ALWAYS building works going on. Yes, everyone wants to live in such a beautiful area and have these superb views.

Daily walks with a dog helped me to make the most of the fresh air and the views.

And here is the said dog – the wriggly, scruffy, needy and adorable Zeppy

The calm captain of the house, with the loudest purr I’ve ever heard.

In the neighbouring village, I sought out David Bowie’s old villa, aka The Cuckoo Clock House, where he lived 1976-82. His son, Duncan Jones, went to what was then called the Commonwealth International School in Pully until he was 14.

I simply cannot imagine David Bowie in a chalet type house, and apparently he hated it, but the extreme quiet (and tax relief) must have helped during a tough time in his life.

At my best I’m an artist who’s a taut and febrile cultural weather vane, super-attuned to contexts, especially those of anxiety and decay. Tax exile in Switzerland ruined that. I thought I was big enough to see over the Alps, but it turned out I wasn’t.

David Bowie about his time in Switzerland

I can’t help wondering if he was subconsciously thinking of Emily Dickinson’s poem:

Our lives are Swiss—
So still—so Cool—
Till some odd afternoon
The Alps neglect their Curtains
And we look farther on!

Italy stands the other side!
While like a guard between—
The solemn Alps—
The siren Alps
Forever intervene!

Friday Poem: Beauty

Still with an Oriental twist: Chinese traditional beauty on Pinterest.

It’s Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub and it’s been far too long since I was able to read the poems of my fellow poets located all over the world – or since I posted something myself. Looking forward to a fun weekend of reading and commenting!

 

I need someone to make me beautiful

where/when I can’t believe it on my own.

No powdered dab of make-up hand

or magic twirl of mascara wand.

I died for beauty…

 

I need a word or – better still –

a gasp

a pause

an intake of disbelieving breath

when I enter a room

or descend a stair.

Eat men like air…

I need my beauty reflected in the glow

of homecoming eyes.

 

When cameras and scales, dresses and youthful stares

conspire to strip

the dignity of remembered lines

of beauty past,

when flesh once succulent of gestures turns to rust

and spread is more than just another word for jam —

I need someone to notice

the worlds I still contain.

She walks in beauty, like the night…

 

Someone to find the marrow

of memory unsucked, unchanged – in me, in us, in life.

 

 

The Style of Emily Dickinson

Our lives are Swiss, so still, so cool –
Nothing ever happens –
‘Till Sun sets on our Afternoon,
And tree too far from apple.

‘Till frosts return to broken bones
We do not stop to wonder.
In heat of midday, flowered gaze,
We hear no Sign of Thunder.

This is my sad, sad attempt to channel Emily Dickinson and use the common meter and some of her other stylistic quirks in response to the dVerse Poets prompt tonight. The first line (the only good one here) is indeed from one of her poems, which you can read here. I think this proves that trying to imitate poets you admire is not the sincerest form of flattery but – in my case, at least – sheer insanity!