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Poetry
I have written three collections of poems out of print at present, but hopefully a new run will be done in the near future.
The idea of writing poems in the voice of or about women of the Viking age came to me when I realised that almost all the images we have of Vikings – whether real or imagined - are of men.
"For The Other Vikings" I have produced a unique hand-made book made up of sheets joined together in concertina style. Most of the pages are printed with the poems or simple mono-prints, and the whole book is best displayed on a large surface which people can walk round. The poems are also available in a booklet.
The idea of writing poems in the voice of or about women of the Viking age came to me when I realised that almost all the images we have of Vikings – whether real or imagined - are of men.
"For The Other Vikings" I have produced a unique hand-made book made up of sheets joined together in concertina style. Most of the pages are printed with the poems or simple mono-prints, and the whole book is best displayed on a large surface which people can walk round. The poems are also available in a booklet.
The Other Vikings
This is my first poetry collection.
Rune Stone
It’s early as I step outside the longhouse. As well as
clear larksong there’s the chink of a chisel chipping stone.
In autumn, they bore my husband’s body back from Limerick
for burial. Now the rune maker is carving his first marks.
Though he’s more than a good bowshot away I can see
The man, see him hit the tool before I hear the sound.
Yesterday I watched him lightly trace the runes on the rock,
scratch straight lines, turn them into curves at the edges,
and now he’s hammering out the name of the man I loved,
whose children I bore and whom I shall join when it’s time.
I touch the bronze brooches Hauk brought me from Rus,
The beads of amber from Wollin, my inlaid bracelets.
It’s early as I step outside the longhouse. As well as
clear larksong there’s the chink of a chisel chipping stone.
In autumn, they bore my husband’s body back from Limerick
for burial. Now the rune maker is carving his first marks.
Though he’s more than a good bowshot away I can see
The man, see him hit the tool before I hear the sound.
Yesterday I watched him lightly trace the runes on the rock,
scratch straight lines, turn them into curves at the edges,
and now he’s hammering out the name of the man I loved,
whose children I bore and whom I shall join when it’s time.
I touch the bronze brooches Hauk brought me from Rus,
The beads of amber from Wollin, my inlaid bracelets.
Out of print at present, but hopefully a new run will be done in the near future.
£6.00 plus carriage
Fox Books - ISBN 978-0-9543627-3-7
£6.00 plus carriage
Fox Books - ISBN 978-0-9543627-3-7
Maps & Poems
The title of my second collection is "Maps & Poems", which comprises an exhibition of 22 maps and the 22 poems I have written in response to the maps.
The Lewis Chessmen
My third collection, "The Lewis Chessmen", is best described as a narrative poem, in that the story of the ivory and iconic chessmen is told through various characters. Ideally, it should be read aloud.
This poem is spoken by the traveller, one of the characters:
This poem is spoken by the traveller, one of the characters:
The Traveller
I sat on a rock in the rain. The waves
Spat spume, birds balanced in thin air.
A sick cow sheltered by a shieling.
Those low hills and wind-puckered ponds
Made me yearn for fjords and peaks.
It was a Godforsaken place.
I put my head in my hands.
I was drenched and distraught.
My body was shaking.
Without the chessmen I was nothing.
I asked God to give me guidance
But no help came.
No one would respect me again.
The lady I loved would reject me.
I could not go home.
I could not stay in this place.
I could not go south.
I was finished.
I sat on a rock in the rain. The waves
Spat spume, birds balanced in thin air.
A sick cow sheltered by a shieling.
Those low hills and wind-puckered ponds
Made me yearn for fjords and peaks.
It was a Godforsaken place.
I put my head in my hands.
I was drenched and distraught.
My body was shaking.
Without the chessmen I was nothing.
I asked God to give me guidance
But no help came.
No one would respect me again.
The lady I loved would reject me.
I could not go home.
I could not stay in this place.
I could not go south.
I was finished.
Out of print at present, but hopefully a new run will be done in the near future.
£6.00 plus carriage
Fox Books - ISBN 978-0-9543627-5-1
£6.00 plus carriage
Fox Books - ISBN 978-0-9543627-5-1
