Tall stones
Short stones
Flat stones
Wonky stones
Old stones
New stones
Pict stones
Standing stones
Mossy stones*
Flakey stones
Funny stones
John Lennon’s stone**
Dewar stones
Stewart stones
Kilgour stones
Skull & crossed bones
*No rolling stones!
**Not the John Lennon…
Spent the day today exploring areas connected to my wife’s family history in and around Blairgowrie. This inevitably means graveyards. Lots of them.
(14.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Relationships
Poem 250 – For You
Thor’s hammer returns
No matter how far it’s thrown
like him I’m waiting
I’ve been watching Marvel’s Thor: Love & Thunder with my son whilst my wife is away.
(03.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Poem 240 – A New Day
The subtle scent of freshly woken grass
and crispness of the sky arrest me as
the door is opened on the dawning day.
Sparrows, already up, are catching the
proverbial early worm and the morning’s gossip;
the air is thickened with excited chatter.
Jostling students join them, calling out
greetings to newcomers in their growing flock.
I remember being in their number.
But now is not for melancholy thoughts or
nostalgic longing for carefree childhood days.
I wave goodbye to my departing wife
and note the soft cool air that curls around
my naked ankles; I’m still in my pajamas,
time to wash the night away and dress.
Cat Stevens comes to mind and Etch-a-Sketch
where with one swipe the old is wiped away
and the new is ushered in.
The smell of dew dampened grass greeted me as my wife left for work this morning, bringing with it the fading refrain of Morning Has Broken sung at a recent funeral.
(18.04.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Sergio Otoya on Unsplash
Poem 238 – This Sea of Voices
Their conductor enters, knowingly grins,
then turns and lifts his hands. They rise
a swelling wave, bass to soprano.
This tide is made of many voices
eddies, waves and tributaries
that make a single sonic surge.
Seal-like, a young woman sits
beached upon a chair, her smile
bubbles forth contagiously;
laboured on the land, she finds
her freedom once submerged.
A moustache adorning tenor of
germanic tendencies (surely one
of Einstein’s heirs!) leans on a stick
supported by an office worker
(grey, bespectacled), who as the waters
break across the stage becomes
reborn, his face quickened, alive.
Straight gentleman (stiff upper lip,
bow-tied and greying, manicured beard),
sings by an unexpected companion;
a retired rocker reliving Lennon
(round specs, white hair and rhythmic pose).
You sense he isn’t really here
but there, a 60’s Peter Pan
lost in the coastal pools of youth.
A frail bewildered ghost, unsure,
is led, then settles in the song,
her anchor amidst the fog of age.
Another woman stands serene,
a silver moon reflected in the
ripples, singing a sirens song.
Unified, this sea of voices
crashes upon our sands as one
then dissipates to our shingle’s applause
left ringing in response.
Today’s poem was inspired by a show I recently attended featuring a variety of choirs. I was struck by how the disparate collection of characters they were formed from could make such a rousing, living sound.
(06.04.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Jelena Koncar on Unsplash
Poem 237 – i am
my neurons’ pulsing electro beat
the rhythm of hormonal flow
my parents genes and nurture’s feat
the past drags me along in tow
i’m born my culture’s bastard child
a pinch of this, a dash of that
in tension with each other held
the product of a life compact
my jobs, my pets and what i ate
the microbes that within me grow
my prejudices obstinate
the lingering trace of where i go
i find within a tug of war
between these different identities
to separate them is to tear
it’s never i, it’s always we
it takes the world to raise a child
and this child is never truly free
from each and every one compiled
but no regrets, they made me me
For all sorts of reasons, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about identity, the sense of being distinct but influenced by so many factors. Sheldrake’s ‘Entangled Life’ raises the question of whether or not we are more network than individual. Provocative.
(21.03.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Alina Grubnyak on Unsplash
Poem 233 – Island Life
We sit in studied
isolation,
our eyes averted.
The burnt, warm air
smashes against us.
An oscillating thrum
assaults our
auditory cliffs.
No man an island?
Upon the Tube
we’re an archipelago!
On Monday I talked about John Donne’s famous ‘no man is an island’ quote in a school assembly on Genesis 1 and the interconnectedness of life. This resonated with the Abdul Salam talk I attended at Imperial that evening and his love of the underlying symmetry in physics. Travelling on the Tube, however, seemed to clash with this concept…
(31.01.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Original photo Photo by Austin Neill on Unsplash
Poem 219 – Sleep
The light switch flicked and only we prevail
And as we sleep as one, one breath we breathe
I don’t recall when I forgot to marvel
Before, we talked and read, then after, we leave
And as we sleep as one, one breath we breathe
Miraculous contained within mundane
Before, we talked and read, then after, we leave
The ordinary matters and, shared, sustains
Miraculous contained within mundane
Two pillows bound together by one sheet
The ordinary matters and, shared, sustains
Your daily life around my form completes
Two pillows bound together by one sheet
I don’t recall when I forgot to marvel
Your daily life around my form completes
The light switch flicked and only we prevail
This poem takes the form of a pantoum, a Malaysian form with eight lines repeated in a strict order, and is inspired by Pádraig Ó Tuama’s post on the ordinary. After almost 30 years of marriage, the simple act of sharing everyday life and daily routines, such as sleep, is simultaneously both ordinary and surprising.
(30.11.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Photo by Krista Mangulsone on Unsplash
Poem 218 – I’m A Winging It Man
I’m a
winging it man, no pressure, a just in time fella,
you must just trust your guts, no sweat, don’t fret.
We’ll get there in the end if I don’t send
you round the bend before we wend our way
towards our final destination.
I need
a deadline to demand my desperate
attention, to draw together inspiration.
There’s nothing like a red line in the diary
to generate that sense of do or die and
finally draw together focus.
However,
I must remember others work differently than I do
planning out the when and where and why to,
pinpointing places, stages, steps and times.
Maybe, perhaps I ought to be more pliant,
and for our sake give it a try too.
As we head into Advent, in my line of life it begins to get rather busy with deadlines hunting in packs. Sometimes I wish I was one of those more organised types, but I fear I tend towards working on one thing at a time and a lot of flying by the seat of my pants. Whilst I find this last minute chaos generally works for me, I’m aware that those who are of a more thinking ahead of time nature can find it difficult if not infuriating! Right now, I’m living on adrenaline.
This one’s an experiment in over the top, repeated an obvious rhyming. To be spoken aloud and fast.
(25.11.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Original photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash
Poem 217 – Prayer
A conversation
not a trade in facts.
A getting to know
and becoming known.
A comfortable pause or
provocative silence.
A chance to let rip
and tell it how it is,
at least,
how you think it is.
A generous gift
not obligation.
A time for distraction,
to recall all
those other things
you need to do
and some you really don’t.
Frustrating.
When I talk to Dad
it’s sometimes serious,
often not.
We tell our news and
tread the regular ground.
A joke is shared
I may have heard before.
It doesn’t matter.
I always finish
thinking I
must do
this more.
I was challenged to write a poem on prayer by a good friend. Difficult. Prayer is hard to pin down, besides I suspect this person prays more than I do. Recent conversations gave a way in.
(21.11.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Poem 208 – Including Judas
My table stretches,
extends so all
can gather round
to eat.
Pictures of the Last Supper always feature a large table – it would have to be to accomodate the twelves disciples as well as Jesus! It always fascinates me that Jesus welcomed them all to share such an intimate and pivotal meal, especially Judas, who he knew was about to betray him. What is this? Foolishness? Naivety? Or simply an act of inclusive grace?
(See also the end of this post by by Nadia Bolz-Weber)
(02.10.23)
© Ben Quant 2023
Image by Leonardo da Vinci – High resolution scan by http://www.haltadefinizione.com/ in collaboration with the Italian ministry of culture. Scan details, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3032252