"Holy Quietness"

:Walking with Rilke...

1/5/26

an example, of the journal pieces I compose (and try to post) each day...

a hike day - my slow-morning thoughts - the hike - 11 miles - Ashton-Under-Lyne - a circuitous route to Hartshead Pike, via Stamford Park, and Knott Hill Reservoir - Grotten - Lydgate, where I walk a circular - Mossley - and my lonely return...  

strange dreams
but thankfully
not as dark 

“a journey
into the mouth of a scream”

a drummer
was there a drummer in my dream

Luke was there
and his mother
but I didn’t know her 
and the sea
the sea

digging Angine de Poitrine
I must look into them more

“empires of extraction
and empires of incorporation”

the rich grow richer 
and we’re more divided than ever 
- are we more divided than ever?

the world troubles me
anti-Jewish hatred
anti-Islamic hatred
anti-Christian hatred
hatred 
Israel
Russia
and the USA
and their problematic 
at times rancid 
foreign 
and domestic policies 
the rise of the Far Right 
in the UK
the UK government stripping people’s rights 
police brutality 
and conflicts that aren’t talked of as much in my realm 
- the civil war in Sudan 
- the Sahel insurgency
- conflict 
and violence 
in Ethiopia 
and the (not so) DRC
- Myanmar 
- Haiti
the racism 
and bigotry 
in the UK
the vitriol 
fired from left
to right
and right 
to left
- little thought for nuance
or understanding

the empath
burns on his sofa

long grass
in the wind

they followed the Nazis
and then the ‘Communists’ 
because they had to?

Bacon’s ‘Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion’ 
1944
- what a piece 
- one of my favourites
- I did a presentation on it at uni
and got a great mark

“a girl in the fashion department 
is giving away western pencils”

another Elizabeth 
another beauty
- are people okay with the fact that she reminds him of his aunty

the romance 
of being an artist
for me 

how right it felt 
to be called 
to be a Poet 

imagine being that confident with women

“ich liebe dich”

I know the dark man
from his dark shadow 

a Nazi
and now a ‘Communist’

sheets 
in the sun 

her green eyes

what a rancid man

what a bleak
but excellent film 

the houses 
and peace 
of Currier Lane
a different world
moments away

my pulse 
vibrates my vision 
warm
sweat-soaked 
in the trees
I think of Rilke
of Daive 
of Celan
of Falley
of Gibson

a rat follows my path 
and brings me dark thoughts 

21 degrees
‘tis a warm hiking scene 

white flowers 
green leaves 

those field-facing houses 
of Ridge Hill 

Manchester’s teeth
in the distance 

Wu-Tang lyrics roll like hymns usually do
at inappropriate times 
in my head 

one of those big-windowed houses 
on the NE countryside edge 
of Hurst Nook
for poetry 
and quiet 

an attractive 
tanned
older woman 
with silver hair 
walks her dying dog

I 
am living 

a miserable girl with freckles

I read Rilke 
and I’m inspired 

“holy quiteness”

a bay
for my bae
and a grey 
for mae 

those boom houses
at Lane Head Farm

Lane Head Farm itself

- who the fuck votes Lib Dem

and that house on the hill 

I’d have bright yellow framed windows
to Poet out of 
to match my bright yellow door

in Grotten
a lovely conservatory wasted
a lovely garden
and the only chair 
facing the TV
- that house on Howth 
with the huge expanse of windows facing the Irish Sea 
and all the chairs 
facing the devil's box

there’re some banging homes in Grotten
I think this every time 

that sorry-looking-bungalow
facing the trees
for me 
please 

apparently Grotten is Lib Dems-ville

a middle-class woman’s lovely nose
in a Discovery

a pretty bohemian face
in a Fiesta

I sit on the bench
on Coverhill Road
Under Lane
and write
soon I’ll drink 
and read Rilke

those four windows in Lydgate

 “The relation between the poet and his space is everything 
in fact
the poet writes
he is a straw in the black fever of the room he occupies”

clouds 
blue 
and stone 
new graves
few atone 

some boom houses 
in Grasscroft

big door 
big window 
they know the score 
- space for a poet?

I forgot all about 
this fuck-off-beast of a hill
- well
‘tis good for me 

an excellent bay window 
- huge 
all the better to Poet with 

summer-dress-split thighs
tanned
in a Fiat

sheep with bad vibes 

lambs are cute 
but sheep…
I walk 
rock in hand 
with the fear

they look at me 
like they know what my kind do to them 
- the flesh eaters

I think I’ve just seen two dead lambs
- unsettling 
so cute 
life-less

I wave at the cute inquisitive ones

Burnedge Bent bungalow is boom 

those huge Lydgate windows 
- Poet-sized

Roughtown Road 
blud

New Earth Street
man

“the Madonna
soft
sorrowful
in a black-and-white gown
holds her melancholy dominion”

one receives an interesting array of looks 
- some positive, and welcoming 
- some less so
- but none hostile 
when one looks like me 
and one sits on the door steps
of an empty shop
in a small town
at twilight 
just Be-ing

the Princess looks better with a dusty face 

Princess dreams
or Princess nightmares 

I think of the craft girl
her sweet voice 
and her wondrous shape

Quotes:
- Alastair Sooke
- An unknown woman in a clip 
- Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck
- Rilke
- Daive 
- Rilke