![]() Photo credit : Ailsa Watson For National Poetry DayI wrote this free-form poem (with minor alterations) at the start of this year. It was a contribution to the Sustaining Life as a Creative Programme, run by the wonderful Creative Learning team in Aberdeen, which I was very fortunate to take part in. The brief was to describe our creative journey. I am
I am the small pigtailed girl Perched on the window seat, with sugar paper and poster paints, brush and water pot, newspaper protecting the wooden trolley I am that girl in shorts and tee-shirt on the west coast shore searching for crabs every summer under stones, exploring rockpools before rockpooling was a thing collecting shells and pebbles, sticks and stones I am the girl playing in the corrugated iron shed behind my granny’s house wildflowers in a jam jar on the rickety table - the hedgehog visiting - imagination my best friend I’m the schoolgirl sailing on the loch with my first love I'm the teenager climbing hills with friends gazing over Scotland - hills and heather burns and boulders, big skies I am the student, drawing in my lab book, Learning the nature of science I am the scientist, fishing for facts about Trout and mackerel and herring, I am the translator, editor, creator, putter-together of research volumes, organiser of conferences and treasurer of troves I am the mum with no clue - doing, not making, (except soup and cakes and occasionally marmalade) Making do, with a head crammed full, jammed full of domesticity, a scarcity of time to call mine I am the thirty-something friend, persuaded to trade My violin for a fiddle, To play tunes with people Who would become pals To add another dimension to being I am the mandolin-playing ceilidh band member, calling out dance steps - Oh, the feeling of power! I am the teacher of students, The organiser of labs and lectures, Marker of essays, And later, Developer of screen-based things With no song to sing Or dance to bring I am the escapee, Fleeing to evening classes - Some shaky pots, a few pale paintings, Tiny steps My sketchbook brought along On family holidays For rare moments of aloneness I am the e-learning adviser, Brain addled by screens, Quitting the squeaky lino floors Before it was too late I am the pupil once more, online And for real, (because I respond well to being given homework) I am the walker, Walking with purpose - Two Moonwalks In three years. And Ben Nevis No hesitation – meditation. I am the delivery driver, Dropping off veg Noticing things. Gathering ideas I am the spinner of stories Weaver of yarns I am the open studios partaker Opening the door to my shed, Pretending it is a studio, letting people in to my life To ask me questions Which I find hard to answer – When, What, Why, How? It seems that some Wish they had my life, whatever they May think that is – living the dream – An endless stream of ideas, most of which Get washed away in the shower - Down the drain, never to be Seen again. I am the artist, maker, Creator of things Which bring joy I am the West coast Inhabitant - Still walking the tideline In search of shells and pebbles, Bleached bones of wood Filling my pockets Again and again Still looking out to sea And finding Something there
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