Holding the Candle Aloft

Total raised For Medicins Sans Frontieres, On Becoming Older, Poetry, Writing Prompts, and Reading

During the Vietnam War a man stood outside the White House every night holding a candle in solitary protest. One night a reporter approached him and asked, ‘Sir do you really think you’re going to change the policies of this country by standing out here alone every night with a candle?’

The man replied, ‘Oh, I don’t do this to change the country. I do this so the country won’t change me.’

In coming together and donating to the work of Medicins Sans Frontieres, I like to think we are collectively holding up a candle. We are opting to care, rejecting violence and standing by our principles and beliefs. Thanks to you, I’ve just made a further donation of £64.61, which added to the previous £175.38, means our total now stands at £239.99 Thank you to my new paid subscribers who keep coming. You have no idea how delighted I am to receive a notification in my Inbox. Our numbers may be small, but showing up, however we do it, however few or many, is a form of resistance in these scary times. Click here if you want to know more or can spare $5 a month.

Does anyone ever feel grown-up? I suspect the answer is, no. Our bodies tell us we are older but our minds so often disagree. Last week, I had numerous conversations, about ageing, one with an old friend-old here meaning we have known each other some for some time-in the Magic Hat Café in Newcastle. If you find yourself in the city, near the Laing Gallery, it’s a great place to meet. If I lived in Newcastle I would definitely write here. It has a very relaxed and welcoming vibe.

While bemoaning the weather, we ate the breakfast granola with yoghurt and fruit which was really good, and agreed that this very cold spell had found its way deep into our bones. Our bodies were feeling their age. But of course in our heads it was another matter entirely.

Growing older appears to have been on the mind of writers I follow too. Maria Popova was among them, with a post titled Grace Paley on the Art of Growing Older. This week in her Substack, ‘Startling’, the poet Linda France, writes beautifully, as always, about how she wants to grow old like a mountain… Someone who is there in all weathers, who touches the earth and stands tall to the sky. Someone who has lived and it shows. I like this metaphor very much. But I also want to grow old like Loudon Wainwright III, so that even when I’m shuffling onto the stage, I can tear it up with my song. Here is the small, poem I wrote, Song for Now, ( mentioned in my last post about visiting Oxford) on hearing and seeing him on stage. I’ve struggled to find the form and it may well change, but here it is in its first public draft.

I imagine it read lustily, mirroring the passion with which he sang, and with that drawl that comes from the American South.

Song for Now

Loudon Wainwright the third, seventy-eight

stopped with age shuffles out onto the stage

like the granddaddy of song, salted hair beard

rimed, old man in his old man's prime white

bird of the storm

crack my heart open with your song.

A song for now, for skin in the fight,

for the man who couldn’t cry, a dead skunk lullaby

it's dark alright, not a glimmer of light -

so you sing

but it’s not the end of the world, good people

it is not the end of the fight -

in the anthem of hope, on the borders of right

-it’s just the middle of the night

I’m sure you can see why I called it, Song for Now. Life feels like a lot just now with everything that’s going on. A complete embargo on news seems like the only way to avoid distress. I confess, this week I found myself shouting at the radio. Living creatively is my antidote to all of this, at least one of them, so I’m busy still editing Handmade.

But it isn’t always easy among the noise. If you’re struggling to write and looking for inspiration, don’t forget my Five A Day Practice, described here, which can be done anytime, anywhere.

Also, here are some first line prompts which you may think worth trying

From the back of the truck…

If there’s one thing I know for sure…

When I stepped outside the world smelled of…

I thought it would be like every other summer/winter/spring/autumn…

At dusk, they began to stir…

I fell in love with stone - or - I fell in love with ink - (substitute whatever you fell in love with)…

Upstream the river narrowed and the banks were hemmed with…

We travelled across snow…

Here are some titles

How to be Happy in Thirty Days

13 Ways of looking at a field ( substitute any subject )

When the Owl Hunts by Day…

A Story Told in Shoes

Boxes

~

Reading is of course another way to cut out the noise, and this week I was reminded by a friend and subscriber here, of a book I’d read recently but haven’t mentioned before: The Safe Keep, by Yale Van der Wouden, reviewed variously as: a remarkable debut, shortlisted for the 2024 Booker, An erotic story of love and obsession in 1960s Amsterdam, An exhilarating tale of twisted desire, histories and homes – and the legacy of one of the 20th century's greatest tragedies. My friend’s message said: Wow! beautifully written, poignant novel. I agree and highly recommend.

Finally returning to growing old, here is the great Pablo Casals at the age of ninety three, before he died, describing the way in which he begins each day: For the past eighty years I have started each day in the same manner. It is not a mechanical routine but something essential to my daily life. I go to the piano and I play two fugues of Bach…It is a sort of benediction on the house. But that is not its only meaning for me. It is a rediscovery of the world of which I have the joy of being a part…

Here is Casals on work and the creative life of the musician: Age is a relative matter. If you continue to work and to absorb the beauty of the world around you, you find that age does not necessarily mean getting old

Work prevents one from getting old. I for one cannot dream of retiring… The man who works and is never bored is never old… Each day I am reborn.

As always thanks for reading and for your support

Avril x