Piano I Ching

Piano I Ching

There is a glorious smell of piano in my study

Throwing me down the path of basement lessons with cute 'klaver' teacher as an impressionable teen. 

No nodes could be taught,

I was dumb as soup. Which is why first two teachers gave up on me.

I could hear though. 

Mozart and Beethoven, a salad of Straßes and a side bar of Beatles. 

Bitter sweet memories form as I sit here looking at the remainder of a 100 year old piano split to kindling. 

The I Ching of change right here on my table. Our piano always sang change. Stuffed into the 70ies home bar area in the white house dad bought when we were too broke to stay in the one before. And the one before that. Still, he wanted his daughter to play an instrument. We had tried the accordion.

It weighed more than me and had it after I drew blood on its clasp falling over it 

That. And the fact that I have no left right coordination. Was a leftie, turned right in first grade. A thinly disguised attempt to 'normalify' the last of the Mortensen kids. Having failed to succeed with the other three, all stops were pulled. They failed. Instead I could both write with and not write prettily with both hands. And if I had ever had any, the ability to know what was left or right, how to coordinate the two with hands feet and eyes, went. My exceptional father saw the clumsiness as a sign I was his ... Flat footed fella he was. Walked like a goose. Although, feeling loved by your dad is great, goose walking ambidextrous five year olds do not fare well in rural seventies school yards.

My foot to shin aim was perfected soon enough. Unfortunately, this would not help me 10 years later cloppering the pedals on the sad bar piano that had replaced the atrocious accordion. Black gentleman he was, still smelled of smoke and bodega. In times of strife dad could always find a bargain. Wolfgang I called him. Ivory fingers, at least a handful of the slices of dead elephant missing. The old man was injured. Mum had him tuned once. That would do it tight dad said. 'It is not about being in tune, it's about knowing the dance.' Explained a lot. Half the family couldn't carry a tune if it were a feather the other had perfect pitch. And then there was me.

#sussithepoet

Dancer

 

Dancer

It was the way she danced. 

Her touch on the floor so fleeting it seemed inconsequential. 

She had asked me to come. 

She needed a dancing partner, she said. 

Admiring her now, I know that was not true. 

This girl needs nothing when she dances. 

Not music not gravity, definitely not me. 

Inconsequential me. 

All at Once

 All at once

Those clouds gather 

to please me, I am sure

Tease shapes in pure pink allure

pregnant bellies ready to burst

frosty flakes in the billions

All at once I am four again

Sat in window waiting. 

Vision fading as snow was invading

every crevice of my little mind

potent anticipation brewing

innocently queuing behind ice on 

thermal glazing

Waiting

for the first cover to settle. 

The blank sheet to paint on

With my sticky arms and 

pipe cleaner legs

Angels

Silent angels

Before anyone else was awake 

The sea of white was mine to sail

New coasts to conquer

dunes to wander 

Alone

With every flake

Unique to me and itself

Pink clouds against dark morning skies 

The call so faint only I could hear

clear crystal summoning of 

small people

still believing in miracles

 

Belly full of awe so raw

just one sound remains

The gestational wait in 

Silence

The most beautiful sound of all

is the call of the soon to be born

falling snow

I am old now

Bones wary of the walks I have walked

the talks I have talked 

Thoughts I have thought

But all at once 

I am four again

Listening for the snow in the

expectant growth of the pink clouds

against the night blue sky

Silent snow

bridging time

with the ease of truth descending

not ending here but mending the cracks

that I have made

and those that were given me

In the silvery pink diamond mornings

All is good

All at once

#sussithepoet

Glædelig jul :)

 

Seashaken Light, poetry

by Sussi Louise Smith, 1 November 2020,

Ilkley artist and writer Sussi Louise Smith, debuts with the poetry collection Seashaken Light on Sunday, 1 November 2020. Originally from Denmark, Sussi moved to the Yorkshire Dales in 2015 and is well known locally for her colourful art, stories and not least the book stones she designs for the Grove Bookshop. This is her first collection published in English. Seashaken Light is a story told from many angles. With Scandinavian candour, moonlight and the raw voice of a life that has seen too much cancer but remains ever inspired by the roar of the sea, even now she lives inland, we are taken on a journey to the edge of the salty Danish coasts and travel below and above the surface of the ‘I am fine’ mentality. Seashaken Light is a passionate ode to hope and an authentic voice that cuts through the anxiety of dealing with loss, life and grasps light by its whiskers and pulls it in.

 

Three poems from the collection have been put to hauntingly beautiful music by local musician Emma Hughes, Bingley, and can be found on YouTube under #seashakenlight

 

Amber trigger warning for those who have lost dear ones.

And for vegans, bacon will be mentioned (Sussi is Danish after all)     

Seashaken Light is published by Cathy Harper Publishing 

The Grove Bookshop, Ilkley will host a book launch via ZOOM on Wednesday 4 November at 7 pm. The event is free. Please sign up via the website or call the shop. For those who feel they can a voluntary contribution to Cancer Research is Sussi’s preferred charity for the event.

Sussi will be signing her book in The Grove Bookshop on Sunday 1 November between 11 - 11.30 

 

 

Your colours

Your colours made me cry
They broke my heart in that special way
The best way
No scarring
All healing
I heard the rumbling from the sea
The symphony of little clicks
that every grain of sand makes when it shifts
I felt the shift,
shift something in me

The colour of your roof
is a deep hum
The kind you hear sitting, 

back against an ancient tree
The kind of blue that if you look at it too long
you drift away to far far places
Other worlds of otherworlds
You may not want to fly back

Hold on to the golden reeds
Hold on to the clear sound of the hidden reds
Roots in a deep B minor here
Reaching up as well as down
Reaching in
Into my broken heart to heal me

Your colours broke my heart
Thank you
#sussithepoet
#artbysussilouise #Anti-Parable