The Holy Tongue

I was listening to some of the soul-singing poems of Milosz, at a lecture in the British Library.

On my journey there, I had been wandering through the solitude of the crowded underground, singing various Hebrew songs from the melodic Rabbi Shlomo.

Later, during the panel discussion, I heard one of the speakers discount the possibility of the "liturgical voice" in British contemporary poetry. Seemingly it was only allowed for Poles and People Not of British origin!

And I thought - What makes this eminent (and influential) speaker so certain that no one in Britain could engage with the 'liturgical voice'? What makes him assume that transcendence is only safe abroad?

It's odd, I think and alarming - the defensive hegemony of the secular voice, that claims to be so partial to a tolerance for all voices - but leaps back in indignation at the merest hint of the truly Other, when it surfaces in its own home culture.

Milosz, I'm certain would have had plenty to say on such a subject as that.

I wrote this poem, prior to the comment, whilst sitting in the audience, musing.




Only the words of the Holy Tongue
Arise from my being with fire,
With the fire that cleanses the thorn grove,
The intimate enmities of intractable brambles.

These are the words that take thorns from the flesh
Transform them to ash in the wind.


These are the words of Divine Origin
That bear not the weight of unkempt compromises.
This Leshon Kadosh that I know so few leaves of
Leaves that might be for the healing of nations.

But drenched in the water of Baptism is this Holy Fire abashed?


Ah no, it springs up in a Kindred Element,
Takes sting from bee and poison from scorpion
It declares its allegiance with Desire.


A Holiness no word can capture, express, contain or even encounter
It calls forth the ecstasy of awe-filled emptiness
Prepares me for the plenitude of receiving.







Sarah de Nordwall October 3rd 2011

9/11 the wraith between us

I came across this picture in the New York City Library.

It pulled me towards its absolute vulnerability
dumbfounded in the stillness of its grief

I waited like the seated man
till understanding might fill up the missing matter
of our spirits' thinness unto immobility

I saw the artist came from Pakistan
Her theme was one of reconstruction, so the words beside it said.


She was a US citizen
and we stood beside the dead.

and consubstantial with a memory
no thought can erase
this wraith between us
stops and searches
every easy phrase.







Sarah de Nordwall 11th September 2011
10th anniversary of the attack on the Twin Towers in NYC

The artist of the picture is Pakistani born Huma Bhabha, who made this image in response to her experience of unfinished foundations of buildings in her native Karachi.

of drunken animals and commercial opportunities

Googling round the internet, looking for information on the Iranian film 'The Apple', for a film season I was planning, I came across that delightful news story from yesterday's CNN that you may have seen in the Metro:

"Drunken moose finds itself stuck up a Swedish apple tree", and though I know it's the season for funny drunken-on-fermented-fruit animal stories, this really is the funniest I've read. Not the least because of the footnote about Johansson's enterprising 11 yr old son:

'Johansson's son, Gustav, who is about to turn 11, made sure to take lots of pictures of the ordeal.

"He is saving up to buy a PlayStation so he thought he would take pictures that he could sell," Johansson said.

CNN purchased three of Gustav's pictures.

Which goes to show that there's nothing wasted in this world, if you've an eye for an opportunity, even if it takes the form of a drunken moose up your tree.

Well done, son of Johansson; enjoy your playstation, thank the Moose and carry on 'creating a way'.

When dawn came the day after it was freed from the tree, the moose had not yet left.

"When I went out for the newspaper, it was still laying there on the ground, sleeping. By the time I left for work, it was walking around the neighbor's yard on very shaky legs." Johansson said.

"Today the moose came back and walked around the yard," he added. "I think it likes it here."

That moose keeps amusing me, trotting round its new home in Sweden, as I tootle around doing my filing in Finchley. The power of the tale lives on, and enhances the everyday things.

And I guess that's one reason why people like a bard in the house. It can make a special occasion even more memorable and turn an ordinary day into a surprising one.

It sometimes surprises me, actually, when I perform in different venues and businesses, how universally applicable a poem or a tale can be.

There was Time Management International, who gave a standing ovation, the National Occupational Therapy Managers Conference, who had wondered what Change Mangement had to do with poetry till they realised that poetry is about dealing with life and there was a meeting at the House of Lords, after which Lord Brennan kindly invited me to dinner in The House and the UN rapporteur incorporated one of my points into a her final UN report. At least I like to think so!

So I'm encouraging ambitious businesses and educational initiatives to get excited and book a bardic presence for their conference, party or classroom within the coming autumnal weeks, especially since National Poetry Day draws nigh on October 6th.

The value of a good tale lives on in the hearts of the hearers, as the Swedish moose lives on in Finchley North.

When Tom Giannini architects held an Open House Party with bard and flamenco guitarist, to share the quirky and memorable nature of their design solutions, they were thrilled with the way the thank-you letters and the business opportunities came in after the party and all of them mentioned the Bard.

So don't miss an opportunity
In or out of a tree
to enjoy yourself and be memorable
for all the right reasons!

Prices start for as little as £300

Call 07849 641 899
and make the bard make the difference
to your inspiring goals.