Imbolc

Thoughts on the glimpse of light in the dark, and how poetry is part of what sustains me through the long, wet Winter.

I posted this short slab of writing just now on the feeds, so thought I’d share it here, too. Writing for the attention-impoverished worlds of social media is a strange exercise, but sometimes has some good power in trying to stay focused, to put language down in short and compelling ways, even when it’s not poetry. I’m not sure, of course, that I managed here, but it sums up a little of what I’m feeling. Twenty years in Scotland left me with a relationship with Winter, Spring and Imbolc that’s very different from my experience down here in Devon, but something of the same force still goes on. Imbolc’s one of my very favourite seasonal festivals.

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Imbolc. The glimmering of light; a glimpse in the dark of something to sustain us through Winter, for all that it’s far from over. The kindling in the heart that keeps us from despair – or wanhope, as the word once was, the waned emptiness of hope.

We persist, with the candle-flame of life still burning. Winter in southwest England is nothing too arduous, on the whole, but still, we live in the mud and the gloom and the endless bloody rain. And the world… We persist; we gather strength; we wait for emergence and a fresh sword, for laughter. We reach for what sustains us through the dark of the year.

For me, poetry is an essential nutrient, and especially in Winter. When I forget to read (and listen to) poetry, my thinking goes awry and becomes too linear. Poetry reminds us in the flickering half-light not only what’s important, but how to think in ways beyond the transactional forms of modernity. Our minds grow, our souls ignite; we become suffused with another way of being.

Rest may not be possible as we labour in the mills of Capitalism and on the literal or metaphorical streets for our brothers and sisters and our children and our communities, but let’s nourish ourselves as best we can, so that when Spring comes – as it will – our souls are not too wan to find fresh ways to resist the horrors, and to celebrate the gift of life.

Hang in there.