Thursday 22 June 2017

The Tiger Poet Goes on Holiday

Everything's been quiet for a while, and I owe an explanation. For the last week, I've been on holiday in Italy, which is an unusual occurrence for me as I rarely go on what one might call a standard holiday anymore. Specifically, I went to Limone sul Garda, a small village on the shores of Lake Garda near Verona, and sandwiched in-between the lake and the mountains around it. So, as a way of apology for the lack of activity on this blog, here's a run-down of my experiences holidaying on the shores of Lake Garda.

Limone is quite a small town, which is understandable when you consider that it has its back literally against the wall. The hotel I stayed in had parts of the mountain behind protruding through the walls where the normal walls ended. Its two biggest exports are lemons and fish, not surprising as Limone was fairly isolated for much of its history. However, despite the obvious similarity, the town is not named after its lemons, but instead derives its name from the Latin word "limen" meaning "border". Nevertheless, the lemons are impossible to avoid when staying in Limone. All of the buildings carry a number on a lemon-emblazoned plaque, and one of the groves stood directly beneath my hotel. The tiny harbour which was also below the hotel stands as a reminder of how isolated Limone was as a small fishing village before a road was built in the 1930s.

In many ways, I was quite reminded of my home village of Frynwys. Although neither Limone nor Frynwys are completely isolated today, they both share the same common past of having gone from a state of isolation to one of contact with the wider world. However, in Frynwys's case, the most it has provided to the world was coal from the old mine which has long since closed, but Limone has provided something quite remarkable. I spotted an old newspaper article written in English in the hotel lobby, which detailed how it was discovered by accident that the residents of Limone possess super-scavenger genes which prolong their lives. Many of the residents live to ninety or beyond. There are still ongoing attempts to use this gene, known as ApoA-1 Milano, to help prolong lives across the world.

Aside from that, Limone is pretty quiet. That is why I took several trips to other towns on Lake Garda's shores, such as Riva del Garda, Malcesine, and Sirmione. Each of these towns has its own distinct character. Riva is a sporty, active place, full of modern buildings but with an emphasis on outdoor activity. Malcesine is a network of cobbled streets and small piazzas, sitting in the shadow of Monte Baldo, which I visited via cable car. On the top of the mountain the air is a lot fresher, with an altogether more alpine feel, along with several handy refreshment stops. Meanwhile Sirmione, situated on a peninsula on Lake Garda's southern end, is more Mediterranean, with several high-end shops contained within the narrow streets. It is also where Gaius Valerius Catullus, a Latin poet who lived and wrote during the days of the Roman Republic, lived in a villa along with his family, which proved a nice surprise to a visiting amateur poet such as myself.

Add to this a visit to Verona (which requires a week of exploration for itself), during which I spotted the balcony featured in Romeo and Juliet, and it made for an interesting week. Aside from relaxation and the occasional bit of excitement, I purchased a lemon-themed notepad in which I attempted to write a poem about Limone. It needs quite a bit of work, but it is still in the early drafting stages, so it will appear on the blog in due course.

In the meantime, now that my holiday is over I am getting back to work on my outstanding commitments. My analysis of Owen Sheers' poem 'Mametz Wood' will be up very soon, along with several other new features. Hope you're all enjoying the heatwave, and see you soon.

Wednesday 7 June 2017

Cryogenic Foetal Lizard

One silver tadpole,
encased, embalmed,
caught mid-fall
from an oasis
in the branches.

A lizard, curled up,
almost foetal,
scales and claws
preserved, pristine,
by cryogenic sap.

A midge, taking off
from a petrified perch,
framed, glistening,
wings rendered still,
yet in permanent flight.

A red ant, crooked legs,
frozen in its prison,
a bulging abdomen,
a honeypot,
a golden bubble.

(This poem was inspired by a documentary about amber presented by Sir David Attenborough back in 2002. Check out The Amber Time Machine if you get the chance, it's really worth a watch.)

Sunday 4 June 2017

Y Ddraig Goch (The Red Dragon)

A scream is all it takes
to introduce a legend.

A clash of winged beasts,
red against white scales.
The scream wreaks devastation
on all who hear it.

Red against white scales,
the scream brings misery
on all who hear it,
till a bold prince silences it.

The scream brings misery,
no end is in sight
till a bold prince silences it,
with the dragons underground.

No end is in sight,
but now the old feud slumbers,
with the dragons underground
till a wayward king wanders.

So the legend is born
and so it spreads,
till the heat of its flame
graces green and white banners.

(This poem was inspired by the story of Llud and Llefelys, the earliest known reference of the Welsh Dragon. It can be found in the Mabinogion.)