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.

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.)

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.)

New Osmosis

Photosynthesis
has never been
so toxic.

The tree is cloaked
with rusted steel.
Oil trickles
from wounds
in the metal,
congealing,
clotting.

The leaves reek
of petrol fumes,
the withered branches
droop from the heat
of leaded starch,

piston-roots thrumming,
powering the engine
beneath the trunk,
pumping up oil
which soaked in
when it fell from
soot-infested clouds.

Memoirs of a Galápagos Tortoise

I am the remnant.

The last time I saw
the seafaring apes of old,
they were lugging
my cousins in crates
onto their oak vessels
to become living larders,
till there was just me
and no others.

The goats, the goats,
of all the creatures
to pilfer my own larder.
Servants of the seafarers,
they pillaged the green,
everything above shell height.

So I wallow in my pool
on the isle of Santa Cruz,
the last of the Pinta Island tortoises,
but not entirely alone.
They gave me two companions
with dome-shaped shells
instead of a saddle like mine.

Every egg they've collected
was a hollow curiosity.
I hid from them for decades,
now here I rest, diminishing
into a monument to something.

I'm just content
to drift into sleep.

(This poem was inspired by the story of Lonesome George, the last of the Pinta Island subspecies of the Galápagos giant tortoises. Stay tuned for more poetry coming soon.)

Frynwys Features #2: Labradors and Lamborghinis

I feel I've said it enough times on this blog to make it redundant, but Frynwys, as a centre of activity, is often as silent as a church. Still, as I demonstrated in the first installment of this recurring feature, things do happen in the village from time to time, and since my last bulletin a few more interesting things have occurred. Mind you, when I say a few, I mean it in the literal sense because it was hard to find enough to fill this segment.

So what's the most striking thing that's happened in Frynwys of late? Well, I suppose there's been an improvement of sorts to the infrastructure, though not in the way you might think. It seems that local volunteers working with the wildlife wardens have dug up a new gravel path on the field near the pond. The path is usually been in mud which takes ages to dry once it gets soaked by a rainstorm. Now with the new gravel in, traversing it is a bit easier. I've noticed in recent weeks that local schools are sending kids down there with their teachers, armed with spades, shovels and the like; presumably to help the wardens with maintaining it. It is quite strange to see entire classes of school kids trapesing through the fields, but at least the community is getting involved with something in the village.

In other news, there's been a rare car sighted on the village hall road; rare in the sense that the car in question is of the expensive kind you don't see in Frynwys at all. As I was walking past the road leading to the village hall and the shop, I caught sight of an orange Lamborghini turn to the right and roar off with a loud blast of the exhaust. I'm guessing it was a Gallardo judging by the shape of the taillights. I know for a fact that no one in Frynwys owns a supercar; the closest is probably the old Lotus on Taliesin Close. Whoever owned the Lamborghini probably came from one of the outlying towns, maybe Pontypool or Caerleon, and stopped by the shop to pick up some milk. I am of course speculating; any self-respecting Lamborghini owner probably has a fridge stacked with milk. Still, it was quite nice to see a car painted in orange for a change.

Speaking of bright orange, we move up one space in the colour spectrum to red, as the local Labour councillor campaigned in the village ahead of the council elections. They arrived on my street with a couple of campaigners to try and spread their message, but when they arrived at my house my mother answered the door. She has been less than impressed with the local council's record, especially on education, and she let the councillor know it. The councillor responded with the same question-dodging tactics most (if not all) politicians use, pointing out that improvements had taken place without providing concrete examples. Needless to say, my mother was less than impressed, and I think you can guess who she didn't vote for at the election.

For the final bit of news, I've also noticed an increase in the number of dogs in the area (pets, not wild ones, obviously). Like many villages and towns in South Wales, Frynwys already has a lot of dog owners amongst its population, but it seems that more people than ever now own a dog judging by the number of them I've seen walking around. The most notable additions have been Labradors and spaniels of varying shades, but there are several other breeds, most often terriers. Due to the fact that Frynwys is quite rural, it's a great environment for dogs, as they have plenty of fields and small wooded areas to run around in, although the recent outbreak of Alabama rot is a real cause for concern. Although rare, there have been an increasing number of cases across the UK, and the most recent case in Wales happened in Magor, Monmouthshire. The cause is as yet unknown, but hopefully vets can find a way to treat it soon and bring a halt to the casualties this terrible disease has already inflicted.

That's it for this installment of Frynwys Features. As I speak the village has returned to being its usual quiet self, but if anything out of the ordinary happens I will cover it in a future installment. Keep an eye out for incoming poems in the next few days. Hope you're all doing well and I'll see you again.

New Poetry Video Live and Other Updates

Hi guys.

Just wanted to let you know that a video version of 'Sonnet from Stratford', a poem I wrote for NaPoWriMo, has just gone live. Click on the link here to watch it. I hope you enjoy it.

In other news, I have almost completed the next installment of Frynwys Features, which is a fairly tricky task due to the slow nature of news in the village. Still, despite the rather dull pace of life here, there are still stories to be found and you'll be finding out what those are in due course.

I can also confirm that more poetry is in the works, along with an analysis of Owen Sheers' 'Mametz Wood', in preparation for my own poem about the battle. I'm hoping to do more features about individual poets on this blog so be sure to stick around for that.

Those are all the updates I can think of for now, but if there are any more I'll be sure to let you know.

Anyways, enjoy the new video and I'll see you all soon.