Faulted Outlier

[Scrow]

Thanks Dunc,

I'm hugely relieved you enjoyed reading them. I am trying hard to get to the plot, but the problem is that I don't know what it is yet. I do, however, now have a backstory for the geologist!

(the rice or rain is me typing on the keyboard! It's quite a noisy keyboard. Thankfully no barbed wire - a very small, but very full garden. I did get hampered by the furry Peppermint (the cat) at the end, as he wanted to know what on earth was going on and join in)

thanks again,

Sarah
(We're nearly half-way there now, aren't we. I'd better dream up a plot pretty quick. Any and all suggestions welcome)

[Scrow]

The hall-mark of so-called ‘vulgar people’ is unrestricted display of uncontrolled emotion

The geologist had all the advantages
a conventional childhood, although he suffered
from a great desire to line up stones
in boxes, escape over the fields close by
to chip out creatures hiding in the limestone.

At school, he shivered in the middle of the pack of ‘hounds’,
panted for breath in the shove and push and mud.
In fear of dropping back, his mind held fast
in curls of ammonites, recited
safe catalogues of rock.

Later, at Brasenose, he cloistered in the cool dark
of spheres and atlases in wood lined rooms.
He nearly chose the clergy but loved the hills
too much, and when he could, he walked alone -
or squeezed into caves with candles on his hat,
crawled one-way on his belly in the dark
under earth. That’s when he met the girl, on his
way out of a cave, returned to dusk,
when bats blur the hedgerows black. He was muddy,
with bloodied knees. She stood on the low road,
despite the brambles. Rare and strange like
an unknown name in a collection.

[larryrap]

That erogenous crossover between flesh and stone is perfect, and I think it's going marvelous.
I love "Rare and strange like/an unknown name in a collection."

[Scrow]

Thank-you very, very much larryrap. That bolstered me enormously last night.

I’m posting early tonight so I get time to read and fluff later.

Sarah

[Scrow]

There’s a third book, a different archetype
that waits to be discovered in the borderlands.
Full of varied and peculiar plants, cover furred
with moss, its aerial thread and minute buds
reach from the page to draw a reader in to worlds
where spider’s veins are skeined and measured out
by leagues and fathoms. Where unfamiliar
stories spin in a lull and drift of words
which unfurl only on the edge of hearing.
Remote, like the echoes of birds calling
in caves under imagined cliffs.
In this tale, the geologist’s wife curls
her hair up like a fern, turns ammonite, dives
backwards through space, and slowly
seizes to stone before she can swim,
transparent, in a shallow sea -
until the hand of the geologist
reaches through a hollow oak to breathe
her back home.

[Scrow]

There’s yet another version
of the pamphlet, this time
found as a stack of browned paper reciepts
written in a cramped hand, hidden
in a hollow wall with a witch-doll and a ferule.
They document a feast of misrule,
where old sacred women grow leaves
in unruly places of the museum
and whisper to each other, never
write anything down. They are served
by a train of careful geologists.
Sir Roderick Murchinson, followed by
the whole grave list of surveyors of the borderland;
Sedgwick, Lapworth, Aitken, Lewis,
Prestwich, Phillips, Salter, Aveline, Lightbody
Allport, Bonney, Maw, Morton, Callaway and Blake.
They draw well-water, wash
the cottage-wifes soiled petticoats,
pick pot-herbs ready to boil for supper,
slop out and feed the pigs.
Symonds, with his charming
and interesting manner wins
favours. The women laugh and hide
their children. J.D. La Touche, that ‘useful guide’
is allowed to attend art class, despite
not having quite the right parents.
No fossils are allowed, only dragons.

[Dunc]

Sarah

vulgar people and the young geologist who nearly choses the clergy but his nature prevails, and then he's muddy, and then there's this girl something's going to weave all this together.

Twisterd, thread-like stalks and the delicate dream-tracery from which a strong hand rescues her; but it's a tale. Soft narrations of landscapes, your feel of countryside, in action,

Early workers (ln 3 sp.) and your fine list of surveyors by name, while another class of folk feed the swine. Is Mr La Touche in the art class you associate with? You place your details around with a sure hand, conjuring time, place and class.

No, I don't know what happens next.

Most enjoyable.

Regards / Dunc

[GreaterMandalaofUselessness]

Hi Sarah,

The close of Geological Survey publications has me wondering which enemy. The mention of England and Scotland in "cautious unity", also 'borderlands' and the book being about Wales, makes me think maybe the Welsh destroyed it. But my first thought was of the geologist's wife (doubly a suspect by virtue of being Welsh) destroying the book, having become the enemy of geologist in their dysfunctional marriage. The plot thickens.

Superficial deposits At first it seems like these two sharing are sharing some loved up time together, though maybe that's a love of the landscape (and for different reasons for each) rather than each other. The wife is enjoying the landscape, and in a tactile way, rather than the geologist; the geologist does see her, but more abstractly perhaps, and on his own terms -- her hair as contour lines. Though the close is ambiguous as to who makes this observation: the geologist or the N.

Crawling ... -- I'm not sure if this is part of the series -- the italicised sections don't sound like they come from a geology textbook -- but if so, I'm imagining the geologist's wife as the speaker. Lovely sensual imagery: "branches feel like fur or wings -/ rosemary a leafy underskirt", "furry drooping ears of quince". Though maybe this response to your own NaPo challenge for the month? Lovely poem either way.

Dealing with ... Here's the geologist not quite understanding his wife, her "charming and interesting manner", her local, country knowledge. Lovely language thoughout, especially the close: "a husband lost / to Ordovician rocks, their cold unyielding song"

The hallmark of vulgar people "Rare and strange like / an unknown name in a collection" is wonderful. The title suggests how he'll go forward with that though, not showing his emotions, uncomfortable with hers -- it also suggests that geology is where he's channeled -- and restricted -- his.

Twisted, thread-like stalks is really strong. The third, unfound book. Really like how this could be a true story of their love that hasn't been told, or an alternative plotline that could have happened but that didn't -- the lost potential of their relationship -- or even the geologist's own (fantasised, dreamed of, and possibly deluded) version, since he's the hero/saviour. Love this:

............. the geologist’s wife curls
her hair up like a fern, turns ammonite, dives
backwards through space, and slowly
seizes to stone before she can swim,
transparent, in a shallow sea -
until the hand of the geologist
reaches through a hollow oak to breathe
her back home.

Early workers made me smile. The geologists subservient to the old country wisdom of old country women. Love Symonds charming them and winning favour.

Lots of great stuff here and plenty to work with post-Napo.

-Matt

[Jee Leong]

Sarah, a small point but I do love the titles. The wry or matter-of-fact tone sets up the lyrical geology of the poems so well. "Superficial Deposits" hits its stride in stanza two and does not look back. "Dealing with Region" makes me wait teasingly for a finely set-up ending. "The hallmark" tells a compelling story with strong details and turns of phrases. I like the thread-like stalks in the poem bearing that name, nice tactile contrast to the rock, but also belonging to the rock. "Early workers" is done, I think. Did you write it at one go? It's a gift from the Muses.

[5th column]

Hey, Sarah

Superficial Depoits - Yowzer! That is one steamy pome! The first stanza feels like a prolonged metaphor.
Crawling - I’m interested in the choice of line breaks. Short lines that read more slowly and long lines, the reverse, heave this poem in and out like a concertina. Interesting changes of pace add to the read.
Dealing With - feels like a finished poem. You ought to submit that.

Lovely thread.

Keep on keeping on!

[Sorella]

Sarah,
So we left our intrepid poet at the Copenned VultureCouture duo, much taken with the choreography.
Meanwhile, things have developed.

Let us recap:

Superficial Deposits Sensual and charming poem, with the biotope in the foreground through the Geologist's Wife,
geology taking a back seat for now. Lovely description of heather, and a crashing screen is great! Nice to have the hair as contour lines repeated on the romantic warm rock.

Eyes Shut Blindfolded in a garden! This brings out all the other senses, beautifully light descriptions. Using the spider adds the je ne sais quoi. Yum. (Our Botanical Gardens has a herb & flower garden where you touch and smell and listen, all the signs in braille.)

Dealing With the Region in a Charming and Interesting Manner The title is a treat by itself! The ironic distance to the tone found in the pamphlets is part of the poetry of this. A child -- or a husband lost to cold rocks -- very apt. Interesting to get more background on our heroine.

Hallmark of vulgar people Concise and poetic portrait of the Geologist, very welcome -- and how the two met, love it: She was Rare and strange like
an unknown name in a collection.

Twisted threadlike stalks Oh what a lovely archetype of ancient nature/human-lore: wonderful images of curled ferns and fossils!
The Wife becomes a legend, one with the land! Amazng howyour imagination varies this. Surefoot should be your pen name.

Early Workers Mentioned Aha, misrule! Hidden corners, sacred women, not the right schools, children, the list of surveyors. A different system exposed, what a twist! This is hugely intriguing and enjoyable as it unfolds, Sarah.

You say Onwards, I say Backwards, what finds you have here!

Sorella

------

[Scrow]

Wow. Lucky me. Thank-you so much, everyone, for reading and taking time and leaving comments.

Dunc, thank-you for your unfailing courtesy in stopping by and giving me the benefit of your read-through. I think I'm writing what happens next as I go along, and it isn't coming out as a linear narrative (drat)

Matt, we are so lucky to have you here in NaPo. Your reads are so careful and so helpful. I think we probably share similar generations and cultural backgrounds so I need to be wary of this - also that you're close-reading because you're part of this community (and kind) but it does help so much. Crawling is not part of the series. It is me doing the psychogeog (although I didn't post it to my students - I posted it here in my safe space) and it was all just description. And, yeah, I'm working alternate plotlines. Mainly out of desperation because I couldn't think of one apart from by default, and then today one wrote itself and I reckon I have nearly enough now on this - today it seemed to write itself out - and can play a bit more, with found, with flowers, for the rest of the month.

Jee - thank-you and yes, it did just write itself (but I also had that amazing list of geologists to help me. I didn't edit that, not one bit) - there's sometimes a sweet spot one seems to catch - do you find this, too? The titles thing is great for me as I usually suck at titles. The source material - the pamphlet - here is really an amazing artefact, and the writing style I'm coming to love, as it's so subtle but it catches on geologies it enjoys and just lingers on them a little too long to be quite appropriate in the context.

Neil - Yes! I so enjoyed writing that. If they ever open a journal for geological erotica I'll be first in line. The name of the waterfall was a gift in itself. If I can learn to dial it down a bit it might be useful in other things, too. Crawling - I was crawling around the garden. I have a horrible feeling that the line breaks happened when I met a fence, rather than from any clever art or writerly craft!

Sorella - you are SO lovely and deserve much red wine, string (string is always a useful present) and flowers. You also 'get it' so well, and with all the reading and keeping everyone going you're doing - like wow, y'know. Thank-you. OOOh, and I have been to the Botanical Gardens of which you speak, which is incredible as I've been out of England (and Wales) twice in the past 30 years. But once was to Oslo!

Tonights might have written this out for the time being. I need to sit still, reflect on my drafts (I also have seven from March) and think about where it's all going. I also have an urge to write short things, and I am on the verge of sacrificing my PhD for poetry (I have to redraft the ethics because of social distancing) which up until tonight felt 'right' but now I think I've written it up to a point where it needs to sit.

Onwards!
(and that means I will have more time to read, too)

Sarah

[Scrow]

Numerous breaks in the sedimentary sequence and the number of marked unconformities



There’s a last book. Its pages flicker,
form a living picture where small dragons,
that look a bit like lizards, bask
on the warm lintels of village churches.
Inside, ferns shelter in sacred stone bowls
and stories are swirled together
like Kilpeck’s carved Sheela na gig, the
manticore and basilisk guarding a Celtic
arch, a Viking pillar. Close by, Cole’s Tump,
where a castle was never built, a dip and hollow
filled with long sweet grass where,
in this book, the geologist and his wife curl
up beside each other after conceiving
their first child, something they don’t
know yet, but later mark on the map
despite its geological insignificance compared
to great earth movements and fault-lines,
those numerous breaks in the sedimentary sequence.

On the last page of the book there’s a sketch
of the geologist, sleeping by an ash tree, drawn
by the same hand that made the careful
diagrams of tuffs and rocks and fossil-fish.
Some pages hold useful recipes of where
to find the herbs that help if your child falls hard
when running down a steep slope, before
you can carry them to town in time,
and those that soothe sadness. These pages
share where the warmest places are to sit
and tell your secrets to the Ordovician rocks.
When you turn them, they sing
to you in an accent that you mostly
understand and every other page is blank
so you can write in it, cry for each raw hurt
you’ve ever had, and be soothed by the honey-heather
smell of the borderlands, the silk-furred
underleaves of grass and sun, the sound
of rills and streams, purling down the hills.
This book has a glossary which shows links,
like filaments, between different words,
and colours them, to make this easier to understand.

In this book there’s no war with the Ottomans.
The geologist’s wife is not left behind to be taught
how to draw from rigid pattern books
in a strange language with no motion to it,
caring for an ailing Father and sickly child,
and the geologist does not watch men die
of thirst as they cry for one more
cup of water, please, just one more cup
as they bleed out, while he hunts
for moisture in the dry rocks
of the Dardanelles.

Kilpeck

[drumpf]

Early workers whose well

This poem feels long. I would have deleted some of the names in the middle. Besides that, the texture of the poem feels very much like a wizardry world. Love the sounds "pick pot-herbs ready to boil for supper".

[Mimic_Octopus]

Hi Scrow!

Such a pleasure to come back to this thread, which I find by turns soothing in its rich description and nimbly cutting in its satire.

Exemplary objects - concise but packed with hints and clues. I like that the poem conjures the quiet of the classroom, and layers like sediments the ladies of different social standing (themselves exemplary objects to be examined). The thread of constrictive gender roles runs right through this collection and it's really subtly done.

Geological Survey publications: The Welsh Borderlands - The reminder of the volcanic history of Wales - this fire beneath the tranquil surface - made me want the dragon to join the lion and unicorn.

VultureCouture - "They dance a yellow vulture version" was mine. I love this generator - a little like a Twitterbot, and makes me think of a vulture nosing around in a carcass, nudging different bones together and apart, and tugging out this and that to eat.

Superficial Deposits - I love that this reminded me again of the contrast between the seemingly solid earth and landscape and the all-round threat of bombardment. There's calm and chaos and within it, these figures.

Will pop back again - awesome work!
Kirsten