Remembering Myanmar (Burma)

In recent weeks, actually beginning before the recent coup, I was finding I was getting little flashbacks of snapshot memories about living in Yangon among other things further back, long forgotten. I had been meaning to start recording them but in the rush of moving house didn’t do so until yesterday, when I wrote this poem after some prodding by a friend.

It seems so distant now, and yet these memories that flood back make it seem at the same time at the edge of my senses.

Let me know what you think in the comments, and of course share, like, and follow the blog.

I Remember

I remember standing on the U-Bein Bridge 
In the dust and heat,
Walking under the huge, orange, evening sun,
The old teak creaking and swaying underfoot,
The water beneath us almost gone. 
There were Chinese and Burmese tourists, 
Excited to see a redhead, 
Coming close to ask
(and not ask) for photos.

I remember the roads in Yangon, 
Jammed with traffic,
Stinking.
Sweltering.
The people, the strange plants – the small beer stations
Where we sat in the evening warmth,
Drinking Myanmar Lager,
Eating high-risk, high-reward local food.

I remember Mohinga-sellers in the morning,
Waiting by our flats with their rice and fish soup,
Plus an egg.

I remember the roar of mating saltwater crocodiles at dusk
Thrashing in the mangrove creeks.
I remember the moonlight on the Irrawaddy,
Reflecting ghostly pale,
Too delicate and mystical for a camera.

I remember sitting with Flo at night
On the deck overlooking the delta 
Sharing two chilled beers. 
Thinking together how wondrously strange it is 
To contemplate our location,
To think of where we were on Google Maps
And where we came from.

And then there was the boat trip back, 
Back up the Irrawaddy, 
Back to the town whose name I can’t remember,
Where we sat in a beer station.
Flo, in her white t-shirt,
Me, burnt by the Burmese sun,
In shorts and sandals,
Basking in gratitude
At the wonders of the world
And the joy of unlikely connections.

I wrote those bards a poem. Bards love poems.

Back in January, I met up with my friend Sarah de Nordwall (a Bard with a Bardschool previously mentioned on this blog) in a pub above Kings Cross Station, with the purpose to start off a regular curated poetry evening. The vision was for an hour and a half of poetry, music, and art that was imbued with a Catholic spirit and was open to all (we’ve had some wonderful contributions from a chap who describes himself as an angry Buddhist). We got the name from a Jewish prayer, that goes “It is already night when joy begins.” Sarah learnt this prayer while sat around the fire on the Sabbath with some hermits she visited in Nova Scotia. The plan was that every 6 weeks we would host an evening of creative arts infused with a joy that provided respite from the troubles of the world and flowed out into our lives once we left. Artists would come together in the Bardschool a couple of times to share ideas and grow and be formed in their talents, before sharing their subcreations with anyone and everyone who wanted to come along to When Joy Begins.

We had really started to make progress on planning dates, finding a venue, and drawing in artists inspired by the vision – only for coronavirus and lockdown to happen. Not to be deterred, we did it on Zoom instead. The remarkable effort and skill that Sarah brought to curating the the talents of the poets, singers, musicians, painters, and authors culminated in a truly wonderful evening in late May, where strangers came together online to listen to beauty and truth and share their reflections with each other.

My role in all this was a fairly minor tech and organising part. I wrote this poem below to perform because I was under pressure, having requested all the Bardschool bring something nearly-finished to the final rehearsal for the first public When Joy Begins. It is based on a holiday I went on, having had one stanza of it rattling around my brain for about 10 months but had never really gone on to anything. (The power of deadlines in the creative process, eh?)

I have been reluctant to share it, but others have been poking me to do so. I hope it provides some reminder of the wonders we will share again once this whole crazy time is over, grants a brief escape from the still semi-quarantined lives we live at present, and inspires you to look again for the transcendent beauty that is bursting through your life.

Beauty is

Beauty is the light in Venice
Changing the city throughout the day.
The sunset on St. Mark’s mosaics,
Restaurant windows illuminating night

Beauty is a Slovenian church
With white walls and curved steeple
In a wide green valley,
Between tree-topped mountains.

Beauty is clear cool water
Drunk from an Alpine stream,
Cupped in the hands,
Raised to the lips.

Beauty is Plitvička jezera;
Water cascading between calm blue pools
through dazzling sunlight
Within a sheer canyon.

Beauty is Vrbnik at sunset;
Dinner on the cliff top
Overlooking the sea,
And a deserted beach.

Beauty is our arms entwined;
Yours brown, lissom, lovely,
Mine – pale and strong – speckled
With your kisses, and my freckles.

But most of all,
Beauty is the feel of home;
The dew on the grass,
Green and silver in the sunrise,
And the joy at a friend’s wedding.

I hope you got something from this. I hope it gave you a sense of travelling while at your laptop at home unable to leave, or a reminder of the beauty of someone you love who is far away.

Please get in touch. Whether you would like to come to When Joy Begins, become a bard in the Bardschool, or just talk to someone who has gone on retreat with the dancing hermits of Nova Scotia who take a vow of leisure, we’d love you to get in contact with us at bardschool@gmail.com. And, of course, please comment on and share this poem and blog, I’d love to hear from you.

Here is a list of websites and book titles of people who perform or present at When Joy Begins, they too would love to hear from you:

Chris Arning

https://chrisarning.weebly.com

Charlotte Harmer

www.charlottebd.com

Jim Hamilton

The Ironwood Staff, JE Hamilton – a fantasy novel available as an e-book or paperback from Amazon.

Sarah de Nordwall

“50 poems for my 50th: A Beginner’s Guide to Opening the World with Words” – a few copies are left on Amazon, but this and many more resources are available by contacting Sarah on bardschool@gmail.com or on her website https://sarahdenordwall.com/