Ascending Form (Gloria)

I had a short walk in the Botanic Gardens before making my way home and was struck by how things consciously and unconsciously link. I was struck by this Barbara Hepworth sculpture which resonated with the talk I had just been to about the Creative Unconscious in poetry run by the Scottish Poetry Library. The psychoanalyst and poet Nuar Alsadir was in conversation with the psychoanalyst Ken Robinson.  The sculpture gave form to the ideas that the talk had evoked but also reminded me of Carl Rogers and Gloria.

As any regulars of my journal will know I can't take portraits for toffee but inspired by Kerry's efforts I went for it today and asked Nuar if I could take a photo and include it here as an extra. I don't think portraits will ever be my metier. And here is one of her lovely creative unconscious poems ...

Morning

when dark, is not that,
morning, but more like rain:

a sky of smog-stuck potatoes;
frustration without eyes.

The way I did nothing exhausted me:
I fed the wall,

ran water over my body
until it swirled down the drain.

On a determinable plane
I am undetermined,

on a moving train,
unable to find a seat.

The edge is what knows me,
the face half-carved off,

the gutter that gathers its objects
like knives, without connection,

here what is not there and vice versa.
I lie. I have seven jars of lies:


one for each day and the joy!
of repetition. Weeks redouble

and hold me still, anchors sprout
from my feet, stand in for will.

Desire is the lie I tell on Tuesday.
I tell it with my socks off

to be understood. The color
of intent is the crispness of bread;

whoever wants the heel
comes last to the table.