A “non” writer discovers her poetic talent in Bhutan.
On our Creative in Bhutan adventure last month Anna Hassett insisted she was a non writer and would probably just sit and meditate during our workshop sessions. Luckily for us she put pen to paper.
Here are some of the poems penned and images captured by Anna during our trip.
Setting Out
A shimmering day
But pale jade rivers
Running swiftly over
Rounded white rocks
Carry wild monsoon rains.
The Cliffs
How quickly and mysteriously
The earth reclaims
Once flourishing settlements.
There are warnings abroad
To keep our picks,
Brooms and shovels
Close to our beds.
The yellow insect diggers
May be winning for now
But the gouged-out cliffs
Stand ready
To stake their claim.
The Mural
From the ravished rocks
And spared for now
From dynamite stick
And tractor claw,
The muddied face of Guru Rinpoche
Looks across to pined mountain slopes
And smiles sardonically
At their seeming pristine permanence.
The Night
The dogs and I were restless last night.
There was a startled cry from the street below.
Clay thought fragments tumbled
From high cliff faces
Onto hard mountain roads.
The River
Shadowed by a mud-brown river
A lifetime’s thoughts below
I wonder when, and how,
It and I will meet.
The Ascent
An unwilling witness,
I sit on the right hand side
Of the 18 seater,
By the lip of the road
Which twists, curls and grimaces
Often just centimetres
From our mud-churning wheels,
Invariably then opening out
Into a yawning abyss
With boulders and mud freshly
spewed
From unseen upper reaches.
(Conditions worsen.)
As if randomly,
I recall the words
Of a Chinese ruler
Left vulnerable and exposed
On an ancient muddy battle field -
“If the lips are gone …
.. the teeth are cold”…
And realize
My teeth
Are chattering.
The Climb — I
An ice still morning
I cling tight to the mountain
The prayer flags tremble.
The Climb — II
(The wind revives.)
The cloud flags flutter
And reveal
The shadow
Of A tiger
On the cliff.
Fearful to approach
I stand too far away
But see up there
The fiery flash
Of a tigers eye.
Child Monk
Up the windy mountain path
To an ancient holy place,
The atmosphere punctured
By a desultory glance
From a silent child monk,
Abandoned to his fate
In the land of happiness.
The Mat Shop
Lured by colors of a Queen’s pattern mat
And praying to the Gods of Four Quarters
I bend down to feel its fine warp and weft
With the fingers of my credit card hand
Then I soar above my temptation,
Less an act of renunciation
And more the lack of a floor.
Bus Inscription
A passing bus …
“Moving people and
Enhancing lives”,
Through providing lines
To desperate bus bound writers.
© poems and images Anna Hassett 2016.
Anna Hassett has worked in community and cultural development for many years. She currently lives in Bali and travels for 6 months of the year.
Anna was a participant in Creative in Bhutan, a twelve day adventure with Writer’s Journey. Our next trip heading out for artists and writers is Moroccan Caravan Jan 26 — Feb 8. Taste of Tibet is scheduled for June 7–17, 2017.
