Deep water: January 2021

Saturday 16 January 2021

More writing, but not poetry

I recently found fanfiction drabbles I'd written between 2003 and 2005. Most of the writing was part of a larger story that was a crossover between the Chalet School stories and the Narnia books. I had thought I'd lost this one, so was very pleased to find it again. I originally published it on the CBB (better known as the Chaletian Bulletin Board), which has long since moved its URL and archived all those original posts from those days. It's still around somewhere. Anway, I've re-published my fanfiction stories here. There are five in total at the moment:

"Out of a wardrobe" - my very first piece of fanfiction, 45 chapters worth.
"Edmund and Stacie" - a Christmas standalone, in the same Chalet School/Narnia universe
"Grizel" - a Christmas Eve story, also in the Chalet School/Narnia universe
"Wendy of Winterton has a magical Christmas" - a weird sort of crossover with Winterton/Chalet School/Marmaduke and Margaret
"Daughters of Billabong" - my new Billabong continuation story.

I'm enjoying getting back into writing again. Finding the stuff that I thought I'd lost has really spurred me on and I hope to get some new chapters written on my Billabong continuation written in the next few weeks. And perhaps some more poetry as well!

Thursday 14 January 2021

Fanfiction

So in a bit of a departure, this is not a post with a poem. I have also started writing fanfiction again, again after a very long hiatus. My last effort was in the Chalet School universe, about 8 or 9 years ago. I haven't yet found my original story from that time, but did manage to find the Christmas drabbles I wrote in 2005 and you can find those here and here.

I've had an itch to write a continuation story for Mary Grant Bruce's Billabong series and after trying to plan out how I wanted it to go, I finally managed to get the first chapter done today and have finally managed to load it onto the fanfiction site here.

In the meantime, I'm trying to get started on Chapter 2, but it's uphill work at the moment. I'm also a bit frustrated with myself because I'd planned to include a few characters from another standalone Bruce book, only to realise that that book was set during WWII and the Billabong books are set pre, during and post WWI, so that won't work. I suppose I could just use some poetic license and try and get away with including them that way, but I'm not sure if I'm ok with doing that and it also makes nonsense of the whole story they come from as well. It's very frustrating because without them, I've got a bit of a hole in the story I'm planning. Such is life ...

Thursday 7 January 2021

Not always safe

Water isn’t always safe. I always think it's beautiful, but sometimes it also scares me. Most recently, lying in bed in our tent on holidays and listening to the rain pelting down on the roof (fortunately not getting through) I was reminded of this. It was so loud I couldn’t hear my own breathing. I knew our tent was water tight, but I really didn’t want to get hit by all the water above us.

Earlier in the day, I’d been outside the tent, taking down an awning and pegging out reinforcing guy ropes to hold the fly further out from the tent, because a severe storm was on the way. The storm actually hit before we had finished this task and I was soon soaked to the skin (there was no time to put on a raincoat). It wasn’t long before I was shaking with cold (due to being soaked) and I couldn’t hear anything above the sound of the rain, nor could I think straight. I didn’t love water so much at that moment!

Changeable friend

A torrent of sound,

forcing its way through,

lashing me.

You stab me, beat me, shove me,

your fingers needle sharp,

as you push, prod, batter.

How can you be so hard now,

before you were so soft, kindly, welcoming?

I am so cold, bereft of your welcome.

You strip away my defences and I am weakened,

take pity on me.

See, I am going now,

I know when I am not wanted.

But don’t leave me, truly.

I miss your soft caress.

Surely we will be friends again, later,

when you are kinder, warmer, sweeter.

My changeable friend.

Cathy Bulfin,
January 2021, Lake Conjola.

River

No, the title is not a reference to River Song of Doctor Who fame. It's just another water poem. I did say I liked water.

When I lived in Canberra I used to spend quite a lot of time at Molongolo Gorge - it's actually closer to Queanbeyan (which is actually in NSW). If I was having a really bad day I would walk to the Gorge and plonk myself down by the river and feel sorry for myself for a while and generally I'd eventually get lost in the sound of the river throwing itself down on the rocks and forget what I was upset about. (Usually.)

River

Langurously,

she lets down

her hair.

It sparkles and shines in the winter sun.

She runs slender fingers

through its length,

watches it fall

and foam richly down jagged rock,

landing

in frothing confusion,

then escaping.

Invisible hands tease and pull

as the tangled mass

rushes by.

Waiting rocks, suffocated yet entranced,

catch and hurl it onwards.

Sometimes,

a stray tendril is trapped,

and bubbles up in delighted confusion.

Tiny golden fish,

anxious to please,

race through the foam,

fetch their graceful sisters

to help adorn the foaming tresses.

Others leap into the air,

wanting to prove

they are more handsome,

more agile than she.

Indifferent to all

she stretches lazily.

Watching

the rippling

strands,

so far away,

drifting,

slowly,

out of sight.

Chaos

This one was born out of the period of time I worked in a computer science department in Canberra and was surrounded by mathematicians obsessed with chaos theory. It was all I heard about for a while.

Anyway ...

Chaos

A sparkling raindrop,

drops,

drops.

A wonderful, crystalline tear.

A snowflake falls softly,

white,

starry,

porcelain thin.

In each are tiny worlds,

intricate patterns,

patterns forming,

patterns changing.

Chaotic order.

An eternal mystery.

Undying,

unborn,

enduring.

C. Newberry, July 1990.

Dad

I remember how hard this one was to write. Losing a parent has got to be one of the worst things that has ever happened to me. He slowly slipped away from us over the course of a year and this poem was written as I watched the brain cancer take him away from us and he was no longer the father I remembered. It really hurt.

dad

do you remember the time,
when i grazed my knee.
you kissed it better,
patched it all up,
sent me outside to play.

another time, i remember,
you helped me with my maths,
i never could do maths,
remember?

then i grew up.
you let me borrow the car,
gave me away at the wedding.

now you are the child
needing help.
you huddle in corners.
you won't fight.

i never even told you,
i owe you one for the maths,
you know what i mean.

C. Newberry

Changes

This one was born out of changes happening to me - I think it's pretty self-explanatory. It was a very exciting time but also bittersweet because at the time my father was also dying of brain cancer.

When I posted this to rap I said "This is the first thing I've written in ages, but sometimes things happen that you just want to get down before you forget how you felt. Other babies will come and go I suppose, but I don't think I'll ever feel like this again."

Actually I think this might have been almost the last one I ever posted to rap - I was dealing with the changes brought by the pregnancy, giving up working (which meant losing access to Usenet anyway), buying a house and going backwards and forwards between Canberra and Sydney to see my father to try and make the most of whatever time he had left.

There are other ones I've found, so the next posts will be all out of order, but I don't suppose it really matters.

changes: nine weeks

how can this

part of me grow?

i can't feel it there

except in my mind i feel

different

scared and somehow

proud,

floating in a haze,

bunnies and bouncers

so sweetly pastel

C. Newberry

Sun poem

Water for two led to one final collaboration - this time about the sun. Again, it wasn't really a serious thing, just fun playing with words. As with the other two poems, this was written line by line via email then published to rap by Marek when we decided it was finished.

I've published it below exactly as it first appeared, again minus the ASCII heading at the time.

It wasn't supposed to be about water, but I managed to sneak a bit in there!

There are other efforts of mine somewhere, but I haven't found them. When I do (if I don't think they're too utterly dreadful) I'll post them as well. And then eventually I'll transcribe my latest effort.

(c) 1990 Cathy Newberry.
(c) 1990 Dan Kletter.
(c) 1990 Marek Lugowski.
All Rights Reserved, but you can have 'em if you only ask.
Yes to personal use.

sun poem

humid sun
you bring with you so many things
but most of all
a delicious warmth
that makes us three
lazy
and weary

of working.

we could spend one hundred hours
or one hundred and three
with you
running along a beach
playing in the ocean
playing in you.

heat the sand
between our toes
make us dance with it

cover us in your sultry blanket
ruffle our hair
with your windy fingers
while we make our slick sand castles
stick.

make us sleepy until
we doze
marek, you snore!
cathy, je t'adore!
dan, never a bore!

give us a warm summer evening
with a bottle of red wine
and a boat on the river

kiss the ripples
as we rock there.

warm us up
give us that strange sense
of confidence
serenity
you cuddle me...
and me! and me!

sun, you make me
and me! and me!

very happy!

happy enough to levitate
a small cow.

Cathy Newberry / Dan Kletter / Marek Lugowski
8-9 June 1990
Canberra, Australia / Sunnyvale, California /
Lake Monroe, Indiana

Water for two - part two

Water for two was so much fun to write and greeted fairly positively by some of the other people on rap that we wrote a second effort. This one also resulted in a very nice review by another poster (resulting in Marek saying that it made him happy enough to levitate a small cow - I am not sure why, but it seemed apt at the time). It also led to a collaboration by the three of us on another topic - we decided we'd dabbled enough in water (as it were).

The below is published exactly as it was originally, again sans the original ASCII heading.

water for two (part two)

it's my turn to start.

ok then,

try these drops

didn't you see them?

tiny dew diamonds

tinkling through the air

perhaps you prefer

beads of perspiration

or floating spray,

in your kayak of course.

we could get heavier.

dripping slush,

slow snow,

wet sludge.

(how phallic)

no, let's stay lighter, cathy.

how about that ephemeral spray

of your laughter

against the swaying low sun

australian or hoosier

it's the same one

our earthly water warmer.

these tiny droplets of warm dew

i have to be closer to you though

than the girth of the pacific

to to to

actually see 'em.

water, water in the wine.

water entwined in two living bodies.

water in life, your life. water in mine.

i touch your sense of funny. ...water.

tapping at plastic (not much water here)

and water answers, delicate water

charming, shimmering, toying

dangerous water

from across the big water, lashing

below.

i love thee, o warmth, o water nymph

and it's the flowing light-spotted water

who loves thee.

Cathy Newberry / Marek Lugowski

26 June 1990

Canberra, Australa / Lake Monroe, Indiana

Water for two - part one

As I've already mentioned, my first efforts in publishing poetry were to the rec.arts.poetry Usenet group (rap). As was often the case, once someone had published one or two attempts they generally started to get comments, criticisms (usually constructive) and to my surprise one of the other posters suggested a collaboration. We wrote two poems about water together and then collaborated with one other person (I'll post that one later). It was all in good fun and not particularly serious.

It was all done via email, line by line and then the finished result was posted to rap. Here's the first one, exactly as it was first posted (without the ASCII underlined headings we all used at the time).

The other poet was a Polish-American poet (Usenet opened up the world to all of us) named Marek Lugowski. Sadly he passed away at the beginning of last year. We'd long since lost touch - we mainly sparred back and forth on rap in 1990-1991 and then briefly corresponded when I got back online around 1998 (ish).

Marek was a prolific poet and founder of A Small Garlic Press (http://asgp.org/). He was the real deal - I only dabble for my own enjoyment.

water for two

water, water

i put my hands in water
cupped
like i cup you

water breaks up laughing
giggling
completely escaping me
except for the tea of glistening
just like you

water. you. my hands.
i look at both of you alight
with wonder.
so are my hands
alight with wonder
and looking at you.

who
is cupping
whom?

your water words
flow past
my hands

my words trickle
behind the flow

you go too fast
now i am drenched

bubble slosh drip
in my ears and
the water still comes
not soft.

lets write a poem on it
you said
hugs, you said

hugs and kisses (so there!).

Cathy Newberry / Marek Lugowski
3-5 June 1990
Canberra, Australia / Lake Monroe, Indiana

a transpacific production.

Sunset

Sooner or later I guess most writers of poetry embrace the cliches. And as I'd already written a poem about sunrise, I decided to have a bash at a poem on sunset. As I confessed at the time of posting it to rap, I knew it was a cliched topic, but I enjoyed myself anyway.

I seem to recall writing this while sitting in the passenger seat, on a car trip from Canberra down to the Gippsland (I think?) or maybe we were going to Eden. I'm not too sure. I do remember balancing the notepad on my lap and I was definitely not driving the car at the time!!!!

Sunset

Slow tears trickle down the aging face.
His eternal grief has never been so painful.
He shivers, dreading the hours left to him.
Sans hope, sans light.

Suddenly, she is there.
Whirling, spinning, dancing.
Brilliant flashes of red, orange and gold,
her varicoloured draperies brushing his skin.

The music of her laughter echoes in his ears.
Lighthearted she, soon to be rid of her daily burden.
Carelessly, callously, she teases him.
Circling ever close, twisting out of reach.

He, unable to respond, watches helplessly.
Her wild dance reaches its climax.
She spins faster, faster, further, further.
She begins to shed her gaudy veiling.

Down, down, the colours plunge.
They are lost in his own darkness.
He cannot reach her, and she is fading.
Her voice, just a dying whisper.

Alone again, he waits.
The darkness creeps over him.
In the distance, he hears,
the faint, tinkling of her parting song.

Cathy Newberry

Waterfall

Some time in 1990, I had occasion to visit the Chinese Garden at Darling Harbour (Sydney Australia, as I explained to non-Aussie posters on rap, when I first published this one). It was my first visit there and I was absolutely stunned by the whole place; it was just so calm and beautiful, despite the fact that it's in the middle of the city.

Anyway, one of the central points of the garden was a large waterfall which fell into a largish pond full of fish. I've seen waterfalls before, but this is the first one I've ever wanted to write a poem about. I think it was the setting as much as the waterfall itself. (You see - water.)

Anyway ...

Waterfall

A rich melody
caresses a body of smooth, hard granite,
slides langurously down to waiting depths.

Still waters embrace and engulf the song.
Below their surface, no trace of the union.
Yet, tiny flashes,
golden and orange,
quicksilver movements,
betray suppressed excitement,
desire unslaked.

Cathy Newberry

Composition

I clearly remember writing this one. Sometimes it's so hard to get out what I want to say. It's even harder now, after a long time of not writing like this.

I'm also a singer, so I tend to think in terms of music or song about things like this as well.

Composition

A melody floats on the air,
for a moment,
each drop, suspended,
frozen.
Every note delicately formed,
intricately placed.

I reach out,
wanting to touch,
just one.
A child chasing snowflakes.
It eludes me,
slips through my fingers,
melts away from me.

Ideas appear,
to fall,
then fade away,
as tears of dreams,
unrealized.

Cathy Newberry.

I'm sorry

Continuing my theme of starting my blog with some of the old poems, here's another one I wrote in 1990, this one (perhaps not very originally) was called "I'm Sorry". I don't actually remember what prompted this one, but it captures how I still feel when I have monumentally stuffed up, usually by hurting someone with my words (which unfortunately come out all too easily when I am angry or have generally don't have anything helpful to say).

I'm sorry

How I wish I could unsay those words,
send time spinning backwards,
wipe out the pain I caused.

Wouldn't it be easy if we could rewrite our history,
replace evil with good, black with white?
Instead, we are left with impotent words.

I'm sorry.

Why another poetry blog?

I've thought about setting up a blog for my poetry for many years. There was a long time where I didn't write anything, but lately I've been feeling the desire to write again. I don't say that I'm a great poet by any means, but sometimes I feel like I've got something to say that I need to get out. In due course I'll probably also include links to the fanfiction I've also started writing again, but I won't post that here.

I called my blog "Deep water" because I love water and I especially love deep water. A lot of my early forays into poetry involved water (both my solo efforts and some collaborations). My most recent effort (which I have yet to transcribe) was born out of a reflective time by a beautiful lake on a family holiday at the beginning of the year.

You might notice that the URL for my blog is not "deepwater" - that's mainly because it was already taken, but also because I remembered a particularly fun collaboration back in the 90s with another online poet. We wrote just a few poems together, but the first one was called "Water for two", so that's where the URL name comes from. Water for two is also a reference to shared love of hanging out at beaches and lakes with my husband. He's pretty much my favourite person to do everything with, which is just as it should be!

I started publishing my poetry to a Usenet group called rec.arts.poetry back in the 1990s. Times were simpler, www did not yet exist and online communication was pretty much confined to email and news groups such as "rap" (as we referred to it in shorthand). The group still exists - it's now called rec.arts.poems - you can find it on Google groups now: https://groups.google.com/g/rec.arts.poems. I no longer frequent the group, so I don't know what it's like these days.

I thought I'd start by posting one of the first poems I ever published on Usenet. These poems were all published under my first married name - a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since then, but I have a fondness for those early efforts. My new poems will be published under my married name now - confusing perhaps, but that's life.

Oddly, my first poem was not about water!

Sunrise

The sun gave birth to today:
Blood streaked the horizon.
She screamed,
The sky rippled with her agony.
Earth-child wailed, expelled from that swollen womb.

The stains of labour faded,
Became the artist's dream:
Pink, pretty.
Earth-child gurgled, content with her playground.
The pain of creation was forgotten.

The tourists were unmoved as they departed,
chattering of picturesque sunrises and airline bookings.

*The idea of Earth-child came from another poem based on
this one, by Gerald Chick. (g.c...@trl.oz)

(The evolution of this poem can be found here: https://groups.google.com/g/rec.arts.poems/c/FXW4Bji8YQc/m/MAKbK_1vYboJ)