My legs are so long
My strongs are so strong
spontaneous poetry this morning from my 5.5 year-old
Autumn has arrived in a shower of rain, the kids are starting a new year of school and krippe in Swiss-German and I’m thinking about language again this week. Himself and I have had the privilege of a private German tutor since the start of the year but she’s due to go on maternity leave so we’re winding that up. Plus Himself is on the job-hunt in earnest now. It feels like a new phase for many things.
Two wise women gave me some interesting insights about language recently. One friend in Australia pointed out the peculiar strain of Aussie anti-elitism that regards the ‘correct’ pronounciation of foreign words as wankery. Her example was that, to the average Aussie, people who call a croissant a “Cwausson” are wankers. And it’s true. And there’s a part of me that feels that way too. And I didn’t quite realise it. And it’s a block. Not an insurmountable one, but a block nonetheless to mastering and using a foreign language properly. In fact, even when my own dear mother was here earlier in the year, she pointed out that she could hear me labouring away in German in my Aussie accent and she understood why I did it (because it somehow feels more ‘honest’) but she also insisted I needed to “go for it” a lot more with the Deutsch intonation if I want people to, say, understand what I’m saying. She is also right and a part of me feels that way too. (When I tried to explain this to Himself, he looked at me like I was crazy — is it any wonder he’s powering ahead in German so much more confidently than me!)
And just today, I was talking to a local friend about how I often get stupidly nervous speaking to groups — not even “public speaking”, which is a common enough fear — but just introducing myself in a group situation, even. Heart pounding, voice shaking, the works. Even in a small group. Even if we’re speaking English. It’s so embarrassing. (Does this happen to most people?) And my friend said that it was similar to how she often feels having to use German. “Because every time I speak in German in front of people, I’m on stage”. Gosh, how true that is! (It may be worth noting the friend is a professional stage manager). But again, it’s something I’d never articulated in that way. And it’s another mental block in my language-learning journey. (I should also note that I don’t get “stage-fright” every time I speak German anymore, thank goodness — my son’s krippe introduction session today went off almost without a hitch and almost entirely in Deutsch).
Anyway, as well as being one of the standard How’s-your-German-how-are-you-feeling-about-it conversations I have regularly with other expats, my friend and I were also talking about this stuff because I’m increasingly feeling as though I should do some spoken word / poetry slam type performance with my poems. And, while I’m pretty OK with the idea of this — I’m confident in my poems and I feel they’d work well in this environment — I’m deeply worried that my stage fright will fuck it up. What do I need to do? I’ve thought of singing lessons, which might help. But, ultimately, I don’t think there are any quick fixes beyond: practice, practice, practice. And ditto for the Deutsche sprechen, I guess.
Oh well, I hope at least in some small part, being able to recognise and articulate these stumbling blocks is a small step towards overcoming them.
What do you think? Do you need to thesp it up a bit with a new language? When, if ever, does it start to feel normal and not like you’re a putting on a show?
addendum: I feel like a bit of a dork for posting this stuff about getting nervous/anxious when speaking to people. I’m not a complete social retard and I’m not even that shy in many situations, particularly one-to-one… really, usually, I swear… whatever.
Give No Fucks Woman
Has hair like a gorgon
And cares less
Give No Fucks Woman
Trip-traps over Twitter
Slaying trolls, like a goddess
Give No Fucks Woman
Is strong, brave and a Queen
No, not a Disney princess
Give No Fucks Woman
A post-midnight Cinderella
Gives no fucks for her lost dress
Give No Fucks Woman, hey
I hear what you say
Please don’t repress
But, Give No Fucks Woman
Your words can drip poison
Snow White’s in distress
And though she’s a mess
(You don’t like her best,
barely rates your largesse)
Don’t you give a fuck about this?
Late-summer morning
Golden light and black liquid
Saturday begins
In response to TJ’s Household Haiku Challenge. Prompt: Gold. I’d just taken this photo then I saw the prompt… too coincidental to ignore!
Summer heat
And old friends
drift out and in
shimmering, floating through my life again
carrying currents of warm air
caressing my skin
loosening my brain
Happiness, basking
in gentle-fierce friend-fire
banked round my heart
shored up for colder times
And we swim together
spraying drops of clear water
quenching a soul-parched dry
refreshed and clarified by
your shining eyes
seeing far below the surface
soul-deep, I gaze fondly back
But passing fast and lovely
vibrant summertime blooms
fleeting, beautiful, bounty
against blue, blue skies
And silvery moons…
Your tongues speak treasures
licking my loneliness
clean as a groomed feline
As worlds collide, combine
enfolding my family in kindness
While two little boys delight
in simple joys of a new friend, who’s an old one
Held in sweet stasis, so brief
the heady, overblown, ridiculous emotion
of high-summer moments
When I moved to London town
I saw unicorns all around
Trotting, prancing, showing off
Their silky manes, both street and posh
Amy Winehouse with her hive-horn
Too quickly turned to crown of thorn
The gorgeous, lovely and the torn
Who’d bring it on the Tube each morn
And outside London, thought I found
Unicorn habitat all around
The ancient magick of the land
Emerald glades and pebbley sand…
I didn’t spot the British Lions
Sitting noble at their pints
Wanting to protect their pride
Gath’ring power, biding time
Shaking out their mangy fur
Memories of what they were
So golden, graceful, deadly, sleek
King of the jungle is not meek!
Claws were sharpened, teeth bared
Lies were told, tempers flared
Fighting, snarls, self-righteous rage
Ugly beasts who won’t be caged
Cruel attacks from either side
Barbs that puncture both their hides
Boris, Farage, Cameron: cowards
Rich men turning lion’s gold sour
And finally the ivory spike
Overcome by fear and might
A heavy blow, ruthless, loud
And unicorn lies in a shroud –
A silly, worthless mythic creature
Dreams slashed of charm’ed future
Now I hear the lions roar
And nothing will be as before
How do I speak about you as your twilight approaches
The way you fit so smoothly
in the palm of my hand
So many times I’ve held you
My fingers caressing your surface
A reassuring presence in so many ways.
Have my eyes dwelt on your radiant face
More often than on the sweet heads of my children?
I hope not, but I fear
You’ve been with me, so near
In almost every moment these past five years.
Have my fingers moved across your surface
More than they’ve trailed over my husband’s body?
Undoubtedly. How unfortunate.
So how do I say goodbye
To one who’s been so intimate
So close
And yet, also, tethered me to tough times
a symptom? or a cause?
when the wet rope of anxiety
wraps round my wrist
cutting, painful, trapped
dragging down, suffocating
in your glowing depths.
But you were a beacon
on those long, long newborn nights
A conduit of joy
upset, rage and the mundane
So many Moments: captured!
A modicum of comfort in exhaustion and despair
A window to the world, it sounds so trite!
Friends spoke, smiled and sobbed through you
And now, my most ardent hope
Is that your stuttering, failing light
Doesn’t flicker out before I fickle find
Your replacement
(A new galaxy awaits!)
It seems absurd to eulogise a machine
But, my smug little Smarty
Mirror of a thousand selfies
You’ve been with me through such a time
It feels silly-sad to lay you to rest
without some remark
before you go to gather dust in a drawer
is it fitting to bid you
Goodbye old friend?
Last time it rained like this
Rain, rain, rain
It was spring? autumn? In…
my share house in Newtown
the same rain, same, same
Some days it would stop
Then it’d start up
again, again, again
Uni textbooks damp and curling
lank hanks of velvet curtain
on my sliding bedroom door
over my barred window, hiding
the pane, pane, pane
Blocking out my hangovers, oh
the pain, the pain, the bane
Of my existence.
A lover called my room “the pit”
But I had a red rose
outside on the covered balcony
A little flame, flame, flame
One night another suitor
Left a small china dog on my doorstep
Racked returning from the pub–
a tender campaign, campaign, campaign.
I’d go to my beautiful friend’s house
Try to ease her sadness
with pizza, throwdowns, hairdye–
We’d laugh, tho her heart was
in twain, twain, twain.
I did my work, I felt sad and happy
I got drunk all the time.
It rained and rained and rained
Sometimes wonder how much has
changed, changed, changed
Is it any surprise
We have the same knives
When our lives
Are so easily connected
By flight?
But complacency’s unwise
Because not all the ties
Are strong and it’s night
In your world, while in mine
The sun shines
And tho the lines
Of communication open lie
The sight of those knives
was a cutting remind
You’re not by my side
Gorillas and Johnny Depp
Have we Heard Amber’s side?
You bet
And a million other commentators
So far from the action and yet
They know the situation intricate,
intimate, yep.
Those terrible parents, that awful zoo
Everyone knows
What else they should do
Jail the parents, shut it down
Make the kid get a gorilla-heart tattoo.
Lives destroyed online
and we relish the view