“A Troubadour’s Dream”
I stand half-floating in a field of purple heather,
beyond a hill beside me lies the sea.
Smells of seaweed, salt and honey
swirl in the air, pungent, sharp, sweet.
A woman appears, walking slowly,
purple blooms untouched beneath her feet.
In her cupped hands
a living, licking flame.
brushes my mind -
here comes Brighid, goddess bright,
lady of smithcraft, wordcraft, fire.
Her shifting eyes, a thousand colours and none,
My spirit cannot help but speak.
I feel words bubbling from my heart,
streaming from everywhere into me,
and I must tell…but purpose
is like a foggy mirror…
Brighid’s hand lies gently on my forehead,
presses fire into my skin,
draws out shining new flames.
Her ringing singing voice
speaks inside me:
This rises from you – by your fire you live
Seek the stories for telling,
sing them loudly over the hills
Burn away your fears with a poet’s flame,
a troubadour’s song.
Your task is to tell, and share, and shape
until pockets of puckering, fearful, poisonous silence
turn bright and hopeful
with the sparks of your eyes.
Her touch warms me
and I know, waking,
that the fire will keep me strong
when my feet stumble.
~ Marta Ziemelis. Written in Dubai, copyright August & September 2013.
This is my attempt to offer a reply to “Why do you write?” It’s a question I’ve heard a number of times, and never found easy to answer, because boiling the answer down into a few simple words can be a tricky thing – usually, what you get from me is either silence, or a tangled, involved explanation. No doubt other writers of many kinds are asked this as well. For me it’s something I need to do to purge intense emotions, deal with a crazy world – or, sometimes, just play with interesting sounds.