Jane's Writing Shed.

Written in support of all the refugees travelling to Europe who are desperately seeking new lives. Somewhere, not here If we were birds we’d heed no borders, if I, if we, if war, if poverty, if trafficked, war weary people, if corpses locked in lorries, washed up on indifferent tides, if death is better than torture, barrel bombs, leaving everything better than staying, walking with hundreds and hundreds for hundreds of miles, but we are humans, who all came from, came from, came from, all refugees from somewhere, not here, every single one.

Very sad news this week that Tessa Ransford has died. She was the founder of the Scottish Poetry Library and other significant initiatives to enable poetry to flourish in Scotland including Scottish Pamphlet Poetry and the Callum Macdonald Memorial Award. I only met Tessa once very briefly but I'm aware that so much of her life was devoted to developing resources for poets and poetry in her adopted country. Demonstrably she was a dynamic, creative person and a force for good who will be greatly missed. The first poem in her collection 'When it Works it feels like play' 1998 is 'The Shepherd of Remedello'. Thank you Tessa Ransford for everything you did for poetry in Scotland. The Shepherd of Remedello (The prehistoric man found at Hauslabjoch the Otztal Alps on 19 September 1991) He went to sleep for five thousand years not expecting a resurrection high on the ridge where he tended flocks with grass-woven cloak and birch tinderbox copper axe and flintst...

Inspired by film maker Alistair Cook @AlistairCook #filmpoem who makes wonderful filmpoems with The Poetry Society and other collaborators, I've made a couple of short filmpoems just to experiment with this medium. Do check out Alistair's website to view some fantastic examples of his craft at filmpoem.com

I love the thought that even in the worst of circumstances, nature both wild and human, will find a way to survive. Vira in Wormwood* Beyond the reach of those she loved, instead of the adventure she hoped would keep her entertained growing sunflowers and pumpkins in poisoned plots or fishing in running pools, one summer long, Vira began to worry about the swallows nesting in crevices in the reactor’s tomb; flowers and berries forcing themselves through abandoned parking lots; wild horses chased by poachers; wolves roaming the untamed woods, even lizards scurrying from her feet. Charmed by Chernobyl, she stayed, had few visitors, never went home. *Some translate the Russian word Chernobyl to Wormwood which is mentioned in Revelation 8, leading to the belief that the Chernobyl disaster fulfilled the sounding of the third trumpet in Revelations.

'Where you start from' by Lindy Barbour. Published by Mariscat Press 2015. £6.00. The title of Lindy Barbour's first poetry pamphlet reveals the author's skill in finding just the right word or phrase and thereby implying layers of meaning in her poems. 'Where you start from' not 'I', not 'we' but 'you' which could be addressed to her brothers, to whom the collection is dedicated, her parents, her readers and/or herself. These poems exquisitely chart her early years growing up in North East Fife. The pamphlet opens with the first poem, 'First, the Garden, November 1956', 'We opened the back gate in the high wall and, entering from William Street, found you waiting,' This poem is a tender evocation of a memory of her childhood garden and as with other poems in the pamphlet, it sharply highlights the differences between adult concerns, 'That's not laurel, it's a camellia' and those of a child, ...

I wrote this poem last year after a delightful Suffolk holiday. Imagine watching a green woodpecker stabbing the grass in the graveyard of a medieval church....... Thinking of stardust by Crowfield Church That call, that shock of feathers, of moss and blood, behind a half-timbered church. A green woodpecker with a snake-like tongue, raked out invertebrates between the gravestones, then flew up, a mocking cry in its wake. The sound caught. What if, I thought, when a bird dies the carcass is carried off by a fox or a stoat, then partly eaten, partly left, rots and desiccates. And on a night when the atmosphere thins and the wind catches the drying skin of dead things, all those atoms are gathered up into shining skeins, particulates of wing and gristle, shifting in the solar winds? That would make dust somehow immortal.

'Where you start from' new poetry pamphlet launch. Mariscat Press. Friday 8 May, Blackwell's Bookshop, South Bridge, Edinburgh. 6 - 8 pm. My friend, the poet Lindy Barbour is launching her first poetry pamphlet, published by Mariscat Press at Blackwell's Bookshop, South Bridge, Edinburgh from 6-8 pm. This is a joint launch with another poet, Eveline Pye. Tickets are free from Blackwell's shop or by phoning 0131 622 8218 or events.edinburgh@blackwells.co.uk or on Eventbrite. Get along if you can, it will be a great evening!