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Archive for the ‘1968 Notebook’ Category

 

 

painting-by-vincent-romero-madrid-1956

Vincente Romero © 2007-2009

 

As I’m focused on picture books for children through my 12 x 12  challenge, I’ve also just enrolled in a class on The Art of the Picture Book illustration class with Shadra Strickland.

(Of course, I could never be as good as Vincente Romaro who’s paintings I’ve just discovered!)

So for a ‘tester’ project, I’m going to use a poem I wrote many years ago (and I mean many) in the early 60’s called “The Prima Ballerina”.

I hope to show you how I adapt it to a PB and slowly, how I have a go at illustrating it too…

 

The Prima Ballerina

She lives in a world of fairy tales,

all fantasy, happiness and woe. 

 

Floating across the stage in tulle,

fine silk or organza.,

 

softly pirouettes through the mist,

or dies upon the snow. 

 

This is the world of Ballet

of the Prima Ballerina.

 

So lithe and slim, so beautiful,

so graceful and serene. 

 

On stage, supremely untouchable

yet so frail behind the scenes. 

 

She’s the Queen of the ‘Corps de Ballet’,

the star with the golden feet, 

 

dancing her way through ‘Petruska’,

‘Swan Lake’ or the ‘Nutcracker Suite’.

 

The audience, transfixed with awe,

watch silently, as in a dream,

 

for gripped by suspense and beauty

 – such as they’ve never seen! 

 

They observe the scenery so real,

the superbly made costumes,

 

but their eyes are fixed on the ‘Bluebird’

and all it’s fine blue plumes.

 

And when the ballet is done,

And encore after encore taken.

 

And baskets and bouquets

of flowers dispensed….

 

There’s a feeling of despair and longing

at the end of such unforgettable enchantment.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1968

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #1968Notebook  #POEM:ThePrimaBallerina  #poetry  #Ballet

#Children’sPictureBooks  #Illustration  #TheArtOfPictureBook  #ShadraStrickland  #12x12Challenge

#ARTIST:VincenteRomaro

 

 

 

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13Jan12thPaudiesBdayORIG (2)

Original ‘Praying Hands’ Painting  by Rosa Niehaus © 1960’s

African Hands

I saw a picture the other day

of two hands clasped in prayer.

The story they told was the truth

about an old man from his youth.

 

The lines of worry were all there

with the happiness, love and despair.

With the death he had seen

of the friends that had been…

 

Showing the scars of war,

all the fights from before.

When he looks at his hands, does he see

how his future’s going to be?

 

A struggle before he dies?–

We should all have eternal lives!

He knows death must be near,

I wonder if he has any fear?

 

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1973

The painting proudly on show in our lounge in Kitwe,  Zambia, for many years.

@FrancesMForde  #FrancesMacForde  #POEM:AfricanHands  #poetry  #ArtAsTheSpark   #Africa

#ARTIST:RosaNiehaus  #ThesePrayingHands  #1968Notebook

 

 

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140718Notebook1968 001w

In the 

silhouette

of your

beauty,

your dreams

be

hidden,

Why?

Maybe

your dreams,

are

mine!

(Written in the back of my 1968 notebook ~ author ‘unknown’.)

@FrancesMForde  #1968Notebook  #Romance  #Poetry

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  140718Notebook1968 001w

Raining

I came home alone

on my own (again)

in the rain.

The room was cold

and bare – empty

without you there.

Mind dull with pain,

face wet and stained,

full of mascara and grief.

Of goodbye – disbelief!

Morning holds

nothing new.

The usual chaos

and boredom.

No you…

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1972

@FrancesMForde  #Headingley,Leeds  #Poetry  #1968Notebook  #POEM:Raining

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truckersmoll

In Rosemary Canavan’s book of poems ‘Trucker’s Moll’, her dedication is “for my mother who started me off”.  I can relate.

140921Poems 003w

 

My mum also encouraged my youthful angst in my 1968 handwritten notebook, long before keyboards ruined my ability to wield a pen and ink, by putting a little (accountant’s) tick of approval next to poems she liked.  Done in pencil – I hope it never fades… I treasure those little marks.

Rosemary’s poem on page 61 ‘Flowers in March’ was written on St Patrick’s Day in March 2003.

140921TruckersMoleW

 

I too sat newly arrived in Ireland, watching that same parade on the television,  in March, 2003 and wrote on the same theme.

Baghdad Ballet       

                                                              

A young boy sits, on his mother’s shoulders,

smile-excited in the sunshine, taking part 

in a parade. He proudly thrusts the finger

-sign of peace. Nice to see in an Iraqi child

 

– family bombardered by ‘Shock and Awe’

the night before, apparently forgiving.

But the visual is blitzed as it flashes onscreen,

by the plastic Sten-gun held aloft, back-

 

ground brandished in the child’s other hand.

Do you think the young lad plays in secret tunnels,

knows where to hide, where doubles walk

to keep the myth alive, the magic tricks

 

to keep awake illusions of a still-controlled-city.

Streetlights burn in defiance of invaders largess.

Traffic moves through the night while

bright glows explode in distant thunder

 

shower shrapnel. We sit on green comfy

sofas, presumed warm and safe inside,

miles away watching the performance

on TV young Liam wears red and white,

 

holds his defiant hurely high – a warrior

enjoying the sunshine day parade

– a protest for peace in Shannon…

 

 Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #RosemaryCanavan  #SalmonPoetry  #JessieLendennie   #SalmonBookshop  #CliffsOfMoher  #Poetry  #IrishPoet

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Images of poppies pouring out of the Tower of London, to mark the Centenary of the start of World War 1 and those who gave their lives for king and country… each ceramic poppy represents a fallen soldier.

I picked one to share and it came from this blog posting  which tells the story so much better than I can.

wp_20140804_19_11_27_pro

I remember watching TV in my bedsit in Leeds, 1973 as the Queen remembered…

 

The Queen in Black

Remembrance Day, 1973

 

How many thousands watched her lay

the wreath of poppies while they prayed…

 

Or held their breath and stood still in silence

two minutes for the sacrifice, in remembrance.

 

As each petal falls from above so a page in the book

of memories ~ thoughts of someone they loved and lost.

 

They say each petal represents the life of one who gave.

Poppies seen growing amongst a countryside of graves…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1973

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #RemembranceDay  #QueenInBlack  #TowerOfLondon  #TowerPoppies  #CeramicPoppies  #WorldWarI  #WWI

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My 40th Party – 1990

Welcome to September, an expensive month with the most birthdays of family and friends – and my own.

It was difficult for my daughter to fit in an afternoon tea to celebrate mine – so it’ll be a week late.   It’s Father’s Day the same weekend and since the divorce, naturally it’s a separate thing…

Seven September birthdays in all; two of my brothers (one turning the big seven ‘Oh’), my beautiful daughter-in-law and 3 very good friends.

I think Mum and Dad must have made sure they were together over Christmas to have three September babies, but then Christmas has always been a big social occasion in our family.

My dad’s birthday was New Year’s Eve so although we’d be spread around town celebrating with our friends, we always met up at midnight to raise a glass to dad.

I can always tell a Virgo or a Librian… or a Capricorn.   This 1973 poem is another from my 1968 notebook.

 

Did you know?

 

Did you know that Cancer

was compatible with Virgo?

No?

Well, it is.

So now, you

should take notice of me.

 

You’re so tall

you have to bend

to come through the door.

 

I’m so small

I have to jump

to reach the top shelf.

 

Funny, hey, that I

should fancy you

for myself?

 

And me,

so near the floor…

 

How’s the weather up there?

Do you know I care?

 

Well, I do.

 

I like an awful lot of things about you;

your blond hair, blue eyes and glasses.

 

Your big nose!

 

Even your massive

size ten feet

and huge toes.

 

Like thick fingers,

they’ve got character.

 

I tried on your shoes the other day

and shook with laughter.

 

They made me feel all feminine

because mine were so small,

compared…

 

I don’t even reach your shoulder

in platforms!

 

And yet…

 

When you hold me

or kiss me

or anything,

I feel nice.

 

All protected and loved

and I trust you,

completely

even when you’re driving

and you know how nervous I am

normally…

 

So you see,

the difference in height

doesn’t mean a thing, really

– does it?

 

Do you believe in the ‘Stars’?

 

Well, I do…

but that wasn’t why

I fell in love

with you.

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 1973

 

#FrancesMacaulayForde  #Romance  #LovePoems  #Poems  #love  #Virgo   #Capricorn  #Libra  #birthdays

 

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140718Notebook1968 001w

Before we met,

my heart was young,

it showed its reactions

to everyone.

 

Worn on my sleeve,

it was easy to know,

easy to see feelings

come and go.

 

But since we’ve met,

my heart’s a closed door,

no-one knows the hurt

or happiness anymore.

 

Not even you – and you

hold the key but what

is the good when

you don’t love me?

Frances Macaulay Forde @ 1965

#francesmacaulayforde  #1968notebook  #lovepoems  #love  #poems  #poetry  #romance  #follow  #instagram  #twitter

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