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Posts Tagged ‘Frances Macaulay Forde’

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Roll up!  Roll up! Crack

the whip!  Circle the horses.

Let the monkeys laugh

and play with careless

disarray around this heart;

broken, wounded, fallen

from the high wire,

grip gone, hands open

in mute surrender.

Your forced false smile

Painted in a permanent

Good-vibe leer… I tip

my hat to all who stride

into the ring, willingly –

take a chance on love.

All the pretty ones

are gathered for love’s

circus performance.

Watch out for the Ringmaster!

He can reach a hand inside

your chest and squeeze…

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2011

Written for  “All The Pretty Ones Are…”

Studio Underground Foyer

State Theatre Centre of WA

(Friday 11 to Sunday 20 November 2011)

Funny folk, fear & fascination… complete with feathers…

All The Pretty One’s Are, is an exhibition of mixed media paintings by local Perth artist Jessica McCallum and will be on show for one week only in the Studio Underground Foyer at The State Theatre Centre of WA. Jessica’s style incorporates traditional watercolours & inks with a dark twist, and large-scale pop art, mixed media pieces. Her influences are murals, street art & old-skool comic book culture. Ever wanted to run away to the Circus?

For further information please visit http://jessicamccallum.blogspot.com/

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My daughter Jessica McCallum is an artist and this painting was from her  2011 ‘All The Pretty One’s Are…” Exhibition held at the State Theatre Centre in Perth City.

It’s been our habit to combine my words inspired by her paintings for exhibitions, so I thought I’d share one with you.

We intend, one day to publish a coffee-table book of the artworks and poems from her three of her very successful exhibitions.  Perhaps we’ll crowd-fund…

This work is one of two entitled ‘Bohemia‘ and the poem is written to the artwork.

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“Bohemia” by Jessica McCallum from “All The Pretty Ones Are…” exhibition held at the State Theatre Centre, 2011.

BOHEMIA

Like crystal

I am many faceted

not see-through glass

I proudly wear my life colours

individuality scratched into my skin

 –

gaze deeply into my painted experiences

shared memories etched in bright reflections

see strength and character in the vines which

grow in defiance – spirited independence in

the starbursts of my femininity – purposeful

illustrations of original soul inhabitants

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2010

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Last year I was a guest of the Avon Valley Writers Festival held over two days in Northam and Toodyay.  What a wonderful experience, the staff from both libraries made us very welcome.

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My handsome son drove me way out in the country and made me feel safe – wish we could do that sort of thing more often.

One of the books I took with me for sale was my Christmas story ‘Santa’s Swim’ – if you’d like a copy, I still have them for sale here.

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‘Santa’s Swim’ hardcover version (not available)

I also ran a coloring competition which was very popular – both winners loved their prizes of a copy of the book ‘Santa’s Swim’, a little Santa statue of their very own and a certificate to frame.

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Zoe Driffill – winner in Northam
(thanks to library staff for the wonderful photo)
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Aimee Greenhill, winner in Toodyay
(thanks to library staff for the wonderful photo)

This is the Christmas Cake decoration which inspired the story.

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The inspiration for ‘Santa’s Swim’

I wonder if they’ll bring out their book and the statue and read it again, this year?

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FrancesStudy

OK time to lighten the mood.

As a screenwriter, I have so many scripts just sitting around… shorts, features, TV Series etc.

One day, I’ll find the time to film this short-short with a couple of friends and my stills camera which takes video.

It’s so easy these days with all the options on the net to just film something and upload it onto You Tube.

You never know what will be a hit, what will just strike the collective funny bone and go viral.

But until I do, I thought I’d share this 3 min script with you. ‘Valentine’s Day

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Today, I’m watching The State Memorial for Nelson Mandela.  The camera pans across all the international attendees as the representative of the A.N.C. reads out a list of those dignitaries.  As she reads ‘President Robert Mugabe’ a huge roar erupts and I am astounded!  Don’t they know how many of his own people he has slaughtered, starved, beaten to within an inch of their lives and stolen from – and continues to do so?

Here Mugabe sits in a now free and democratic South Africa where everyone has a vote.  I wonder how the people around him feel?  Surely the UK and USA PM and President will not shake his hand… I find his presence insulting and wonder if Mandela would have felt the same way.

There must be more of Africa in me than I thought, because I seem to have the memory of an elephant.  How can that despot be feted when he has hated and been responsible for so much misery perpetuated onto his own people – not his enemies, but his fellow citizens of what was once a beautiful country.  A country I visited often, before he raped and pillaged, to swell his Swiss Coffers and build a Chinese Palace.

Quite a few years ago now, I wrote a poem inspired by letters smuggled out of Zimbabwe when the killing was at it’s worst when the world was finally taking some notice and new hope was on the horizon in the form of Morgan Tsvangirai.  Unfortunately, Mugabe didn’t go quietly and still pulls the purse strings, making it more than difficult for Morgan to help his people.

‘Roots & Wings’ was published in newspapers and on the net by others.   A second poem was written at Easter, when I could no longer ignore the obvious metaphor; Mugabe often likens himself to Our Lord :   An Easter Tragedy

#RobertMugabe  #Zimbabwe  #AnEasterTragedy  #Roots&Wings  #Despot #Terrorist #Poem

 

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Isn’t it wonderful that London Underground have poems available for all to read?

One of my favorite authors, Alexander McCall Smith has just released a book on W.H. Auden and the article about the book, mentions a poem I particularly like.  So I clicked the link and it took me to the Transport for London  website and a whole list of wonderful poems.

I believe it should be mandatory for all rail networks around the world to enrich the lives of their thousands of passengers with beautifully crafted, home-grown words.

Imagine what that would do for poetry book sales!

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Alexander McCall Smith’s ‘Tears of a Giraffe’

Alexander McCall Smith’s No 1 Ladies Detective Agency  books have the voice of my Africa – my childhood home, although set in nearby Botswana.  Alexander was also born in 1948 in Bulawayo, Southern Rhodesia, the same year my brother Paddy (also a professor) was born in Ndola, Northern Rhodesia. I giggled with the characters through most of this one and others in the series or else wiped away tears – they’re written with such humanity…

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Image

Dogs who are shamelessly proud of what they’ve just done…

With tears streaming down my face, I can hardly see the key board to type!

I’ve just watched a series of photos of 30 dogs being themselves someone posted onto Facebook and started to ponder what I was actually laughing at – what triggered my giggle response?

As a screenwriter I’m primarily a visual thinker so the looks on the dogs faces; the type of dogs and my perceived ideas of their characters – and whether the notes were hand written or typed got me.  In other words, it was what was in the frame – my eyes took note first, then my brain married what was written, applying extra meaning to the words as I imagined myself walking in on and seeing each situation.

I’m interested in whether audio-oriented people found this funny and if they read the words first then applied them to the image and it’s contents and if no sound accomplishment made a difference.  Or did they impose imaginary dog breaking dishes/hedgehog sounds to round out the scenes?

And tactile people: because they essentially need to ‘do’, would they have imaged themselves as dogs actually being stuck with quills or chewing the door frame etc, to get the full funny-ness of the photos?

Now I’m imagining the dogs with my human faces!  Ha-ha-ha… I’ve made myself crack up!

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As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in a small town in the middle of Africa immersed in a close community where we made our own entertainment.  We also looked after each other, nurtured any talents so they weren’t hidden any more and encouraged anyone who wanted to try something new, to do so.

We did it all for free – no reward, but because it was good to help.   It’s something that’s either in your DNA or not.  My parents were the same.

The ‘habit’ continued in my own small way, here in Australia too.  Over the years I’ve been a committee member and established a Folk Club, Writing Center, Theatre groups; organised Poetry Festivals, served on various City Council Cultural & Festival committees even writing constitutions for community associations.

I’ve met many who volunteered their time unstintingly but also a few who although paid a (nominal) fee to do a job, gave much more than was required.

One such person was so sadly killed last week going about his everyday – a tremendous waste of unheralded talent!

Wearing various hats in reality and as roles, Lucas North totally committed to whatever he was asked to do and did it well but totally without fanfare,  so was very often under-appreciated.

I appreciated him though…

Rest in peace now Lucas, free from earthly bounds and write among the stars.

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1960s Coronation Square

1960’s Coronation Square, Kitwe. (Photo: David Howell)

Someone posted a clip on Facebook and it took me straight back to my youth in Central Africa:  We flew from UK to Lusaka (Capital) in 1955 but moved up to the thriving metropolis of Kitwe on the Copperbelt in 1961, when I was eleven.

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1960’s – We had many a delish dinner at the swish Edinburgh Hotel! (Photo: David Howell)

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Early 1960’s – I remember buying my mum a broach for 2/6 pence at OK Bazaars – loved all the tacky glitter. (Photo: David Howell)

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1960’S – My Mum in a striped dress crossing the street to the VW and my Dad waiting for her, in the driver’s seat. They always held hands, too… (Photo: David Howell)

The clip: Look what happens to those who gorge on the Marula Fruit.

Jamie Uys made many heart-warming and clever films about his beloved home and nature.

My favorite of all time was “The Gods Must Be Crazy”  a gentle story about a coke bottle left in the desert.  A local man decides it must have fallen out of the sky and decides the Gods need their bottle back.  He tries his very best to return it.  The film illustrates the Africa I grew up in, so beautifully.

Many clips can be found on You Tube to enjoy… this one is very funny – perfect comic timing.

(My grateful thanks to the photographer for these un-credited photos found on the net although I suspect they were taken by David Howell, mostly on a now- defunct website “The Great North Road”  showing one of my African poems.)

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Co. Cork

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Midsummer

The young hare

on country roads,

blurred speed,

dance with danger.

Ears flat back along,

legs pumping, stretched out

in thumping rhythm.

Teenagers ‘vogue’

among foxgloves,

buttercups, daisies…

Identify fatal perfumes

inviting the innocent,

unwary sniff-er

to twitch

inquisitive noses

roadside.

Sudden glare

of spotlights

freeze-framed,

seconds

star struck

– THWACK!

My body

flies up,

stops.

Legs loosely

flap – fold.

Here lies…

with body stilled,

knees crossed

like a lady…

 

Frances Macaulay Forde © 2003

Text & Photos are Copyrighted: You are welcome to share what’s written here so long as the appropriate credit (my full name) is applied. Also ( as a courtesy) it would be good to know where and when my content is shared. Thanks. Frances.

 

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