Friday, July 11th, 2008. 'Healing Words' tutored by Victoria Field. (NB. What follows is in no way a resume of Vicky's course, but simply an expression of some of my feelings, during a week of profound personal experiences).
I arrive at Volos Bus Station feeling hot, sweaty and tired from a couple of hectic days in Athens - but exhilarated by a chat with Vangelis, a young man from Volos who is going home from his university studies in the capital. I take a photo of him with his friend, who is waiting to meet him. Then, as I sit waiting for the local bus to Kissos, I idly pen the following:
'Chatter, noise of the idling buses,
Grunts from the crane helping to build
What looks like a car park.
People from the bus disappearing into cars.
A little sparrow hopping his way around the tables.
The fat boy collecting the buts
Being smiled at by a beautiful woman in a pretty top...
All this and the Pelion to come!'
Saturday.
After a good sleep in C5, I meet my Workshop comrades - a motley-looking crew of writers, would-be writers, and 'I'm only Here for the Beer'/ the 'Ouso is Easy' brigade. Our leader Vicky is, of course, perfect, and she soon sets us off with a 'being here' exercise. Instinctively, I am drawn to a freshly painted Kalikalos board, standing upside down and do my first writing piece, giving the board a voice and viewpoint. Actually, I'm feeling a little 'upside down' myself, what with all the travel and the first stirrings of our course work.
Sunday.
Beginning to feel more relaxed and 'together'. My thoughts are being less constrained by the 'everyday life' I have left behind for a week. But home is still there in the background for me. In the exercise 'if I were water' I 'transmute' to the N. Devon coast and feel myself as the tide coming in, creating rock pools and bringing the rich variety of marine life into Combe Martin Bay, where I live. I am also the tide going out, retreating into the ocean depths, and bcoming One with the Source. But....when it comes to swimming, Combe Martin cannot compete with the beautiful warm Aegean. I luxuriate in the surf, and then chill out on a sunbed under one of those nifty little canopies. Bliss!!!
Monday.
Ye gods! One of my fellow writers has me down as Zeus, but I much prefer to be Apollo, god of light, music and prophecy. In this fantasy, I bring light into a darkened world - the light of understanding for the intellect, and music for the soul. As for prophecy, I sing worlds into being, and just now I am very busy at Kalikalos!
Tuesday.
"How would I like to feel at the end of the week?", we ask ourselves. One of the lines from a poem by Edith Sodergran (given to us by Vicky) says it all for me: 'Before I die, I shall bake a cathedral' - this, in spite of the fact that previously she has said that she can't find 'that sublimity of style' in her writing that she's 'always yearned for'. As for me, I want to bake the best 'cake' I can this week - and if my 'cathedral' turns out to be a modest little 'chapel', so be it!
I have a strange experience this afternoon. Whilst the others go to the beach, I have a siesta in my room. When I awake I feel completely disoriented. Where am I? What am I doing here? I wander around, still in a daze, until I hear the sounds of my companions arriving back fron the beach. Blessed relief! I celebrate with a cup of tea.
Wednesday.
It's Mark's Magical Mystery Tour in his 'peoples car', to the strains of heavenly baroque music. At our first stop in Zagora, I pause by an old, decrepit building and ask, 'what can you teach me?' The answers come quickly - to let crumble what wants to fall away...to lie content in the bosom of Nature...to let the wind pass softly through my bare rooms...AND...to die with dignity and repose.
We then continue on to Pouri, the last village of East Pelion. The village square is built on three levels. At the highest one, I pause by the War Memorial, becoming strongly aware of the personal tragedies its simple structure embraces. The contrast between my feelings by the old building in Zagora, and now here in Pouri, are overwhelming. I write:
I want to die with dignity,
And yet you did not...
Cut down by bullets -
International and Internicine.
The chicadas chirrup to your memory.
They sing of your boyhoods and youth,
When you were beautiful under the sun.
Your souls linger here; and I with them.
Further down the hill, Gary and Gemma are fashioning their metalwork, jewellery and ceramics. The metalwork is made 'with fantasy and humour' - a combination of fire and beating. The pottery is thrown on a 'momentum wheel' - red earthenware clay used and fired on a gas kiln. I leave the 2 G's with a lovely metal insect, who's going to join my 'Mr. Rightway' at home.
And so it is that the souls of the fallen comrades, and the spirits of these living craftworkers, meet here in the glory that is Pouri.
In the evening, we have our Cabaret on the steps and terrace at Kalikalos, ably compared by Sue. First up is Vicky with her cheeky 'Greek Salad' poem, contrasting Mediterranean sensuality with the 'ration of passion' endured in Northern latitudes. Then comes Mark with his musical and literary evocation of the Pelion Peninsular - seemingly a continuation of the day's Magical Mystery Tour. I follow on with a rousing version of my 'Simple Life', complete with a 'doing the Lambeth Walk' take-off in the last line of the chorus.
We are then privileged to have the appearance of that distinguished Professor of Archeology, Paul French. Dressed in a cool white linen suit, he shows great versatility in switching from lecturing to singing, following the non-appearance of Mr Jock Millenson, Chief Wrangler at Kalikalos. Paul's repertoire is impressive - 'The Blind Harper', 'No One's Slave And No One's Master', and 'Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life'. Even more impressive is his progressive stripping from song to song ie. finishing with Brian on the Cross wearing only a loin cloth. Corrr!!!
Zarine and Howard bring a more serious dimension to proceedings with a poetic reading and a prophetic pronouncement - only to be abruptly ended by Howard's declaration... Failed again!"
The evening actually ends with a song by Edvard Munch, sung with quiet passion and beauty by Teerol, a Beetles repise by Mark (Sergeant Pepper and All You Need Is Love) and the lullaby 'Angel Wings' by myself. (Sorry if I've forgotten anybody).
Quite a day!
Thursday.
Our last full day together. Vicky has a package of surprises for us with musings on the concept of 'Blue' and a challenge to identify the 'three strange angels' in D H Lawrence's poem 'Song of a Man Who Has Come Through'. Without revealing my own take on this, I can say that the powerful symbolism evoked for me by this exercise will stay as a continuing inspiration for my future writing.
Thursday evening is a time of sharing our impressions of the week around the camp fire, and it is here that staff and course participants join to thank each other for the mutual love and caring, so evident during the week. And, as 'cement' for this sharing, the whole of Kissos village and environs, it seems, turns out to celebrate a Greek Orthodox festival. The Greek music and dancing that goes on all night is really something - I had to get down there to feel part of it all. I'm absolutely knackered by Friday morning, but hey, am I bovvered?
-----Don Hills, Devon, England-----
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