Murmuration
Over Albert Bridge, over the Lagan river,
over and over, wing beats murmur
under the veil of a bleached out sky,
over Albert Bridge they gather and shimmer
like clouds of black mesh, like shoals of sky fish,
like unravelled stories, like flurries of charcoal snow;
gliding high, swooping low, squealing and cheeping,
they drown out traffic’s over-flow,
dazzle workers walking home;
then erased to a sentence in the middle distance
they come swelling, swirling, they burst into full crescendo
until diminuendoed,
batches descend and fall under Albert’s green arches
before settling to roost,
a door opens over Albert Bridge.
Thérèse Kieran
(Albert Bridge was built across the River Lagan in 1890. It is one of eight bridges in Belfast city joining the County Antrim and County Down banks of the river. Source: https://wikishire.co.uk/wiki/Albert_Bridge,_Belfast)
Red bridge I
It goes nowhere and no water runs under it.
Faded red, it arcs its small stiff back against the indifferent gnomes
fishing in a paint-flaking pond, ignores the sullen stares of stone rabbits.
Petunias flop and lean over bald tyres, eavesdrop while dry shells
lament far off beaches, lie about the sea.
She sits in her plastic chair, a crocheted blanket
of lurid squares across her lap, in feeble winter sunlight.
She dreams in sepia of swollen rivers with kissing bridges.
The red bridge sighs.
No beak-nosed troll demands a robber’s fee
to reach the other side.
It goes nowhere.
Red bridge II
They catch nothing, the gnomes, ostensibly
fishing. Washed out, stick-legged flamingos avoid
eye contact. Snails trail a silver ball.
The seal feigns a hopeless readiness.
A concrete cat has no comment.
The red bridge sighs.
In the kitchen, kids on a duty visit lounge
around the Formica table, hopeful inheritors,
snorting unsuppressed laughter.
She once caught the eye of the great train robber, Ronnie Biggs.
He kissed her bold reds lips on London Bridge while spring rain fell.
Bright baby blues, Brylcreem dreams.
They bring her tea with sugary contempt.
She can’t reach them. They don’t listen.
They catch nothing.
Sue Heggie
(The red bridge was a small red bridge, faded, sort of pseudo-Japanese style and it just sat there in Sue’s garden, no small stream, no point to it as it didn’t go anywhere…)
A bridge between Auckland, Aotearoa New Zealand and Belfast, Northern Island
A wish in one hand, shit in another (or maybe just Penpals) … or dog day afternoons or stranger friends discussing so much more than weather.
This project feels like finding a penpal, thank you for getting this antipodean ball rolling.
We do have blue skies but coupled with high humidity, sleepless nights and whirring fans. The sky isn’t always bluer.
It had a small red bridge, faded, sort of pseudo-Japanese style and it just sat there in the garden, no small stream, no point to it as it didn’t go anywhere…
We’ve got a good spell here for the next week or so, which is very welcome.
I managed to get down to Albert Bridge yesterday to see the starling murmuration - it was wonderful watching them circle and then fall in batches to roost under the bridge for the night.
“Murmuration” is delicious. A bit like Tennyson’s “murmuring of innumerable bees”.
The sun is finally out here so I’m also going to get my dog out now before the rain returns.
For this week’s class, we read Diane Seuss’s “frank: sonnets” which I think is my favourite so far if only for the brilliant line, “a wish in one hand, shit in another.”
The sun is finally out here so I’m also going to get my dog out now before the rain returns.
Diane Seuss is keeping me awake at night, in a good way.
The sun is shining here today so I must get out with my dog soon.
Daylight saving today so it feels very dark and absurdly early. Winter on its way.
I have to get our dog to bed, so I’ll sign off.
Slán go foil, Thérèse x
Arohanui, Sue x
Note: Arohanui is a Māori phrase that can be used to express deep affection, or much love, often used in signing off letters with friends.
Slán go foil is ‘bye for now’ in Irish.
(Sue - bold, Thérèse- italics)
Such vivid imagery, the dazzling and swirling, silver and charcoal, with the red lips, flamingos and baby blues - and a glimpse into a poetic friendship across the many miles.
It's a wonderful thing about this project, making connections that are friendships or pen pals at least. Connected across the planet by bridges and by a shared joy in writing