I haven’t written much (any?) poetry this year, so my experience recently at Lumb Bank was a jump-start to my poetic creativity.
Stevie Ronnie was our tutor for the poetry element of the Book Art & Text course (check out the amazing paper books I made under Rachel Hazell‘s tutelage), and he immersed the group in language and words (my very favourite kind of lesson) through ingenious tasks and short games, even making up new poetic forms – the snake poem anyone? – encouraging us to inject a bit more freedom and fun into our approach to poetry.
For one of our lessons we had to write down our favourite word ahead of time, allowing Stevie to research the etymology of it and present us with the findings (though at the time we didn’t know where the word was going to take us).
From there, we had to construct a poem using only the words that featured in the etymology.
My word was ‘AZURE’, chosen because of its colourful connotations and how it makes me feel – turquoise-y blue and free, like I’m swimming in the sea, the Med perhaps; the Côte d’Azur…
And the etymology was fascinating – more like a history lesson through language, culture and geology via the Mediterranean and Turkestan.
Azure is so much more than ‘the blue colour of the clear sky‘.
Some of the words that jumped out at me from the etymology were words I would never have thought to include in a poem, and I loved how they related back to the word (obviously) but could be jumbled up to create the story of the word, as well as a story through the poem.
These are some of my favourites:
Middle Latin lapis
molluscs which stick to rocks
cognates in Greek
the unclouded sky
heraldic colour blue
a stone, a pebble
spangles of pyrites
They make it sound so much more complex and glamorous. I love that.
Words and phrases all with their roots in one word, but intensifying the meaning, shifting it, elevating it.
I’ve done very little work on the poem since I returned – it didn’t feel right because I worked on it amidst the special magic of Lumb Bank (in snatches of time between meals!), presenting it on our final night by reading it out as though it was complete. And it is complete, for now. (Completely azure?)
The only thing I’ve allowed myself to change is the line structure – it’s my area of weakness – and the title.
I thought it fitting to call it Lapis Lazuli at the time, because azure is literally ‘a genitive of lazulum‘, but then I realised the title of this post says it best.
The Etymology of Azure
stand unclouded, proto-Italic and
essentially complex: dripping-rich
with limpets clinging to sticks.
A false sky beckons, blue, azure;
a genitive of lazulum
spangled pewter and gold.
It’s the Persian Lajward
borrowed from before –
Marco Polo’s short French mention:
loaned from Latin
and archaic silicates
cognated in stone.