)
By David Anson, Head of English (Bedales Senior)
Last year we had some fantastic poetry events here at Bedales, which culminated in a poetry festival and an open mic introduced by OB Esme Allman (2013-15). The energy and appetite from the student body was such that our English Dons, Olive and Charlotte, were keen to ensure there was another event this year to offer students the chance to perform original poetry to their peers. So, on Friday 10 October, we had the inaugural (we hope) Bedales Folk and Poetry night.
OBs reading this will remember the Jazz, Folk and Poetry events, championed by my predecessor, Head of English Graham Banks (staff, 1980-2013). I hope that this year’s event has managed to honour that Bedales tradition, and to champion the spoken word and the beauty of acoustic music and song for a new generation.
The evening was balmy, beautiful and very chilled in the Outdoor Work barnyard; students gathered around a roaring fire pit and under the glowing leaves of the hawthorn tree to read and sing. We had a fabulous range of original poetry, music, published poems from the great and good, and a handful of familiar folk tunes and ballads.
Holly opened the evening with 'The Road Not Taken' by Robert Frost, Alfie sang 'Poor Way Fairing Stranger', and George sang '500 Miles', as well as read his original piece, printed below (with a bonus one from me). We enjoyed listening to Bee’s stunning vocals and to the fantastic harmonies of Seb and Elspeth. The evening also included the power of more original poetry from Pash, Inigo, Astrid, Charlie, Valeriia and Olive.
It makes me very excited to see the work produced from this group of budding writers and performers, and I am very much looking forward to running another event like this later in the year.
A Sermon for Sorrow, By George, 6.2 (Year 13)
One ache to one thousand,
One thousand to none,
I lie on a pew,
My great day has begun,
The sunlight has risen,
Amid calling wild geese,
I’m grounded, intertwined within you,
A greatness in my story, you are my peace.
not one thing eternal,
The sun, wind, or light,
beginning can be traced,
Where sun burned you hotter, beamed more bright,
Wind calmed for one day,
The light dulled for a week,
We are not we at our lowest,
We are we at our peak,
Sermons, I've read a thousand to none,
One night we all read our sermons for fun,
We laughed at ruin and drank to decay,
This night is one that our sermons betray,
Immediate revelation fell mediately tomorrow,
As we walked through the bone-shard graveyard of lightness and sorrow.
Pine Tree in the Building Site, by David Anson
Late, afternoon; gauze of blue catches
heavy thatch of Scots pine, green and sharp feathered.
Far below its stately sight, rag of frayed root
unearthed, up-ended, left, forgotten here
in the shadowed site. Digger tracks, muddy ruts,
trenches gape, baring clay teeth,
a rash of signs shout their hazards on the gate.
Stirrings of yellow warmth lift then settle the cones
that nest precariously.
The bubble and chatchatchat of birds,
the sweet sip and click of song swells the evening
and clouds the pine in ancient sound.
Morning will bring a different rhythm
and jar the air with wrench and clang and jud
of metal fist
and this pine will stand it all the more.
)
)
)