Bloomin' Heather

I wrote the verse below some years ago but I still feel this way. Even if you start out wanting fame and fortune, you can only write what is true for you while at the same time a writer needs a reader.   It is currently on the home page of my new website/blog at https://bloominheather.com/   Please take a look!

I want to be a writer and do what writers do:

Sign autographs, make loads of dosh, have discussions on BBC2.

I want to be a writer and see what writers see;

Right through the dross to the golden gloss bought by Tesco and ITV.

I want to be a writer and say what writers say,

With incisive thoughts and snap reports on the happenings of the day.

I want to be a writer and go where writers go:

To far off places and behind faces, describing it all just so.

I want to be a writer and hold what writers hold:

In the palm of the hand, time’s grains of sand, life’s story to be told.

I want to be a writer, to be what writers are.

If I wield a pen and count to ten, will the words come from afar?

Or will they bubble up from deep inside, from feelings not to be denied?

Will they come out flat and need some work? Will I persevere, try not to shirk?

Will I find the thread I lost in bed at 2 o’clock in the morning?

Or will I suffer for art, feel the pierce of the heart,

And still leave my audience yawning?

I want to be a writer and live as writers live.

I’ll be one for a while, with a shrug and a smile, if you’ll read what I have to give.

Heather Gingele

THE CRUEL SEA

The immense water masses between oceans, the lump of  sea that our eye catches from the beach of our village, this part of the world where the fishermen live, with their families, their boats, is the spectacle of their daily audaciousness.
This sea that allows them to live through the treasures that live in it. From generation to generation the fishermen are pushing their boats over the waves, starting the unknown conditions that they will find further away from their villages, leaving behind their families.
Albert Rouiller, a Geneva sculpter, at the end of his life, close to the end of the 20th century decided to live in Mallorca. His art work shall be lightened and stimulated by the so special light of this Island and the sea around it.
He and his wife lived in a house on a cliff in a small village. They became friends with the fishermen and their families, sitting for hours together for their daily chatting about life, the sea and all kind of experiences. These local men were his dear inspiration.
One night, the sea was cross and an endless battle between the fishermen’s boat and the sea started. Nobody survived – the cruel sea had taken these men away and destroyed the boat.
Nature – sea – immensely strong and sometimes cruel – we will always be surprised by nature.
What remains of an old, broken, wooden fisherboat? Some broken wooden elements, may remind you of human ribs, the body structure of a human carcass, as well as the one of a fisherman’s boat.
From this day on, the artist sculpted ribs, ribs of boats, likewise ribs of human beings, curved and tortured, bringing to mind the strength of these water masses, far out there where the confrontation is bold and cruel.   

This piece was written, in English, by German speaking Kathrein Humbel - a recent new member of Torrevieja Writers;  it was inspired by the 'word of the week' for April 6.16 - 'The Cruel Sea - and Albert Rouiller, a Swiss born sculptor from Geneva - also Kathrein's home town. LD.