How I write

Ushering in poems

All of my artworks are made in dialogue with my poems. Behind me is “Dress of Flowers” and “Dress of Hands” and I am wearing “Dress of Secrets”. These works are part of my upcoming show in Oslo called Shopping for God.

Happy Sunday loved one,

This week I am sharing a poem, which is also a song, called Thelma’s Lullaby with you. I do not have a microphone yet, so this is the written version. It’s teeny tiny like last week’s poem, but full of magic.

Poems are fragile things. Some come into the world so hesitantly that I try my best not to look at them while I am writing them. I purposely blur my vision as I am typing them out, as if my very witnessing them will change their form: quantum poems.

Sometimes, perhaps during a very lovely moment, perhaps when the sunlight is slanting in just right through the window, or the wind is blowing gently enough, I just know I am having a poem. And if I am with someone I trust I’ll stop and declare “I’m having a poem!”. Those poems are usually the showstoppers.

Usually with the longer poems or the short stories, I have no memory of having written them at all, they come out onto the page so quickly. Other times, they sit in my drafts pile in my brain for months, perhaps just the first line: “who could ask for anything more than this? Who could ask for anything more than this?” and eventually they complete themselves, or don’t.

I also do a lot of my creative work when I am sleeping, or not, or somewhere in between sleep and wakefulness which is why in my song Thelma’s Waltz I say that “I gather gifts in the dream space”.

Other methods include creating visual art, so I can see what it is I am trying to say as it exists beyond the realm of language. Or dancing around my living room.

I write most of my songs in the shower. I have written entire operas in there. My neighbours can testify.

I’m signing off until 2024 now. Thank you for being part of this Substack community and for taking a short breath every Sunday to listen to a poem or read an essay I have written. I have so much more in store for you.

I wish you all a restful holiday season.

Love from me,

Eleanor Flowers

This is Thelma’s Lullaby:

Thelma’s Lullaby

What is life

If lit with lights

We’ve not the sight

To see the stars?

What is life

If filled with fright

We’ve not the might

To face our hearts?