Wild Women, Wild Birth...pass the howl on!

Wild Women

Creative Pregnancy Courses


Creative Pregnancy Course for Women
A course of 10 Saturday workshops, plus 1 weekend
July –Dec 2007

Make space in your life to celebrate your pregnancy and connect with other women sharing this amazing journey!

Pregnancy is an intensely creative and intuitive time. Through gentle guidance and supportive inspiration, this is an opportunity for women who are pregnant to explore and celebrate their natural creativity, as well as learn more about natural pregnancy and prepare for birth. Held in the South Lakes, this is a Women-only course, lead by Victoria Bennett (poet, creative guide and founder of Wild Women), Helen Bebbington, (holistic therapist and birth Doula) and guest wild guides. Course includes:

Connecting to the Wild Creator – using various creative approaches (journaling, artmaking, movement, dream-work) you will be guided and encouraged to connect your wild woman in pregnancy;

Holistic Pregnancy & Birth Support – learn more about holistic therapies and their uses (Aromatherapy, Massage, Homeopathy, Natural Remedies) as well as discovering more about Doula childbirth support and other non-invasive approaches;

Times/Dates: 10 – 3pm on Saturdays: Jul 14th, 28th; Sept 8th, 22nd; Oct 6th, 20th; Nov 3rd, 17th; Dec 1st, 15th 2007 plus 1 Weekend: Sat/Sun August 18th/19th 2007.

Price: £360 Full Rate; £240 conc.
(we may have places available at further reductions for those unable to meet this cost due to personal circumstances – please discuss)




Natural Pregnancy Course

A course for women and their birth partners
A 2 part course, 5 evenings each, Summer & Autumn 2007

Through gentle guidance and supportive tuition, this is an opportunity for pregnant women and their pregnancy support partners to creatively explore and learn more about natural pregnancy and birth. Held in South Lakes, this course is open to women and men and will be lead by Victoria Bennett (poet, creative guide and founder of Wild Women), Helen Bebbington, (holistic therapist and birth Doula) and guest guides. Complete course includes 2 x 5 workshops – can be booked separately:

Creative Connection – using various creative approaches you will be guided and encouraged to connect with your shared pregnancy journey;

Holistic Pregnancy & Birth Support – learn more about holistic therapies and their uses in pregnancy (Aromatherapy, Massage, Homeopathy, Natural Remedies) as well how to prepare for a natural birth using non-invasive approaches;

Times/Dates:
Weds 7 – 9pm

Part 1: suitable for those in early/mid pregnancy
(July 11th, 18th, 25th; Aug 1st, Aug 8th 2007)
Part 2: suitable for those in the last trimester of pregnancy
(Nov 14th, 21st, 28th; Dec 5th, 12th)

Price: £100/£75/£50 per course for woman and partner includes Basic Remedies Kit
Total Cost for Part 1 & 2: £200/£150/£100

Enquiries for all courses contact: vik@wildwomenpress.com

Acquire the courage...

And then the day came, when the risk to remain tight in a bud
was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin, Danish diarist

I am reminded today of this truth. That there comes a time, I believe, in every person's life, where the risk of staying safely wrapped in that bud is much more than the risk of letting go of the control and discovering the truth of who you really are. When I was a small child, I remember seeing a sadness that surrounded most adults - a kind of suffocation that settled on their spirit, behind their eyes, that said "This is life, this is all I can expect". Even then, I knew this was not the way I wanted to walk my life.

A child asks "Why can't I?" to most obstacles he or she meets. And slowly, we are taught, all to often, the answer "Because..." But the real truth is that there are no limitations to the depth of one's true spirit and this journey always leads to expansion, not restriction.

Sometimes, life can hurt. I know this. My last real hurt came when I lost my child in 2003, and my relationship hit the hellish lows. At the time, I could only see what I had lost, what had been 'taken from me' in my life. And for the second real time in my life, I doubted the truth of the above quote, of the Fool's Path. When life hurt this much, why open your shirt to the sword? It took a long path of night, good friends, Love, courage and the willingness to listen to the spirit beyond what we see, for me to get to the place where I woke up and found myself feeling in the pain the abundance of what had been given to me.

If someone had told me when I sat with my heart breaking that this was a gift, I probably would've given them a bloody nose, yet something inside me, even then, knew that I could not, would not give up, that I would keep walking the path.

Yesterday, sat atop of Garsdale Head with Adam and Simon, eating banana and yoghurt, the only sound the birds crying around the hills, we fell into laughter so deep and silly it made me weep. A simple, beautiful thing. And something I thought I would never feel again.

I would rather live a thousand times of tears to feel the true bubble of joy that comes with love, that comes with being within my own skin, in my own life, walking my true path, than live always safe, neither hurt nor happy.

My mother always said "save me from a grey life" - for years I thought that meant it had to be dramatic. It doesn't. It can be as soft and small as sharing stupid laughter in the silence of a Sunday picnic. And that moment can burst into life in a myriad of colours, because at its heart is love, and truth and freedom.

"Acquire the courage to believe in yourself.
Many of the things that you have been taught were at one time the radical ideas of individuals who had the courage to believe what their own hearts and minds
told them was true, rather than accept the common beliefs of their day."

Ching Ning Chu

there are signs...

Is this a sign of the strange things to come?

Welcome to the real 'wall of weird'...next will be the bird-headed man, as predicted by Gill Hands...

Story courtesy of:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/somerset/3534361.stm

We can't stop here. This is Wild Women country.

Inspired by the wonderful Dark Blonde (aka Gill Hands) I thought I would waste some of my own rainy day time on playing with the quote gadget she found...here are a few of my favourite Wild Women lines...

They're here already! You're Wild Women! You're Wild Women!

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Of all the Wild Women joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

With great power comes great Wild Women.

Which movie was this quote from?

Get your own quotes:

Go on - have a go yourself - you know you want to...

and here are a few more of my favourite ones...some sound spookily true...

ahh, blissfool day of rainy day play...

Love means never having to say you're Wild Women.
Here's looking at Wild Women, kid.
I've got a feeling we're not in Wild Women anymore.
It is too late, my Wild Women is in your veins.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world Wild Women didn't exist.
All work and no Wild Women makes Jack a dull boy.
When there's no more room in hell, the Wild Women will walk the earth.
They may take away our Wild Women, but they'll never take our freedom!
We are indeed drifting into the arena of the Wild Women.
Get your stinking paws off me, you damned dirty Wild Women.
You've got Wild Women on you.
Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the Wild Women Room!

Beautiful people, they go the same direction as you do...

Byron's first outing on the tube...capturing the art in action! (Melanie & John)

All that talk about London reminded me that back in April, Gill and I had a wonderful jaunt to the city to share our poetry at Loose Muse, a monthly women's writing event hosted by the fabulous Agnes Meadows. The evening was really interesting, and the audience attentive and interested, and the hostess full of energy and warmth. Only women read, but men are welcome in the audience - go along if you get the chance. It is held at the Poetry Cafe, 22 Betterton St, London - details usually found on their site.

Gill, perfecting the 'poetic gaze' at the nearby pub as we take in our liquid refreshments...

Poetic gorgeousness in the form of Inua Ellams and John Challis...
who came along to support our London debut!

Anyway - like I said, we were invited down to read our poetry and talk a bit about Wild Women Press. What was fascinating was that in our audience, there were 5 women who had originally lived in Cumbria, but who had moved to London for work or because, at the time, they had felt there was no support for women writers up here - a situation they were glad to see had changed with the spirit of Wild Women Press!

We also got a chance to catch up with some fellow wild friends and enjoy the good old poetic connection - what better life is there than that of the BlissFool? The money may be little but the love is immense!

John shows us how he has sold his soul to the Devil at the Crossroads...
naughty boy, his soul was ours!

In an english country garden...

Rural Art?

I recently discovered that there are still people from that there city of London who think of us poor rural folk as being a bit backward, a bit slow on the old uptake an' all...so I thought it be fitting to say something on this here tinternet about how I feels about their comments.

The other day, I unwittingly subjected myself to 2 hours of pomposity of the highest degree, in the form of Nightwaves, the Radio 3 "arts and ideas" programme. The live debate was around the question:

Is the countryside more English than the city? Where is the heart of English culture?

I suppose I should have known by the question what to expect. That, and the fact that the only actual 'rural' person on the panel also happened to be the only person from Cumbria, and the only woman. And the other 4 panelists had made long careers from the male-dominated arena of reviewing, editing and criticism (though some were now authors), whereas the one woman, rural Cumbrian was a practising artist. I also noticed that, throughout the discussion, every time Matthew Sweet (the presenter) turned a question to Sarah Hall, he jabbed his finger accusingly at her - a physical gesture that was absent when he addressed any other of the panel members. Now, why was this? Of course, being radio, listeners will not see this - but I found it fascinating and a little bit alarming.

However, in I went, bravely going where no wild woman should stray. And luckily, in the company of fellow wild woman, Gill Hands (who has also written on this in her blog, should you wish to read more!).

What followed was a very confusing debate about Art, art, Culture and culture...with little clarity given to exactly what was being spoken of. But I won't spoil the debate for you here - you can listen in on Thursday night, Radio 3, around 9.45 pm I think.

Now, I am a reasonably erudite woman, but I found myself thinking, in broad Cumbrian, "eh?"
listening to a lot of what was said, which amounted to not very much, in my opinion. What really got my goat, (or should I say sheep, being Cumbrian?) was the comment made by a certain Tim Lott, who obviously has a phobic distrust of anything not London. Namely, that there has been no real or significant art to come out of the countryside in the last 100 years, and his reasoning for this was that the artists are simply 'not good enough', that they lack the 'competition and conflict' of urban artists that is, in his opinion, necessary to create "Good Art", and that, at best, all rural artists are happy amateurs, knitting doilies for toilet rolls.

The panel, it appeared, collectively hinted towards a feeling that whilst rural art contained some talented 'folk art' and 'craft-makers', the "real art' of social significance came only from the city.

...because obviously we in the countryside are too narrow-minded and inward-looking to ever consider the wider social, political, cultural, sexual or economic implications of our existence, or our art, not to mention ever fall in love, break hearts, get ill, experience grief, feel isolated or be prey to any of the other many shared connecting experiences of being human. We can, at best, knit well and write about nature.

Only urban artists can make ART.

At which point, I really wanted to shout "WHAT A LOAD OF BOLLOCKS!" and leave.

But I manged not to do this. I did however, wonder what we were debating, since it seemed to be straying away from the original question.

Thing is, I know of a lot of rural based artists of all disciplines, who are challenging, intelligent, controversial, political, fresh....and I know of a lot of urban artists who are hackneyed, over-influenced, over-intellectualised and exhausted. And of course, I can happily acknowledge the opposite too, before anyone accuses me of being 'anti-urban'.

Surely, together, our collective experiences make up the 'art' and 'culture' of this country and English-ness is about diversity and connection, instead of division and prejudice?

There are some things though that maybe, just maybe, play a part in the reason rural artists are not so widely known (to Mr Lott). Perhaps it is because:

a) the urban (london) centric media thinks, rather like Mr Lott, and as Gill said at the time, that if it doesn't happen in London, it doesn't happen;

b) whilst people in rural areas are more likely to go to London and other urban areas to experience art, how many urban based artists come to rural Cumbria, or other rural areas, to do the same? A person in Cumbria is likely to travel up to 150 miles on average to take part in art, whereas when I lived in London (yes, I did, for a short while!), I often found that people would rather sit in and watch telly than go the extra tube stop to see and exhibition/listen to poetry etc - which in effect means that we experience a wider diversity of art and culture than the average city dweller;

c) rural based artists are getting on with getting on with the art, instead of talking about it...

d) many rural born and raised artists move to the city believing the claptrap that the only way they are going to 'make it' is by living in an urban sprawl - thus, they get labelled 'urban artists'...if there was more support from funding and media for rural based artists and art networks, they wouldn't feel this need...

Of course, with the increase of citizen journalism, none of this will matter in 10 eyars...viva la revolution! And for the record, this is my potted Cumbria history...

My father's family were many generation Cumberlanders but moved to London during the Depression to find work. At this time, with the mines shut down, their area of rural Cumbria starved, literally. I grew up in rural Oxfordshire, but also lived in my adult years in various cities, including London. I chose to move to Cumbria in 1997 because I felt that there would be greater freedom to create up here. I was right.

Anyway, we are now busy collating a list of rural artists to have come about in the last 100 years, just for Mr Lott...more soon on this.

Right, best get back to my crocheting now...

We can be heroes, just for one day...

Recently, Gill Hands and Ruth Snowden nominated me for an Art 07 Award. The awards aim to recognise the contribution an individual, project or organisation has made to the arts in the NW region, and fall into 4 categories. My lovely wild sisters put my name forward for nomination in the "Unsung Heroes" category, in recognition of those who have worked behind the scene to make something possible. They put me forward for the work I have done with Wild Women and Wild Women Press. On Friday 8th, I found out that I had been selected as one of the 4 finalists for this award.

I was really thrilled to find myself chosen, especially as I am the only Cumbrian based finalist out of 14 in total. It feels somehow fitting to be in this category, as the journey of Wild Women has felt more of a quest that an art project, with its shared journeys of discovery, bizarre twists and turns, fellow adventurers and magical talismans. Of course, it ought to be Unsung Heroine, but there you go.

When I decided to set up Wild Women in 1999, I did so based on an intuitive hunch, a thread of a scent that told me this was what I needed to do. For the few years before, I had suffered with depression and anxiety, so the setting up of a group was a challenge, but as soon as I made the decision, people came along to support me, and pretty soon, I was standing infront of 12 other women, encouraging them to release their wild woman! And 10 weeks later, when I read the poems written by these wonderful courageous women, I said to Adam "We need to publish these" and so, with his help, we set up Wild Women Press, even though neither of us had ever published anything before.

That was 8 years ago, and it has been a wild and wacky journey, and a great success too. The point is...it began, literally, with a dream, and a willingness to follow that dream. Through it, I have met so many amazing women, and men, and have had the honour of sharing the journey with many of those original Wild Women. However hard things have got, and they have been hard (as life can be when you live it without artifice!), the Wild Women, and I include myself in this, have kept creating, kept loving, kept courageous and often, kept laughing. As much as I have given inspiration, I have received it.

So, I just want to say thanks to all the wild women, and men, along the way, for being brave enough to follow their bliss - and a big thanks especially to Gill and Ruth, for putting my name forward for this award. A big Wild Woman howl for you!

http://www.wildwomenpress.com

And if you want to see the announcements, you can go to:

http://commonpeople.blip.tv

Art Strike 07!

On June 8th, I took part in the Art Strike at the Art 07 Day in Kendal, Cumbria. I was there with fellow poet, Gill Hands, taking part in Art Strike - where I got to wave banners and encourage people to deface naff art in the name of action. Actually, it had a serious message - namely that artists receive no support for their work, and do a great deal of work for no pay. I have often wondered this - especially when reading governmental brochures about how fantastic this country is artistically - what exactly would happen if all the artists in the UK stopped doing all the stuff they do for no payment? There would be a hell of a lot less grassroots activity, for one. Which would mean a lot less variety and a lot less community access to creative participation. And huge sections of our society under-represented, stripped of a voice...Of course, we wouldn't stop creating, because in the end, as an artist you get faced with a choice: to create or not to create. I for one, always choose creation, because I am an activist. So, big publishing houses do not represent poetry or women's real voices enough...my response is to rally around other wild women and set up our own press. I look at my community and I think: there needs to be a space where women can feel free to create and feel supported in that...so I set one up. That is the way I am, I guess. That is also why last year I worked for an average pay of £1.73 per hour, instead of the minimum wage of £5.52, and why my bank manager does not like me.

I believe in being the change I want to see in the world, as Ghandi once said. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel that this society is poor in its recognition and support of the contribution that art and artists make to our culture, and it doesn't mean that I don't believe that there should be adequate social security support, accessible funding, pension schemes, low cost insurance etc etc etc.

The french are very good at revolution. When the government tried to cut the social security support it offers to working artists (yes, you can sign on there in between paid jobs without having to declare yourself unemployed, and without having to go and clean toilets), all the artists got together and actually went on strike. They closed down the National Opera. They closed down Avignon Festival. They cost the government millions in tourist revenue. They got their complaint listened to and answered.

Whereas on Friday, I was surprised to find that people actually shouted at us "well, who do you expect to pay for it?" and "why should everyone pay for poetry when it is only for the chattering classes?" and so on and so forth...

urm...well, for starters, what about the billions the government spends on war? Trident? Government official expenses? The Olympics?

After all...without art and creativity, the world would be a very, very strange place indeed. Without war, well...I think I could do without mass killing, don't you?

Anyway...that was what I did in the daytime...you can see some of the strike art videos if you follow this link, including the ones The Common People (myself, adam) made...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vxy3vwsVrIE

For now... here something to consider next time someone says

"But you do it for the love of it…"

Man kicking ball about on a field:
average annual UK salary
£676,000.

Author writing to enrich our world:
average annual UK salary
£4,000

Poet writing poems that save lives:
average annual UK salary
£… too small to be listed.

Support the strike!
Vik Bennett 07

One Simple Act of Love

Sal and I cheer on the other women at the finish line, having completed the race...

(Picture from left to right: me, Helen & Jane from Humanum.org.uk Free Homeopathic Cancer Care Clinic, Sal - we did the race!)

Today my sister Sal and I ran the Race for Life. Well, my sister ran and did it in 35 minutes. As for me, I came in 10 minutes later, complete with gloves, pink brolly and 1950's rockerbilly skirt. Well, you have to make the effort, darlink! I have done this race before, and I am always struck by how moving it is. As I went around, I passed women who were running in memory of their children, parents, siblings, friends, partners and everyone who ran had a smile to share. And a few tears. I couldn't help but think how amazing women are - the way they come together and take action to make change happen for the better. How powerful that is, and how uplifting. Just think, if every woman turned out on the street to race against the war and conflict and greed and tyranny and abuse happening in the world today - each single person, united, could change the world for better. Right now.

We didn't have to run far. We didn't have to race fast. The person coming in first and the person coming in last were equal. Some raised 1000's of pounds for Cancer Research, some raised £10. Women of 80+ and children as young as 6 months took part. Oh, and a dog that seemed to know where the finishing line was and promptly collapsed and wouldn't be moved!

So - how about it? Race to heal the earth. Today is International World Peace Day. The sun is shining. And I know for certain each one of us has the power to change this world to love. It is worth more than a passing thought.

Thanks to all those who sponsored us - we have raised £230. Our target was £300. But we are pleased with our contribution. Today, 1050 women raised awareness of the need for adequate cancer care, and we also raised £120,000. So, all of you who sponsored us helped make that possible. And if anyone wants to sponsor us online now, and help us reach our target - we just need another £70 - just go to:

http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/wildwomenpress

Thank you xx

Converging Streams

Recently, I have been engaging in an on-line creative dialogue with a film artist, Jenny McCabe. I first met Jenny when working as a poet in residence at Beaumont College, Lancaster. Whilst I am not working on that residency anymore, I have continued to enter into this 'visual conversation'. The premise is simple. We give each other a quote or question, relating to a creative thought, and we create short videoblogs in response. We called it Confluence, because it seemed to us that it was the merging of two creative processes. What is fascinating is that as a visual artist, Jenny is having to respond to a written statement, and as a word-artist, I am having to respond in a visual format. Anyway, I think it is interesting to see what is developing, and what it is revealing about two women artist and their divergent and convergent practices.

My favourite self-made videoblog was in response to the question: Sensationalist or sensualist? I loved making this film and I feel that it really does capture the spirit behind my creativity and my life view. I love to play. For me, that is the heart of creativity.

You can watch it if you want, and others, by going to:

http://confluence.blip.tv/file/180223/

I'm not afraid of storms, for I'm learning to sail my ship. (Louisa M Alcott)

"I am an artist and a political being as well. My aim has been to forge these two concerns into an integrity which affirms language, art, craft, form, beauty, tragedy, and audacity with the needs and vision of women, as part of an emerging new culture which could enrich us all".

(Robin Morgan, poet, activist, woman)

I have been enjoying some illustrious company of late. Thanks to the funding of the Women's Arts International Festival 2007, Cumbria has been paying host to artists and thinkers such as Germaine Greer, Jo Brand, Marianne Faithful, Stella Vine, newcomers Bat for Lashes and my all time favourite, Patti Smith, as well as many more famous and emerging women artists. I am glad this is happening. It cannot help but be inspirational to all the women, and men visiting the festival. Such energy is the instigator of change.

But ask yourself, why is it so unusual to see so many women artists in one place?

Five years ago, when I approached funders with the idea for a Wild Women Festival, I was met with stony disregard. At the time, I had a vision for an international celebration of women artists, in recognition of the amazing energy, passion, talent and inspiration women all over the world are giving to our communities. This was very much in line with the Wild Women ethos. So, 5 years on, I am glad to see it happening, and I am enjoying the experience without having to be the one who organised it!

I was very disappointed at first to have not been included in the month-long celebrations. I believe that Wild Women, as a DIY collective, has contributed much to our area through our art and through bringing women artists from around the world into our community. Over the last 8 years, I have worked creatively with over 1500 women, published 11 collections of new poetry, set up many creative projects, taken the work of Wild Women out into the world and brought over 40 women artists into rural Cumbria, to inspire and instigate change. In additon, the group has always been about celebrating and supporting all creative acts - whether that be the act of baking bread, singing songs, having sex, writing poems or building houses. Every act is creative. And we have done all this from my living room.

One of the reasons given for our absence was that the festival did not have a feminist or activist agenda. Which struck me as odd, given the line up!

At first, I was angry and then sad, but later, sitting in the audience of a panel discussion with Germaine Greer and Stella Vine, it occurred to me - why is 'feminism' a dirty word now? I am proud to be a woman artist, and the words are definitely in that order. I do not see that I can remove the political from my creative action. I choose to DIY my work because I choose to have freedom of voice away from the cultural patriachy. I believe in direct creative action to create positive change. I am happy to call myself a feminist - because I wonder how it is possible to be 'woman' and not feminist? I find increasingly that there is this desire to coat in saccharine, make palatable, the political edge of women artists. A kind of 'now, why do you need to keep going on about that for?' attitude. I agree that the days of anger are replaced by celebration - Wild Women has always been about celebrating our creative voices and spirits, rather than apologising.

Is it possible to remove the political from the very act of standing up and speaking out? And should we even try? I don't think so, myself. The most powerful act of revolution is to celebrate in the face of any oppression. But that is not to ignore the still present under-representation of women artists in the mainstream, or the inequality of pay, opportunities, social status etc etc etc. Nor to cover up the very present stereotypical media representation of 'woman artist' - words like 'mad' or 'selfish' come to mind, and I am being polite. One only has to look at the media willingness to brand me, during last years BBC2 documentary The Convent, as "lunatically free spirited", and "out sleeping with different men every week, whilst her poor husband is at home, heartbroken" (which, incidentally, is not true!), or "self-obsessed".

Anyway, I raised the point and was approached by the director of the Festival (a man) and told that the reason they have put in their own publicity that the festival is has 'no political agenda' was because they wanted to make it 'accessible' to everyone, and that some artists, and audience would not come if it was overtly referred to as 'feminist'. Which seems strange, not just to me, but to the many men and women who have supported the 'feminist agenda' of Wild Women Press over the years. Yes, that is right, men can be feminists too (i.e. the advocate the equality of women and men)

Hmmm. I wonder who it was then who did not want to be sullied by the 'f' word? Or who it was who was afraid of all those political women? I can't imagine Germaine Greer, or Patti Smith saying that, can you?

Which reminds me. Germaine asked

"What does it take for a woman to declare herself an artist?"

For me, it has been the willingness to be an outsider at times, to struggle with the notion that I can either be 'artist' or 'woman' - woman being the person able to have a relationship, family, home. It has taken the strength to assert my own voice and perception and creative vision into the world and to say "this is valuable and valued". It has taken embracing the women who have gone before me - the ancestors who sang the songs and wove the wools, and the women like Germaine Greer and Patti Smith, who stood up and said "hey, this is the way I see the world, and express it, and that is something you will listen to!" It has been about finding and building a creative community - something women do well I find. And finally, it is about celebrating my creativity, my power and my woman-ness. I do not want to be a 'man' artist. I am very happy to be a woman artist. It is something I have fought for the right to declare, and my sexuality and creativity cannot be divided, because they are expressions of each other. I wrestled for years with the label of 'mad' because I was creative, because I would not 'fit in' or conform. The turning point was when I woke up one morning and said "I am not mad woman, I am wild woman!"

So, here it is: I am wild woman. I am artist. I am feminist. And I am proud to be all these things, and much, much more.

Run for your life!

Like many women across the UK, I have decided to take part in the Race for Life in aid of Cancer Research into cancers affecting women. Over the last 10 years, myself and the other Wild Women have lost too many relatives, friends and creative colleagues to breast cancer and other cancers, as well as seen others struggle and win their battles. All these women have shown great courage and spirit and creative fire in their journeys and it is both an inspiration and a great loss for the world at large to witness such strength and beauty.

Because of this, my sister Sal and I have put our names down to run the race on May 20th in the Lakes. 5km may not seem much to others, but to me it is a LONG WAY!

So - if you can support us on our Wild Women Howl for Life pledge to this race, please do! Help us to help them make a difference, and raise awareness too of the gross unnecessary loss of life to cancers that are detectable, treatable and curable, if only the research, treatments and a more holistic way of healing were supported by the government and the hugely wealthy industries behind our 'health system'...

Thank you so much for your support - I will keep you updated!

Keeping the stillness...

The Un-Becoming

It is strange, the way the ground
disappears under your feet,
becomes open space, prairie land,
the grey swill of all unknowing.

Here, we are alone,
born again
into our true becoming,
all paths leading into one.

Here, it is terrifying, the way
the calling haunts the shadows.
O – there are a hundred ways to flee,
to take the spectral hand and leave.

Give in, give in – they whisper
and it seems easy just to leave
it all behind, your heart so tired
after all that trying, all this walking

and for what, for this? Turn back.

Yes, yes, the harpies hiss
and hesitating, you almost do
but wait – listen to what sings
within the shroud of mist;

this too will pass, and this and this
and all that is the un-becoming
will exist anew, and all that will remain
is the beautiful, becoming you.

(From Book of Days, a life's work in progress)

"Hers is the mystery of rooms..." (Murray Bodo, OFM)

The troubadour tells the story of the bliss and the letting go. It is the union of spirit and body, of divine and being. The troubadour wanders the world free of fetters, singing their song.

I am no singer, but my song can reach around the world. I slip-slide around because every time I think to myself: I have this journey to tell – I hear a harpie in my head saying: why would anyone be interested in you?

And of course, that could be true. Maybe that is why I tentatively embrace the blogsphere – because it claims the right to tell the daily story across the world? But what is the story told? What do I include, and what do I cut out? How truthful is truthful, and how much is protection.

My story is about me, yes, but also about the not-me. It is about the journey towards the magic. Ah, the beauty and frustration of reaching the gate of impasse!

(it is never too late to step through the gate)

So – the last few years have felt like a stripping away. And once everything gets stripped away, I am left clinging on to the habits I have accumulated – a strange and not to comfortable feeling of being empty of purpose, absent of personality – like shells on the beach, picked clean of inhabitants. Thus becomes the duel of automaton v. free-thought creativity – a kind of repetitive malfunction of idea and fall, idea and fall.

Yet, even though I recognise where I am, the idea of letting go of those habits is terrifying, because all around is a grey mist, swirling, thick as glue and wild as thunder – and most of the time, you don’t know if you are on solid ground or suspended in mid-air. If you let go, you might find there is only space to swallow you up. But let go I must, and I am scared to let go, and scared again not to.

I understand that this is where I am to meet myself walking – this space of dreams and freedom. At this time, I allow that small breath of belief to surface, the breath that speaks the name of all that supports and guides me. I open my arms to embrace the destiny that is my own. I chose the Fool’s Path and now I am being asked to jump into it, and to do that, I must believe in the magic, because that is what follows the jump – even (and this is the trick) even if I land flat on my face and get bruised. I feel like I could do with someone creeping up and saying BOO! when I least expect it, so I jump without thinking. A bit like the turn away and rip it off technique of removing an elastoplast!

Truth is, I am afraid. Last time I took that risk, I hurt so badly. The learning that I am about to jump into might hurt just as bad, might be just as difficult to live within, and that scares me.

Yet, somewhere inside, I hear this small voice whisper it might be beautiful…

and that is the point of the leap of faith – you don’t know.

If I want to follow my bliss, then right here and now, I need courage to jump, and discipline to change. If I aspire to create a world I wish to be part of, then I need to first create that world within my own life. I aspire to the Fool’s way: love, expression, magic, freedom. We each have the wonderful capacity to love, laugh, share joy, pleasure, expression, to experience such emotions as to astound us. That is beautiful. There is no restriction on that – not truly. I aspire to a world that is one of Love, peace, honesty, integrity, connection, awareness, beauty…I want to connect to myself and to others, to life, to the spirit. There is too much disconnectedness in this world. Too much fear and shame.

I want to be unashamed of who I am, and express my being fully in this world. Yet, that brings me back to the first question about honesty. There have been times when, to protect or care for others, I have mediated my sexual expression and along the way, it has got twisted up, caused a split and is where I feel most confused.

How do I experience and express love, sensuality, sexuality in the world?

I have always believed there to be an intrinsic union between the

SPIRITUAL SEXUAL CREATIVE

and that this is the experience of the ecstatic spirit, and the union of all 3 aspects sets us free into our natural divinity. A note here though – the sexual ecstatic does not, I have come to understand, necessarily mean sexual activity, but can be a completeness of expression of sexuality, but an empowered choice of celibacy (odd, I know…still working on that one!)

For me, I understand this trinity as being the key to divinity, this balanced union, this integrated whole. Ah – to have the courage and discipline to lead a balanced life! It is not that we have to be perfect, just that to play an instrument to its full beauty, it must be in tune, that is all. First, I had too much in the sexual ecstatic – discovering this release and magic first. Then, I had too much in the spiritual ecstatic, and I became disconnected from my sexual power centre, my wild woman. Now, I am discovering the path to harmony.

March 2007

I am still looking
for that certain place
where all becomes
the ecstatic kiss,
the lift of the divine
that carries us to bliss.
Still waiting, yes,
beside the river fall,
whispering
yes, yes, yes…

(from Book of Days, a life-work in progress, V Bennett)

"Those, too, who love, gather for you: they are the poets of a transient hour" (Rilke)

My life is changing again, and though it feels unsettling, I know it is just another unfolding into who I am...but today it is a beautiful day today. The sky is a perfect blue, the crocus heads have opened to the Spring sunshine, and I have a whole day to spend in quiet reflection. Which is good, because recently life has been full and there has been little time to simply be.

On Valentine's Day, I hosted the Wild Women Love Fest - bringing together poets, musicians, dancers and dreamers in a celebration of love. And what a celebration it was. There was wonderful music from local young artists Rob Heron, Paddy Rogan and Jack Hartley, as well as sensual bellydance from Kara Steele, and the fabulous poetry of longtime Wild Woman and friend, Gill Hands. It was a whole evening of 'making love' the creative way and it refreshed the senses and spirit.

One of the guests at the event was the poet Inua Ellams. We met 2 years ago when we both performed at Glastonbury Festival (yep, in the MUD!) and at that time, his sheer force of passion and beauty blew me away, and I promised to find a way of getting him up here to share his poetry with the people of Cumbria. On Valentine's Night that wish came true. As I listened to him perform, and felt his words move me, I got to thinking about the way our lives cross with others, of how we grow and learn and love more through the connections we make, and how poetry, at least for me, is such an expression of that journey. And I realised again, how important it is to be willing to take the leap into the Fool's Path.

So - what is it I am trying to say? What is it I am trying to hear myself?

Follow your heart and take the adventures with joy. Like Rumi said, Kiss the ground in your own way and seek belonging within yourself, for all else is transient. As we are in many ways.

"I would love to live like a river flows,
carried by the surprise of its own unfolding"
(John Donahue)

Wherever they lead you will unfold something new. But do not get too trapped in the superficial glitter, it is all smoke and mirrors. Remember, imagination is the key to develop your sense of who you are. Give time for your relationship with your inner world, the true who of who you are...Let your own light shine, and fear nothing. Enter the mystery - the mystery that lights your own soul-fire, that brings together lovers, that places the pen on the paper and spills the heart onto the page. Never be afraid to love, never be restricted in your heart or conceal your own infinite beauty. Sometimes we must take the longest journey to arrive at what has been nearest all along - your self:-)

Once you stand on the true ground of who you are, nothing can shake you. I think Nelson Mandela said it so well, in his often quoted speech:


"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. Actually, who are you are not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightening about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us... as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others." (Nelson Mandela)

I believe our paths cross as part of this - the unfolding of our ancient identity.

No one should negotiate their dreams. Dreams must be free to flee and fly high...(Jesse Jackson)

The Way It Is

There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.

—William Stafford


I want to thank William Stafford for writing this. I love it when I find a poem that gathers together my stray thoughts and places them all on a neat page. The paradox of my nature - a lover of chaos and freedom, and a fond admirer of the contained. There you have it. The poetic paradox. I try to write of freedom, but I seek to contain it within the poem. Somewhere in the desire to control the shape, space, silence, word within the poem, I am finding ways of setting free the spirit contained. Hmmmm...now that has just taken me somewhere else.

Sorry.

My head has been fevered for a long time now, and I have spent a lot of the last 6 weeks in bed, asleep, dreaming, or awake with a migraine. Literally, my head has been on fire. It has felt as though there was simply too much happening in there. Or there had been too much pouring in, and not enough outlet. Just a maelstrom of words and thoughts, emotions, images, dreams, fears, intuitions whooshing around. That or a case of something knocking but can't get in...

I always figure these things happen because they need to. And now, as I start to stir into the year, and the headache begins to release its grip, I find I am still holding the thread, the same thread I have held through my whole life, despite my losses and griefs over recent years. Sometimes I didn't realise I was still holding it. But I was, and now I am opening up to new and unknown possibilities, following that intuition, that thread of love.

I'll keep you posted as to where it leads!

For now, I just wanted to say hello, to wish everyone is Blissfool 2007 and to share with you the poem. Never let go of the thread. Dare to dream.

Stand up to the line and sing...

"Poets know this moment
when it's too soon to scream yet
but too late to hold your tongue."

Ewa Lipska

I wrote once that the world needed a new heart, and I asked of myself - what can I do to help create that? Recently, I have gone through periods of despondency as I have witnessed the poets and fools of my world increasingly allowing their spirits to become caged in the dullest of lead cells. When this happens, we begin to sing the wrong language. Yes, I want comfort, the security of belonging, the warmth of a fireside and the safety of acceptance, but I would rather live with the rain in my face than sleep in a velvet-lined cage, for when we allow ourselves to become too dictated by our desire for accolade, approval, recognition, security, reward - we run the risk of missing the moment when it is 'too late to hold your tongue'.

But it is natural, yes, to seek legitimacy, to seek labels that make us feel 'worthy'. I had big low lately when I didn't get a job I had applied for. Why? Because I had wrapped up somewhere in the mix that this was a signal of my legitimacy as a poet. And why seek this coded legitimacy? Because it gives us a label against the 'mad', against the feeling of it being somehow a decadence to live this way. STOP!!!

The poet and Fool tells us the stories of what is is to live, to be human. In ancient days, the poet-shaman went out and told the stories, created magic to explain the existance of their world. The troubadours told of our capacity to love, of the struggle of the free-heart against a growing political and moral oppressive force. In the 20th Century, women and men began to tell their stories in poems, to speak their existence and break the silence. They stood up and shared the individual breath, and in that action, showed that in each single life, all humanity is held. The war poets broke the myth of the heroic bloodshed. Prisoners have sung the poetry of the oppressed. The silenced children have grown up and spoken of the tortures of hidden abuse. Poetry is not about earning the legitimacy of a label (am I a real poet now? a little voice asks), but is about the willingness to break silence. It is a passion for the telling of the human, and the shared, experience. It is about the act of connection, much as this act is. And it is there for everyone. We can all break down the silences.

And this is why I continue the Fool's Path, why I continue to want to sing my songs and why I am blessed to meet and share the journey with so many beautiful travellers! It is why, in the end, I suppose I cringe at the thought of being absorbed into the mainstream, of releasing my autonomy of expression, of creation. I choose freedom and all it entails, the good and bad.

Perhaps in time, the value of the poet and the Fool will come to be appreciated in monetary terms, though it would be an interesting society that rewarded subversion! But if it happened, maybe I might be able to pay my bills once in a while, which would be nice (I have noticed that big business does not accept poems as payment!) but meanwhile, well - rice is nice and the rain feels good.

Hey baby, baby it's a Wild World...

WILD Living in a state of nature, not cultivated, stormy, furious, rash, extravagant, excited, unrestrained, tempestuous, eager, frantic, enthusiastic, random, feral, free, untamed, undomesticated, uncontrollable, turbulent, uninhibited, unfettered, delightfully enjoyable.

Wild Women Press, 2004

In 1999, I founded Wild Women and Wild Women Press. Together with other women from the original Wild Women collective, and my partner Adam, we publish our poetry and perform it at various venues across the UK. Recently, myself and fellow WW, Gill Hands, travelled to Sheffield to perform at their Literature Festival. It was a great night all in all, and I enjoyed sharing the new work from Byron Makes His Bed. It was a pleasure to be invited to read.

Last week, along with our payment, we received a feedback letter from our hosts, stating that:

"...whilst we enjoyed the performance we did feel that it was rather less 'wild' than we anticipated and did have a couple of comments from the audience to this effect..."

Whilst it is always good to receive feedback, this one got me thinking.

This isn't the first time such a comment has been made. The last time was at Stirling Poetry & Sexuality Conference, where an academic (male) came and said "...you're not very wild are you? You shouldn't call yourselves that...". At the time, I had the distinct desire to give him a Glasgow Kiss (headbutt) and ask if that was wild enough, but being non-violent and also tending to steer clear of confrontation, I tried explaining that the Wild was in the content of the poetry. Given that the other works dealt with sexual fantasies and the acting out of these, along with cross-dressing, sado-masachism and homoerotica, and in my case, on that occasion, a very tender account of a love affair, of sensual desire and of miscarriage (Fragile Bodies), it was a varied set and I wondered how he thought we should present it instead, how he thought we could 'make it wild enough'?

Over the years, I have encountered some interesting notions around the word WILD. Some, like the people above, obviously had pre-conceived ideas of what that meant. Often, it seems, this entails some kind of political ranting of radical feminism or alternatively, a fantasy mix of sexual depravity and dancing girls. Which of course, we could manifest, but that is not where the origin of the name Wild Women comes from.

I call myself a Wild Woman because I honour my innate self, my true self and I am determined to be that person, wherever I am, whoever I am with, whatever I am doing. I honour my creativity and my sexuality in my daily living, and as much as possible, I live close to the truth of the heart and express that in my actions and reactions in the world. When I started to think about it, I began to see what, in my own life, defined the WILD act, and I came up with the following...

the act of creating without limitations, of publishing my own work without intervention, of standing up and speaking out loud my lived experiences and perceptions;

the refusal to dismiss my creative life as secondary, and the rejection of usual capitalist, status-driven modes of living;

the ownership of my sexuality and my sexual desires, and my freedom to express this, in my life and in my work;

the active questionning of all experience, and the search for truth beyond the media-fed images and political saccharine of 21st Century global politics;

the creative act of establishing and nurturing a space where other women and men are encouraged to do the same;

the celebration of the beauty, magic and mystery of life, whatever it brings, however bloody hard, however full of ecstasy, through the creation of music, song, dance, love, food;

the willingness to get up every day and keep on the journey, to turn my life inside out when it becomes entrenched in crud, the willingness to face myself and my soul every damn day, however much it hurts and to keep smiling and keep believing;

to dance and not give a damn what people think or who is watching;

and to believe that my single existence can change the world for the better, just as is true for each of us.

The work of Wild Women is honest, real, often raw, beautiful, naked, sensual, unafraid of its spirituality, its eroticism, of challenging boundaries and asking questions. It speaks out on love, on loss, on sex and passion and nature and violence, on the body and its decay and glory, on divorce, parenting, friendship, food and everything that makes a human being part of humanity. It often speaks of the politics of being Woman and Poet, of the creative feminist, of the destruction of this planet, of attitudes towards what is feminine and the imbalance of power (still) towards a patriachal, moralistic society, but we do this within our words, within our living.

We get up and we speak our truth without shame, though oftentimes it feels terrifying. We howl, growl, play and say our words out loud, and we live our lives free. To me, that is what the Wild in Wild Women means. And you never know, next time this Blissfool puts on her Wild Women cape and joins her wild sisters in poetry, she might just surprise you!

To close, here is a little something from Byron's Bed...


Legacy

Doctor, what am I
if not wrong?

Wrong in the head and wrong in the heart,
wrong in the flesh and wrong from the start.

Am I not like my deadly playmates –
the other girls who grew into their lives
misshapen?

We know them by the little lives
they laid down in verse,
by the ways they calculated
the brief
and final full stop.

Oven-baked and drowned in a lake,
counting out pretty pills to take.

Am I shaped that way too?

I was spoon-fed on imagery,
given the world in words
then told it was not mine,
to let the old dogs lie
and lie some more.

Beyond this, the only choice -
they called me crazy whore:

sticks and stones can break my bones
but the words will surely hurt me.

But what am I,
what am I, Doctor,

if not this body,
if not
this errant voice?


Dr.Kaufman (2000) conducted two historiometric studies. The first study, which examined 1,629 writers, both male and female, showed that female poets were significantly more likely to suffer from mental illness than both other types of women writers (fiction writers, playwrights, and non-fiction writers) and male writers (fiction writers, poets, playwrights, and non-fiction writers). The second study, which examined 520 eminent women from various fields, showed that women poets were more likely to suffer from mental illness than journalists, politicians, actresses, and visual artists. This finding has been given the preliminary label the “Sylvia Plath Effect”.
(from Byron Makes His Bed, Wild Women Press, 2006)

These female runagates...

Wild Women.
Those who go in for “women’s rights” and general topsyturvyism. Some smoke cigars in the streets, some wear knickerbockers, some stump the country as “screaming orators,” all try to be as much like men as possible.	1
“Let anyone commend to these female runagates quietness, duty, home-staying, and the whole cohort of wild women is like an angry beehive, which a rough hand has disturbed.” —Nineteenth Century, March, 1892, p. 463.

E. Cobham Brewer 1810–1897. Dictionary of Phrase and Fable. 1898.

My question is this: why does it seem like such a either-or choice? If I am a cigar-smoking, knickerbocker-wearing Wild Woman, does that mean I cannot also want to nurture a home, cook on the hearth and love my family?

Today I am frustrated with this choice. I am all of these - the woman in the street, the angry beehive and the nourishing mother. For me, integrity is paramount in life. How do I go about integrating all these aspects of the woman I am, when even my own 'brain' tut-tuts at my desire to remain true to all aspects of my being?

This morning, I sat in a hospital room and was spoken at by a sharp-dressed man who prescribed me a drug to over-stimulate my ovaries, because for some reason, they are no longer working. When I tried to tell him about some of the difficulties I have had these last years, and the problems following my last failed pregnancy, he didn't look up. He continued to write his prescription and told me I could not blame the doctor for not noticing I was carrying around the debris of this pregnancy for 3 months - an oversight which led to infection and scarring. I wanted to shout at him that I bloody well did blame the doctor and why the hell was no one listening to me describe my own body. Instead, I burst into tears.

I burst into tears because deep down, I very much want to have a child, yet when I lost the last one, something inside me whispered "silly woman, to think you could have that life". It whispered it because part of my mind actually believes the bullshit, that I have to be a 'different kind of woman' to be a mother - not a wild woman, not a poet, not a free-wheeling dreamer. That to be a 'mother' means to be a 'good woman' who is quiet and dutiful and stays at home. That if I want to be A Mother, I have to give up being a poet.

Plath tried it. Sexton tried it.

How many more?

I am Wild Woman. I am Blissfool. I am a Lover. I don't want their drugs. I just want to embrace who I am and hope one day that I can also say "I am Mother".

Meanwhile, I have to go change into my knickerbockers . I am off to cheer on my good friend and fellow screaming orator, Gill Hands, as she performs poetry as part of the Apples & Snakes UK Exposed Tour. Now, wear did I leave that cigar?

Only in silence the word...(Ursula LeGuin)

Day 43

A single, white feather
drifts in heat-ribbons
to the frozen ground,

lands amongst the blades
tipped with silver,

trembles;

waits for wings to fly.


(from my Book of Days, a work in life-progress)