Cambridge
Creative
Encounters

A boy, like a deer in my lap

sit down baby boy,

hold this colour-change light

with your bare hands,

snag at it, do not be afraid

to show your milk teeth

at your mother,

the hum of her face,

the rough-hewn ghost

hue of a humid day.

Painlessly so, honey-boy,

nest your head on her belly,

like a honeybee colony

in the hollow of a tree.

Somewhere a volcano falls

asleep in its chamber,

and blue-amber waters

ebb and flow untired

of your agonizing

songs and sobs—quick

grab this piece of her flesh,

will you now, even water

borrows the shape

from what holds it, your body

in her arms is a jewel,

glisten boy, if you can,

like a breast readied for breastfeeding,

hold it tight, this promise of love—

oh, you little overachiever,

eavesdropping on your mother’s heartbeat

for six months of your babyhood,

the worst espionage, her past,

a glimpsed solitude, you poke

and turn, its night-shade tulips,

its moonshade carnations,

the thousand-yard stare—

Awash, awake, your body

blooms inside the room, darling boy,

hold onto me, as if an incantation,

in a low voice, a mother

is a choice - if only,

I can leave behind

the crime, and the need

to be forgiven.

After Beckett

^{Note. Meant to be staged or delivered spoken out loud as internal monologue of dissociated stream of consciousness, a traumatic flashback.}

[GIRL]: of abuse … I do not speak … the crooked problem … reappears … decades after … my mind forgets … it’s meant to be forgetting …the way the boy … searched for … the clitoris is … unabashed … an audio …. fizzing through … the clever lad … pushed … through & through … who can talk his way … through any-thing … the easy one … the girl … how can she … not be … he had … tried … fencing … sort of … roughing it up … nature has its own way … fencing me around … a specious place … comes to mind … anything … a secret … garden … a solution to … danger … until … the grip … loosens its authority … he feigns it … not to feel … the push … push back again … three more times … pull away! … but where? …

the landlord is his mother … the room … un-remarkable … not quite … sex … he shot himself in the foot … I don’t know … what you … want … he speaks up … eager to please … to be pleased … he will … win … this … the boy does …

a smug look … risks it … the intention … of the deed … just teenagers … fooling around …

a scribbled body … of a girl … reappears … in her prime … her prime problem … a rite of passage … rape … after …. rape … unspecific … opaque workings of the rain … clockwork contraptions … to be ... I tried … not a single time … or place … the apartment … super-modern … su-perb … to be … the man … on top … he can’t … really stand it … can’t stand … the weight … of his own … body … under scrutiny … effective … for … deadening … equivalent to … fast-forward … wildly conscious … wildly self-conscious … he puts in on … the late face … of his late childhood … nothing … will save … this … the mind … runs through it all … a brick-wall … dots on a landscape … shadow-clouds … come into focus … the window … mute panes … checkered with rain … grass fields … dampen … where the van … attains … the colour of the horizon …

a blackout … on the other end of the helpline … the vagina is elastic … most vaginal injuries … the voice of the nurse … slivered … through consensual sex … elastic … as aesthetic … nothingness … hoards itself … still … a property of a kind … spindly so … this … a montage … after the fact …

^{The title is a line from Sharon Old’s poem Ode of Girls’ Things from Odes (2016).}

How many adults

put a blind eye to child abuse?

Behind baby-peach curtains fret

lilac fists, cradled, muddy-muffled screams –

a fine-sunburnt fur fires across the courtyard,

the feline yogi meows and yawns

then yields on the meagre mat of grass,

I drown the guilt of my own trespass:

dear Body of mine,

forgive the paedophile,

the bogey-face of my line-manager

in my uncle’s apartment,

the neighbour’s iron-pressed shirt

hung on the window of his living-room

the probation officer at my doorstep

puts out a half-finished fag and says:

It’s not worth going after a few thousand pounds,

Justice Courts are like hungry dogs

He yanks the Volvo door open,

eyes tight-shut on his globe-spun head,

left hand in the air as if to catch a prey

– and he’s gone – I lag on the curb

turn my slight of hand to barley blades

of a flag leaf – will my victims ever heal? –

I save lavender stalks for the fireplace

and tiptoe across the freshly mowed lawn

and lock behind – to find the purring stray

curled and fast asleep on my reading chair.

You need to tell your husband the truth how the milky hands that pressed your spine now dangle by the side of your father’s hips. Why you refused to breastfeed or kiss your daughter on the lips how her small form frightens you–tell him, how each time you hold her body in your embrace something breaks along the line of your collar bone. How the brush of her skull on your skin feels unbearable.

One day you will come home from work, walk past her baby-scented room, make a U-turn, for the paring knife, along the corridor, let the flow of bloodstream map out the leaf-patterned tiles of the kitchen floor— as you count the cracks on the ceiling until you faint—the way you feigned dead when you were little, in the house it all slipped through your fingers – flick through the sweet memory one last time – the pages of a picture book family: here is the house, here is the red triangle of the roof, here is the room, the nursery rhymes, the outline of an innocent babe, returning to the scene of the rape—oh, look, the red is on the roof is on fire—

When I was a schoolgirl

I told my friend

I am going to invent

An anti-ageing skin cream

That will work

As I reflect on that

I surprise myself

To be a part (so small)

Though of a research potential

Trialling for brain rejuvenation

^{Footnote: Sometimes we need to pause and appreciate the place where we are now, where we came from and where we are going to.}

I lay my tubes out

On a rack

32 of them

Plus the control

I start signing

With number one

And a date

And then continue

From left to right

Until I reach 32

And C for Control

Still thinking about that date

Should I really date all of them?

Else these are only marked by numbers

With the same aliquot of clear liquid

In each one of them

It seems like such a waste of time

The signing

The experiment is joy

Of course

Sometimes

You gotta do it

And everybody knows

In science

we repeat experiments

Exactly three times

Or more

if it’s a joy

Or less

if it’s a real pain

Then just admit

To your reviewers

It was a pain indeed

Starting with: “Dear Doctor …”

And anyhow

My tubes are laid in front of me

Ready to receive

Their one and only

Experiment

^{Footnote: Working in the lab is lots of fun and lots of routine, troubleshooting, improvising, praying that you will see a sharp band.}

G – T – P

E – I – F – 2

E – I – F – 2 – B

I – S – R

E – I – F – 2 - P

E – I – F – 2 – B

I – S – R – I – B

E – I – F – 2 – P

E – I – F – 2 – B

G – D – P

G – T – P

^{Footnote: This is a cryptic description of a cellular signalling pathway named the Integrated Stress Response (ISR) that we study in the lab. Abbreviations can alienate an unprepared reader.}

This is an ode

To a Western Blot

An important technique

That makes scientists tick

If you ever need help

To chase protein matter

Then this might be the thing

That would make you feel better

Step I - Gel electrophoresis

With the three main steps

Using extracts from cells

We first size proteins up

In acrylamide gel

Step II - Transfer

While the gel is still hot

Using solid support

We shall build

An inedible sandwich

With a bit of a labour

Let us put paper onto membrane

Onto gel onto paper

Wrapped around with two

Sponge fibre pads

Then avoiding much mutter

Sandwich lands in tris-glycine-methanol buffer

Where electric current applied

Makes charged proteins fly

While they stick like a glue

Marking membrane with a clue

Step III - Detection

As detectives can’t wait

Moving on to third step

We shall use antibodies

As protein bait

For these primary captors

There are secondary adaptors

That will light our way

With chemiluminescent rays

With a bit of a luck

Protein will show itself up

And in essence that’s what

Neal Burnette named Western Blot

^{Footnote: Western Blot – is a laboratory technique used in molecular biology for detection of biological molecules called proteins. Its name was coined by Neal Burnette in comparison to similar techniques used for detection of other biological molecules: Southern Blot (for detection of DNAs), and Northern Blot (for detection of RNAs).}

Looking at the petri dish

Dotted with colonies of E. coli

I am pondering over

Our place in the Universe

Hidden beyond the blue skies

Are we here to absorb the world

To uncover the mysteries

To deliver an explanation

To accept the full package?

Or

Are we here to change the world

To challenge the world

To finally find a better world

To escape to the far and beyond?

Perhaps we are both

And neither

We are many

And we are one

Just like an E. coli colony

a speck or a Universe

Staring at me

While I stare at the blue sky

^{Footnote: Blue skies science describes limitless questions one can ask and attempt to answer in a pursuit of a discovery of the ways our natural world works.}

How strange it is

to be alive

To share in that tenacity

of adaptation and resilience

that has shaped an entire planet

for millennia

to meet its needs

Once

a simple molecule

By chance

Started turning things around it

into copies of itself

And kept on doing so

And kept on doing so

And because that molecule

was your ancestor

you too spend your time

transforming air, and water,

and many other things

into more of you

(How wonderful!)

And keep on doing so

And keep on doing so

And later

some little cells

and other little cells

quite different

merged together

And in doing so

The outer cells

Carried a source of energy

(That they could use

to make more of themselves)

around with them

And could pass that energy on

to other cells nearby

And with that simple trick

there was a reason for some of these

to form close knit groups

of little cells

all alike

And bind themselves together close

And even to start taking on

Special duties

Securely supporting

and being supported by

their breatharian

And because some of those cells

were your ancestors

The millions of cells

you call your own

are a body to you

(How wonderful!)

And you are one

not many

Yet never alone

And because those cells

lived in ancient seas

Your body is filled

with briny water too

And so much of what you do

depends upon the migration

of salts across

the same molecular gradients

your ancestors once called home

And because those cells

never lived alone

but in a complex web of life

Your body too

is an ecosystem

containing myriads of living things

that make a home for you

Harmlessly co-existing

(Most of the time)

just like they always did

Turning one another’s waste

into new life

That’s how it goes

(Most of the time)

And later still,

of course,

some of these bodies

found yet more ways

of merging

into new things

The building blocks of life

were never set in stone

And every now and then

cells would share

their DNA

(Making new combinations

That might turn into bodies

better able to cope with

What life threw at them)

But somehow,

some bodies,

started doing this

More often

Their cells

Taking on new roles

As carriers of half the code

Searching for another half

to bind to for completeness

Permitting the slow process

Of evolutionary change

To accelerate, dramatically

And because some of those bodies

were your ancestors

You too can have sex

if you want to

(How wonderful!)

And you are entirely unique

the product of a single

recombination

Made up of cells

quite unlike those

found anywhere else

in the universe

And what of that point

when bodies in search

of food

or mates

or safety

found ways of responding

to the world around them

Or ways or manipulating

their tissues and organs

to change how they were

So that they started

not simply to be

But to behave

to sense

or chose

This happened many times,

we know

But, because one of these sentient new minds

was your ancestor,

you too have perception and control

consciousness and free will

(How wonderful!)

That mystery of being

a mind

in a world where minds seem out of place

A mystery no mind

has yet resolved

(But that makes sense

Because, it’s not a mystery, any mind created

but only life in its endless wonder)

And oh

what finally of that point

When some of these minds

began to think

To use words and symbols

to express and understand themselves

Whenever did that happen

and why?

Who knows

Not me

And yet it did

And ever since, young minds

have learned to learn themselves

to make people out of bodies

spirits out of cells

And flesh and bones

have learned how to cooperate

in ways no other lifeform ever could

A whole planet networked

with wires

and roads

and social bonds

With trade,

Ideas,

and conflict

Just getting by

Doing life’s work

Making more of ourselves

Grouping together, specializing,

loving and fighting

knowing and changing

But this time with meaning

And purpose

And even understanding

Breaking and mending

a world

that we made for ourselves

To inhabit

as life has always done

And because you are you

And you know you are you

You too

are descended

from those first people

Just like me

(How wonderful!)

You too bear the burden

of trying to work out

what that means

And what we must do

to stay alive

It is a strange inheritance

indeed

I remember well the first

time I heard the warning

to king Croesus

from the oracles

at Delphi and at Thebes

That were he to invade Persia

a mighty empire would be destroyed

It sent shivers down my spine to hear

of such a warning

being misinterpreted

as a blessing

Yet, while I would not dare

presume to know

the mysteries

of mighty Apollo

I think perhaps I’ve come to understand

a little more about this famous tale

You see, there still remain

some of us who claim

to practise foresight

Yet, when done well

this should not be misunderstood

as an ability

literally

to see into the future.

Rather, our practise is about

bringing together the many varied

visions of this present

So much of which we do not know

And using those to clarify

what is going on right now

and all the many ways this might turn out

We cannot know what the fates have in store for us

Yet wisdom and courage can help reveal

possibilities we had not dreamed ourselves

And maybe careful planning can allow

us some small control over which of those dreams

is manifest

In hope that our futures may be sweeter

And our nightmares more fleeting

Great Croesus could not have known

for certain

that the empire he’d destroy

would be his own

Yet a wise king might still have understood

how this was possible

And we too should be careful

in choosing what we want

that we do not ignore its risks

As if our will were the only thing

that brings the future into being

The first person to see

The world end twice

For real

Was Luis Alvarez

The same scientist who

Measured the destruction

Of Hiroshima and Nagasaki

Also identified

How a strange line in the rocks

Marked that moment all the dinosaurs

Were wiped out

By a meteorite

What a life to have lived

But you too may

On screens

Have seen it happen many times

The world destroyed

By aliens or asteroids

Rogue AI, even sometimes climate change

Although not of a kind that is familiar

To climate scientists

Yet that desire

To see these things for yourself

Is part of what always makes them look the same

Some explosive force arrives

Out of the blue

And lays us all to waste

Just as when the Mesopotamians

First thought that angry gods

Might kill them with a flood

And how that had already happened once

With only a few, virtuous and wise

Humans surviving in an ark

You know that story too

It scares me

Because in many ways

The endings we should fear the most

Are not like that, cannot be seen

Take many forms, as slow

Creeping disintegrations

Of the systems we rely on

Becoming inexorable

Irreversible

And out of our control

And none of us

Should count on seeing

The world end

More than

Once

Once, in school assembly

Our chaplain talked about St Augustine

He told us how he lived

During a time of great upheaval

Because the Roman Empire was collapsing

And, unironically,

I thought how interesting it must be

To live through such a time

In fact, the fall of Rome

Was rather slow

It took centuries, or longer

The final kings

Who claimed that their authority

Descended from the Caesars, fell

Only after world war one

So, while this period saw many upheavals

It is likely that at the time

It felt rather less interesting

Than we think of it in hindsight

Indeed, many of those who lived through it

likely saw themselves

As just carrying on, as people always had

Clear that the real catastrophe

Was happening somewhere else

Could it be the same with us?

Not knowing

If our age

Is interesting

Or just another stage

In the gradual transition

Of the past into the future.

And if it is, what will future generations

Make of our decline?

Might they argue, just as we do

Over whether it was caused

By corrupt power

Or rising superstition

Or will they have forgotten

All about us and our petty struggles?

Or will they even come to be at all?

For me the most interesting thing

About living, right now,

Is the not knowing

The turtle dove

is calling again

outside my window pane

His call,

Turr Turr,

a solemn evocation of his name.

Last year he called all summer

alone

without a mate

Love’s martyr

a bird known

for its lifelong devotion

desolate

He makes his lonely home

next to an ancient road

people have been walking for a thousand years

or more.

A road that once carried the footsteps

of William the conqueror

and his army,

The only safe path to Ely

across the fens

before we built dykes to drain them,

or the warming sea will rise to claim them

But that, this moment, is little but a track.

A way along which people long have heard

the turr turr

of these burnished birds

since when they were so common

Solomon sang of them to announce the spring

Yet now, how long before

we don’t hear them again?

The turtle dove is calling

to my heart.

Its solemn pleas

for a future and a part

of life’s inheritance, to every living thing

A wildness born of being as you are,

A place in the great family of things,

A grief for what may never come again,

A plaintive hope that this song will last

not disappear!

There are two things

we don’t talk about:

the falls and the jumps.

We pretend

that falls never happen.

We feel so bad

so worthless

down there

in the fall

every single of the many times in which that happen

that we purposely ignore that we did

spend some time, so very many times,

down there

as soon as we rise again

as soon as the experiment finally works

as soon as the paper is published

we wipe from existence the dark moments in the fall

that we all experience

absolutely every one of us

as the job indeed requires it

but we insist it doesn’t

we insist on believing is our fault

a reason to feel shame

something not to talk about.

And we keep on going

refusing to acknowledge

the falls

down there

that piece of reality

expecting us

teaching us

more than the prize we look after.

But we stubbornly disregard that wisdom

hiding in the untold of our dark days

the most important piece of information worth sharing

that the falls exist

and that no one has reached the light without going through them

condemning with our denial,

with our fake super power of avoiding the falls,

perpetuating the collective misery

of the ones coming behind

who will inevitably sink there, momentarily,

or maybe eternally

feeling shameful

so worthless

down there

ignorant that the falls

exist for a reason:

to come up from them

with a new solution

with a novel idea

with an answer.

We also don’t talk

about the jumps either.

We have learnt to ignore

the bars on the staircase

blended with the style of the concrete building

but also preventing

the jumps

the desperation

because it’s not allowed to quit

because it’s not allowed to work less

because it’s not allowed to free your weekend

to have a family

to buy a house

to stop

moving from one country to another.

Admittedly, the jumps are easier

to shut one’s eyes to

than the falls:

they don’t come as often

and nobody else is there to look

nobody

follows the steps that take them to the bridge

or the top floor;

the only witnesses

are the imposed expectations

they carry everywhere

like a shadow.

Let’s be honest.

The jumps are tragic

consequence of the oblivious

of the so many falls

unspoken

and they will both continue

existing

for as long

as we deny them.