I saw the work about your Grandad and I went through something similar last year and I thought you might enjoy a poem I found related too it. Men ask the way to Cold Mountain Cold Mountain: there's no through trail. In summer, ice doesn't melt The rising sun blurs in swirling fog. How did I make it? My heart's not the same as yours. If your heart was like mine You'd get it and be right here. It's translated by Gary Snyder originally by a poet named Han-Shan.
thank you nick, really love the poem!
The Goose Fair, Nottingham, 2011
Dérive - when one person drops all relations, work and usual motives and let themselves be drawn by the attractions of the land and the encounters they find there.
Collaboration of my own photographs and my Grandfather’s.
After the passing of my Grandfather, visiting his home and grave for the first time following this was the moment of realisation for me that he had really left us. Photographing the experience was a great help in accepting and dealing with my loss.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awake in the morning’s hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft star-shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry..
I am not there. I did not die.
Tsukiji Fish Market, Tokyo, Japan
Part 3 of my Journey around Tokyo, Kyoto and Hiroshima