Crossing Fladen Grunn by Annabel Howarth

Moderate or poor, becoming good later,
The time when life begins, they say,
Started with bubbles and uncertain flowers,
Sat, like our pain and acceptance, at another table, but then
She, long awaited, came,
And life, for a while, was bright yellow.

Moderate or rough, becoming rough or very rough,
He came shortly after,
Unexpected, wanted, but his
Glowing, growing light, was almost
Strangled, by another's shrinking form, and the
Jagged, aching, angry, violet storm, that cut us all.

Good, occasionally poor,
We could hear the lullaby for a time,
Gently rocking our babies to sleep,
Playful waters, dancing, toddling, babbling,
Under a bright sunny sky, with
Occasional, manageable, showers.

Rough, becoming very rough, gales imminent,
We thought we'd suffered storms before,
These deepened and blackened and hardened,
Dragging us separately, wild eyed and helpless to the edge,
Sirens calling us into those cold, dark, forty fathoms,
But thankfully, just as suddenly, and with less warning...

Moderate or rough, a chance of gales later,
The planets creaked back into line, and
We blindly found our life rings again,
To continue traversing the Forties,
With its monsterous storms, empty stills, and joyful dawns,
Together.


This piece was inspired by "The Forties", the Shipping Forecast area, found in the central North Sea area off the north east coast of Scotland and south west coast of Norway, so called because of its fairly consistent depth of forty fathoms or more.  The same area is known to the Norwegians as Fladen Grunn (Fladen Ground - "Fladen" meaning round flat dough cake or pat).