‘In some of the selkie novels I’ve read, the pivotal shapeshifting episode take place off stage, while in others, it’s described as a simple slipping from a skin, a peeling and parting from the crown downwards. Only a few writers seem to focus on the process and physicality of the change, the sensation of feet webbing into flippers, the instant acquisition of flab and fur’ (Susan Richardson, Where the Seals Sing, 173)
The Seal / the Selkie
AMIMAL LANGUAGES / METMORPHOSES
As part of the ‘Animal Languages’ workshop (October 25, 2024), we were very fortunate have a creative writing session, facilitated by the poet and creative nonfiction writer Susan Richardson.
In this session, Susan encouraged us to rethink, and expand the representation of, animal voices in fables by focusing on the figure of the selkie. The session was designed to think about the challenge of speaking, transcribing and translating the language of another species. Using a variety of prompts – including visual images and audio material – Susan asked us to imagine the moment in which a seal turns into a selkie, or vice versa, and to experiment with the idea of creating a hybrid seal-human language through the medium of either poetry or prose. It was an engaging and productive session, as can be seen from the following texts that emerged out of it.
©Kitty Blandy
SELKIE SELFIE
Kitty Blandy
I feel it coming—
Flanks thickening
Arms withdrawing
Hands extending
Core warming
Into comfort rolling
Here I go—
Into myself easing
Off gravity, heaving to water sliding
To wet salinity, nostrils closing
Forward speeding
Weightless tumbling
Corporeal completing—
Fluid freedom forcing.
selkie
Catherina Campillay
cuello se reacomoda sobre hombros nuevos
en el agua solo entorpecen el movimiento
neck is rearranged on new shoulders
in water they only hinder movement
apertura de las capas de piel pelo grasa
frío opening of the skin layers fat and hair
cold
ice blue
hielo y azul
hay cosas secrets que el pelo cubre
cubre del frío
nuevo
there are secret things that hair covers
seashells turned sand
conchas marinas vueltas arena
covers from the cold
new
¿dónde se va la grasa? where does the fat go?
¿en qué lugar de las rocas se acumula where on the rocks does it accumulate
with those of my family?
con las de mi familia?
new
the touch of sand
feels different on a thin skin
it slides easily and doesn’t keep its secrets in folds
el tacto de la arena
se siente distinto sobre una piel delgada
se desliza fácilmente no guarda sus secretos
en los pliegues
pierdo
rapidez
I lose
speed
se caen los bigotes que me recuerdan
la dirección del viento y las mareas
the whiskers that remind me of
the direction of wind and tides
the direction of wind and tides
lost
mucho de esto es perder losing speed
losing the race for the fish
la voz mía nueva no se funde en un coro
it stands alone
keeps the raspy sound
me confundirán con un fumador
manchas
ya no reflejan la refracción de la luz en el agua
¿ves cómo
cómo un recién nacido
aparece el iris en mi ojo?
do you see how
like a newborn
an iris appears in my eye
and shines?
¿dónde quedó la grasa perdida?
¿pegada a las rocas donde tomaba el sol?
stuck to the rocks
like my shape under the mist?
¿dónde encuentro la grasa
para dejar de sentir frío?
have you tasted
salt outside of water?
most of this is losing losing speed
mucho de esto es perder
the direction of wind and tides
losing fish and fat losing vibrations
losing perder
shape la forma
THE SELKIE, DECIDING
Kathryn Kirkpatrick
Which body, now.
Each time
across, I work
the boundaries.
I end. I begin.
My dapple,
my pink. Which
skin? I
will say me
as much as I can.
Such birthing backwards!
The edge of me,
the sly.
Sand smiles me.
The wink
of me. I am ready
for new,
the body of it.
I fold myriad.
See me? How I
arm it already?
Smile it easy?
I flipper.
This is the play
of me. Which
way? Shall I
dance it through?
Roll it out?
Stay or go?
What shall I?
How have I?
Speckle and flap,
limber and wrap.
No notion.
No worry.
FLIPPING
Ana Matoso
god, family life is
hard stuff
there you go yes
I am saying it
right now still now
I can say still
sounds like yes
can it be so?
so strange yes
now that you think
so it’s hard
you see to mean
on this ground
this solid ground
all’s on my back
skinny back
on this bare dry skin
time to go now
to let go
let go of my voice
my howl my poise
ouch to you all
I say awch
does this howl
sound?
oh hell with it
now all’s different
need to go yes
shed all back
flip
at last
fade out
fall hard
then roll
farther
water
matter
splash
all’s dark
and so light
all’s out now
yes
sand spread
spread out
against
sand
wind
and sea
asea
just
going
by myself
be myself
by self
bye
yes
again
aw
SEALED
Olivia McNeilis
Trembling under the sonic weight of
bikes and cars and planes–
every decibel assaults the senses.
Each wave beats the body and
bruises flesh
pricks fingertips
aches ears–
Fold up, accordion heavy.
Leadskin. Deadened.
Rubber sealed.
Salt licked.
Sea soothed.
Only whiskers
live to anything.
UNTITLED
Maisie Tomlinson
Hey there!
Your smell stirs me in my creasy folds
Rubbed raw against sand
I’ll lose the whiskers?
Unless you like them of course
Right up your skirt…..
– What skaw-lamen sang?
– Who schomid, sovereign?
Owww, I contain multitudes!
Cry-cry eer, here! Eeer, here!
Shiffle flap-flop mss
Heave-to and….mmmnnnh. Huh.
Wheeze out your wolverine woo-alongs, comrades.
I’ll placate, I’ll even placent,
If you just send me one of your red-fins
To bring me in.
* * *
Scrawing, I ker-fuffle
Head spins with sea-hunger
I can no longer slide
My fingers between yours
They slip and frot
The band has broke.
Oh sharp-air, for selkie-softness!
Sleepy, fooning sloppy soon
Filling out, you flump me now
Horror, like a football.
Swim me lightness.
THREE SEAL TRANSFORMATIONS
Sarah Westcott
Pregnant cow
Born into sleek weight; paddled. Where did the womb go? Grown full. And the ankles? Into the body, folded neat, small bones, socketed. The same lovely eye, contracting and expanding under the same crossed sky: aaaa> aaaa? uuurr, ur her?
Bull seal
Old boy, about to up and go, impossible not to see the man, see the seal, both here in the soft underbelly’s folds, the lax flipper (or is it an arm?) laid along the flank, the pongy armpit and the old eyes, one open and liquid-human, the other half-opened seal: here, herr, here?
Pup
Contorted wave dancer, the curved spine of the embryo the curve of a wave crest, toes stretched and held, splayed as at orgasm. La petite mort, run through the torso, each plush spot, the body bearing the earthed charge: – — +++ —