Monthly Archive for May, 2007

Where To This Summer?

My old friend Mickie Potter came online the other night and after brief salutations and updates on current affairs (so-to-speak) I happened to mention I was toying with the idea of a trip to Ireland this summer. Unbelievably I haven’t been back there since the golden summer of 1991.

“I’ve never been to Ireland” says M. P. “Can I come?”

So, we are both doing some serious toying with the idea right now. Now can anyone recommend any must-see places, events etc in Ireland? I was thinking a music festival might be fun. Anyhow, recommendations appreciated. And I hope it’s just like this:

Incidentally, the full series of Father Ted is viewable up here at TV LINKS.

お箸が上手ですね

Watch this amusing video while I pop out and get a life.

Wow

One of those stories to put it all in perspective: Kellie Lim.

Viva Sherry & Suika

I went along to Mews Cafe to check out a performance by Viva Sherry today and found Rikki in the kiddies’ playpen.

Which was odd.

But the show was very good, especially when Viva Sherry joined forces with another (slighty-more-famous) band: Suika and you can see that performance below (up until the point when my memory card filled up…). Incidentally, the lady at the back smashing the cymbals with her hands apparently plays percussion with the Southern All Stars.

Disappointed!

Today, the poet that’s foremost on my mind is that crack-pot Irish esoteric romantic W.B. Yeats. A great man. Many of his most famous poems were inspired by his deep infatuation for a lady named Maud Gonne, a woman of passion, with a deep sense of justice and fully dedicated to the cause of Irish nationalism. Here is one such poem; almost unbearably tender, I dare you to read it and not feel something:

He Wishes For The Cloths Of HeavenHAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

Sadly, the girl Maud remained unmoved (in later life she professed a firm disinterest in the poems she had inspired). Yeats proposed to her in 1891 and was rejected. Again he proposed in 1899 - no go. Once more in 1900 - same result. And finally, persistent fellow that he was, AGAIN in 1901. The answer: No thank you.

In 1903 while at a party with some other literary types, Yeats was informed that the great love of his life, his muse and inspiration for the last 14 years had married the Irish nationalist John MacBride.

Think about him there if you will. Standing there, in that instant, shocked to the quick, with his little sherry glass in hand. He was 38 years old and heading into middle-age and the one great love of his life was over.

He later went on to write much better and mature poetry of course. His life and his achievements, didn’t end there. But it has always struck me as unbearably sad that this great romantic poet, couldn’t pull it off. The one woman he wanted to be with, simply wasn’t interested in his poems, no matter how great they were. I’ve always thought it an awful pity. The Japanese have just the word for it: せつない (setsunai or “heartrending”).

In the end of course he ended up married to a girl half his age named George. Isn’t it funny how things work out.?

Of course this is all my own round-about-and-deeply-veiled-way of expressing my own current feeling. Those of you who know me best and know where my heart has been leading me lately, will know what I’m talking about. I too have been disappointed today. Am I sad? You bet. Can I see beyond it? Yes, but it’s a little murky right now. Am I now going to get on with the rest of my life? Yes. Yes. Yes.

Incidentally, there is a theory that Maud Gonne, was not completely without feeling for poor old William Butler…. that she led him on a bit. There is even some evidence they had a brief affair. A brief glimpse of happiness. Which brings me to today’s video. Yeat’s wrote a wonderful poem, based on Irish myth but infused with his own sad passion entitled: The Song of Wandering Angus. In it, he describes the protagonist’s fleeting encounter of a dream-like love that he then determines to pursue almost against all reason until… well see and listen for yourself. Remember, these poems are meant to be listened to… Enjoy, and God bless you all.

"They are intended to be listened to…"

Here’s a short video poem by Billy Collins that took my fancy lately. I love how the colours and sounds of the animation complement the fantastic journey described:

Walking across the Atlantic

Billy Collins is that rare thing: a popular poet. Popular because his work captures the imagination and because it is accessible (though he prefers the word “hospitable” apparently. Now there are those among us (I work with one of them and am related to others) who pour scorn upon the very idea of poetry. Poetry! What’s the point of that? What good does that do? Good question. Here’s the poet’s better answer (from the Poetry 180 website):

Poetry can and should be an important part of our daily lives. Poems can inspire and make us think about what it means to be a member of the human race. By just spending a few minutes reading a poem each day, new worlds can be revealed.

Poetry 180 is a simple yet wonderful idea. 180 poems to be read on the 180 days of the school year. Just think how enriched your life might be if you read a single poem a day. The only problem is that many of us, strapped for time, or patience or imagination, don’t really know where to start. What kind of poets will strike my fancy? Will I even understand them? Just thinking of all those big tomes of serious serious poetry - gives me a headache! Well not to worry, Billy Collins has taken care of all that for you. The poems on the Poetry 180 were chosen for that very same quality of hospitality that has made Mr. Collins a bestseller. And he has even provided some USEFUL TIPS for the reader who may be overawed by the very idea of the POEM.

Now remember, I’m a big fan of the free stuff. You don’t need to buy Billy Collins’s books! There’s tonnes of it online!

Free Downloadable Audio Files Here!

More Videos Here!

A-Whole-Pile-of-Poems-You-Can-Read-At-Your-Leisure-Here!

And here’s one more of those animated videos I just can’t resist embedding:

Rong Radio

Another short salley down the back alleys of nostalgia… Back in the mid-90’s I remember watching Benjamin Zephaniah performing at a school in Cambridge and then watching the big grin on his face as he watched the kids performing one of his poems back to him. After his show was over he played basketball with some of the kids for over an hour and I thought: “What a nice guy”. And “Shit. I wish I could play basketball”. Anyway, check out his website if you want to see how poetry can be a force for good in the world. Today’s offering is his poem “Rong Radio”.

You can see more videos up here: BZ Videos

Google Analytics

Am I the only one who doesn’t like the New Google Analytics? Whereas before I could enjoy seeing just how many visitors my blog was getting each day, on the day, and with the GeoMap Overlay I could also see exactly where in the world my visitors were from…. all that has vanished! To be replaced by indecipherable data and statistics and graphs! Yuck! Why do people always want to change things that work just fine already?

Here’s a short hospitable animated poem about Death (by Billy Collins).

The dead are always looking down on us, they say, while we are putting on our shoes or making a sandwich, they are looking down through the glass-bottom boats, of heaven as they row themselves slowly through eternity. They watch the tops of our heads moving below on earth, And when we lie down in a field or on a couch, Drugged perhaps by the hum of a warm afternoon, They think we are looking back at them, which makes them lift their oars and fall silent and wait, like parents, for us to close our eyes.

Intyatyambo - Progress is Made…

The Intyatyambo website is up! Check it out here: Intyatyambo

Say Yes

Once, long long ago, locked away in a university library, as autumn leaves swirled past the windows, and rugby players drank and hooted in the college bar, I struggled day and night to make sense of a book that totally defeated me. The book was called Ulysses. On finishing my first reading I was so relieved and overjoyed I did a lap of honour round the building and came panting to a halt at the college gates. “Did you hear?” said my neighbor, coming in, “The Berlin Wall’s come down.” There, that dates it: Michaelmas term 1989. James Joyce was a terrible challenge, I read him and re-read him out of sheer obstinacy… And I can’t say that I came to any deep understanding of what it’s all about but - I did in the end enjoy it. I think the main thing for me was when it comes to books or life or love - we must say YES.

And this all came flooding back to me when I found by chance, this old video of the magnificent Kate Bush having a lark with Molly Bloom’s soliloquy from the end of the book. I’ll put the lyrics underneath. Enjoy:


The Sensual World

Mmh, yes,

Then I’d taken the kiss of seedcake back from his mouth
Going deep South, go down, mmh, yes,
Took six big wheels and rolled our bodies
Off of Howth Head and into the flesh, mmh, yes,
He said I was a flower of the mountain, yes,
But now I’ve powers o’er a woman’s body - yes.
Stepping out of the page into the sensual world.
Stepping out………….
To where the water and the earth caress
And the down of a peach says mmh, yes.
Do I look for those millionaires
Like a Machiavellian girl would?
When I could wear a sunset, mmh, yes,
And how we’d wished to live in the sensual world.
You don’t need words - just one kiss, then another.

Stepping out of the page into the sensual world.
Stepping out, off the page into the sensual world,
And then our arrows of desire rewrite the speech, mmh, yes,
And then he whispered would I, mmh, yes,
Be safe, mmh, yes, from mountain flowers?
And at first with the charm around him, mmh, yes,

He loosened it so if it slipped between my breasts
He’d rescue it, mmh, yes,
And his spark took life in my hand, mmh, yes,
I said, mmh, yes,
But not yet, mmh, yes,
Mmh, yes
….