tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-31026907258501063642024-03-13T08:07:49.361+00:00SmallTimeBooksSelected Writings by Dan MicklethwaiteDanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.comBlogger92125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-73704798445000254992016-07-31T14:59:00.001+01:002016-07-31T14:59:11.758+01:00The Less than Perfect Legend of Donna CreosoteMy debut novel, <i>The Less than Perfect Legend of Donna Creosote,</i> was officially released by <a href="https://bluemoosebooks.com/">Bluemoose Books </a>on Thursday 28th July.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fvMW4oCMnpxIXHWzhy6nOhmrKj7H40Fod3WxP1RQj-DTaHJZ0UJyJpI3H_YzNHCcriYYZC3LhiSYfNM-nqCXWdRjWiKUDjdVAnmaqV-vkOqScNcfwNaQrdaMfNGV0cU2Vamp-Wm0HsAW/s1600/Donna+Creosote+book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3fvMW4oCMnpxIXHWzhy6nOhmrKj7H40Fod3WxP1RQj-DTaHJZ0UJyJpI3H_YzNHCcriYYZC3LhiSYfNM-nqCXWdRjWiKUDjdVAnmaqV-vkOqScNcfwNaQrdaMfNGV0cU2Vamp-Wm0HsAW/s320/Donna+Creosote+book+cover.jpg" width="208" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;">Donna Crick-Oakley walks on six inches of stories every day. She may live on the top floor of a tower block but she still pads her walls and floor with books to shut the real world further out. Or do they only shut her in? Armed with her myths and medieval adventures, Donna sets out to escape her isolation and change her home town to better suit her dreams.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;">THE LESS THAN PERFECT LEGEND OF DONNA CREOSOTE is a modern fairy tale from the inner city, where the mundane becomes fantastical and the everyday ethereal, but where living happily ever after is often easier read than done.</span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Lucida Bright', 'Bitstream Charter', 'URW Bookman L', serif; line-height: 24px;">You can order physical copies <a href="https://bluemoosebooks.com/books/less-than-perfect-legend-of-donna-creosote">here</a>, and ebooks<a href="https://www.sainsburysentertainment.co.uk/ebooks/THE-LESS-THAN-PERFECT-LEGEND-OF-DONNA-CREOSOTE/Dan-Micklethwaite/9781910422243"> here</a> or <a href="https://www.amazon.co.uk/LESS-PERFECT-LEGEND-DONNA-CREOSOTE-ebook/dp/B01IUGY9JI/ref=sr_1_1_twi_kin_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1469973215&sr=1-1&keywords=the+less+than+perfect+legend+of+donna+creosote">here</a>. Or, of course, you can buy it from your local bookshop - if they don't currently have any in stock, just ask them to order one in for you. </span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Lucida Bright, Bitstream Charter, URW Bookman L, serif;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Lucida Bright, Bitstream Charter, URW Bookman L, serif;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><br /></span></span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-70462717877142982672015-03-17T15:27:00.000+00:002015-03-17T15:32:02.169+00:00The Silence of the Land: On Beastings, by Ben Myers<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Perhaps because more and more of my own work
seems to deal with characters who are estranged from their surroundings, who,
to whatever degree of consciousness, retreat into themselves, or otherwise into a
secure, controlled location, I’ve found myself increasingly drawn to their
opposite: stories in which characters are not only intimately related to and
rooted in their natural landscape, but in which there are even characters which
physically (and psychologically) represent facets of that landscape. That is, I’ve
found myself increasingly (re-)drawn to folktales and myths, and contemporary
iterations of same. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3g1uUb07tvaHG9hG1CybCN0eL6VpN9xXiN65_U44rxnimBZKhS4KjZtAjAAL4OAb0Tn9Nb5wBwLHL_QbrvOCgrGe-U-PfOHpHJk12pTXZPBPC-Yyx3UyZxPzuyJCEcFeAFcTcEr0N2-hU/s1600/WP_20150317_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3g1uUb07tvaHG9hG1CybCN0eL6VpN9xXiN65_U44rxnimBZKhS4KjZtAjAAL4OAb0Tn9Nb5wBwLHL_QbrvOCgrGe-U-PfOHpHJk12pTXZPBPC-Yyx3UyZxPzuyJCEcFeAFcTcEr0N2-hU/s1600/WP_20150317_001.jpg" height="320" width="236" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">(Art by Bissette & Totleben)</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwwXz4di3Gil4hhkffhT8lj7yqCKow8h0DecHYBbeyTjcuOFcaYK3-O008mIheLpWcP419mFehA58HPgLwI5SWjYPuVyMr_SxZOSQkQtsIc2Ri-ZrSeOO-h8XBodL8Wdyy13gBy1mZ2L3/s1600/WP_20150316_010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEwwXz4di3Gil4hhkffhT8lj7yqCKow8h0DecHYBbeyTjcuOFcaYK3-O008mIheLpWcP419mFehA58HPgLwI5SWjYPuVyMr_SxZOSQkQtsIc2Ri-ZrSeOO-h8XBodL8Wdyy13gBy1mZ2L3/s1600/WP_20150316_010.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWpXykxIvCOBY92py1ulxPnEZpQqWj8nbC9Aurjfr5NuJYZ22k80kMWo57soTIisZ02F0PZv-2Ailj0dJESIaNFoGFX0aqxuqmmaVDgVcli1jI1fpU-4nS5SE4HHgByM01ZH34y-WTMkN/s1600/WP_20150317_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For instance, there’s a stretch of the
country road behind my house which runs parallel to a brook; a narrow, babbling
V in the hillside; a kind of natural gutter. Towards the upper end of this
stretch is a tree, which, shrouded with vines and creepers as it is, often
reminds me of the comics character,<b> </b><a href="http://www.dccomics.com/characters/swamp-thing">Swamp Thing</a>; his
organic, sinuous, imposing design. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For most of its length, though, that
small valley is a common target for fly-tippers and, as a result, is rarely as
easy on the eyes as, to hear it murmur, you’d think it might be, when you near
the barb-wire and peer over the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVp7AwUxcBsS8CxK4l2Ur_kUYyTaoWVvSGr_zNYfOMeuSE3VSXIKTR_vW6Hu3jKEYira6-5JTU5kJR-WZSPpKDWrQQaKgs_LEtED_5LmdlC20olRQuqbFelCNLg8fYGtTQ4aOBErn0bPvE/s1600/WP_20150316_016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVp7AwUxcBsS8CxK4l2Ur_kUYyTaoWVvSGr_zNYfOMeuSE3VSXIKTR_vW6Hu3jKEYira6-5JTU5kJR-WZSPpKDWrQQaKgs_LEtED_5LmdlC20olRQuqbFelCNLg8fYGtTQ4aOBErn0bPvE/s1600/WP_20150316_016.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">So, sometimes I find myself imagining
how it would be if the Swamp Thing really did rise up from the boggy earth
around the top of that brook, and, in his role as the ‘Guardian of the Green’,
begin to seek vengeance. This occupies me happily for a moment or two. I
picture a vandal getting the fright of their life; a big green hand slapping
them silly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But the Swamp Thing, removed from the
context of those comic books, never does rise up and take umbrage, and part of
me – the younger part, still wishful and naive – is always just a little disappointed.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Part of the purpose of such comic books
(indeed, of much fiction), of course, is to act as a bridge between dream (or
nightmare) and reality, between hope (or fear) and realisation; implicit in
that purpose is the acknowledgement that such realisation seldom occurs in our
actual lives, certainly rarely in ways we can predict or control. These stories
exist, like most human creations, to fulfil a sheltering, escapist need – in
this case, to explain the unexplained, or to make something that’s already
known that much easier to stomach, or to balance out and combat some elemental
wrong. Or even, sometimes, to personify accident and chance, to give a malicious
agency to hapless mistakes. And thereby to provide a kind of comfort, or at
least a cushioning of the blow. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the latter category, in a way, and
following on from <i>Swamp Thing</i>, I’m
thinking of Sara Maitland’s brilliant short story, <a href="http://fileserver.booktrust.org.uk/usr/library/documents/bbc-nssa-2009/moss_witch.pdf">‘Moss
Witch’</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Likewise, in keeping with the idea of avatars
representing aspects of the natural world, there are numerous examples to be
found in the back catalogue of Studio Ghibli, from <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0096283/?ref_=nv_sr_1">My
Neighbour Totoro</a></i> to <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0245429/?ref_=tt_rec_tt">Spirited Away</a> </i>to
<i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0119698/?ref_=nv_sr_4">Princess Mononoke</a></i>.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In Benjamin Myers’ latest novel, <i><a href="http://www.bluemoosebooks.com/books/beastings">Beastings<span style="font-style: normal;"> (Bluemoose Books)</span></a></i>,<i> </i>however, what we are given is not so much the
fantasy itself (vengeful, beautiful, hopeful or otherwise), but the characters –
flesh and blood, physical, fragile, mortal – who both harbour and hinder those
fantasies. People who are tied to/constrained by their environment, but whose
psychological links with it – with the superstitions and myths that might in
other times have bound them to it in a different way – are, with increasing
rapidity, coming apart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is not a story designed for comfort,
but for confrontation. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By this, I don’t mean to suggest that it’s
written in abrasive, <i>in your face</i>
fashion. Rather, that it shies away neither from the harshness of the
environment, nor the consequences of actions, nor from an acknowledgement of
the fluctuating and often shaky nature of dreams – an acknowledgment, that is,
of the very gaps, the gulfs, that many folktales seek either to cover or to
give demonic form. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What complicates this, however, and
makes the narrative more than simply a very good, if extremely severe, slice of
historical realism – and almost, at some sections, a kind of body horror piece transplanted
to 19<sup>th</sup> Century Cumbria – is that there are characters, almost at
every step, who could be mistaken for such spirits; who, in another story,
might well have a more fantastical, magic-realist dimension. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is, for example, a hermit who, in
his seeming benevolence and loquacity – not to mention his outlandish
appearance – might in other hands veer into Tom Bombadil territory. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And there is a priest, who, for his talk
and intentions, could be an agent of supernatural evil. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And there is the young woman that the
priest is chasing – fleeing across the fells and pikes and moorland with a baby
that isn’t hers. A mute young woman, who becomes more intimate with the
landscape than anybody else – who depends upon that landscape and what it can
provide for her very survival, and who therefore comes to echo that landscape
at the times in which it is most barren or, occasionally, most ripe. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWpXykxIvCOBY92py1ulxPnEZpQqWj8nbC9Aurjfr5NuJYZ22k80kMWo57soTIisZ02F0PZv-2Ailj0dJESIaNFoGFX0aqxuqmmaVDgVcli1jI1fpU-4nS5SE4HHgByM01ZH34y-WTMkN/s1600/WP_20150317_003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWpXykxIvCOBY92py1ulxPnEZpQqWj8nbC9Aurjfr5NuJYZ22k80kMWo57soTIisZ02F0PZv-2Ailj0dJESIaNFoGFX0aqxuqmmaVDgVcli1jI1fpU-4nS5SE4HHgByM01ZH34y-WTMkN/s1600/WP_20150317_003.jpg" height="320" width="204" /></a><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is even, and especially, that
landscape itself, which is evoked with a fullness of the kind that usually makes
people claim it as ‘a character in its own right’, even though it is,
emphatically, nothing of the kind. Although it impacts on proceedings, this
is in a haphazard way – neither consciously charitable nor openly merciless. Instead,
it seems voiceless, stripped of its spirits and spokespeople. And so, yes, the
girl on the run does, in some ways, come to fill this role, to mirror and represent it, to the
point where it is almost as if nature itself is being pursued, and holds the
dark secrets the priest wants kept under wraps. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, really, the muteness of both just
means there is an increasing lack of understanding, a communication breakdown, which makes
her escape all the more difficult. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Of course, talking about the story in
this almost abstract, theoretical manner is in some ways the same thing – it risks
taking you out of the story, of the immediacy of its developments and
deviations and shocks. But, for those who haven’t read it yet, I don’t want to
give these away. The communication breakdown that the novel charts and
interrogates relies on ideas of repression and withholding, evasion and denial;
the inability to accept the truth and relevance (or irrelevance) of one’s past.
Spoilers, I feel, would kind of bugger this up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What I do hope to get across, though, is
just how worthwhile it is to read this book and discover what’s being withheld,
and how, and why – and what that perhaps says about us, and about both the ways
we used to live and the ways we live now. About the relative promises and
pitfalls of a life given over to running away from our problems and fears; to hoping
that our mistakes and our messes will just somehow cease mattering, or be taken care of by/be blamed on somebody else. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On the issue of its quality, and the
effectiveness with which it engages these issues, I’ve seen a few other reviewers
comparing Myers’ work here with Cormac McCarthy, and, whilst comparisons can
often get in the way of appraising and appreciating a given work’s individual merit,
as much as they offer valuable context, I think there’s validity to this one.
Both <i>Beastings </i>and the finest, grimmest
of McCarthy’s work (so, most of it), achieve a mythic quality without being
myths, and present themselves as tales of (relatively, with a few glaring
exceptions) ordinary folk, without being folktales. Whereas those two forms of
storytelling seek to bridge the gaps between dream and waking, between
superstition and sense, between self and place, these works operate within those
spaces; or, rather, at the edge of them, looking out into the void. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The settings in these stories are often solid
to the point of being monumental – think of the red, almost Martian deserts in <i>Blood Meridian</i>, the petrified forests in
<i>The Road</i>; in this book, consider the
mountains, the moors, the lakes themselves (as far removed from Wordsworth’s rendering of them as could be) – and yet they have no voices, no spokespeople. Or, if
they do, they seldom last long. They are indifferent, and only seem to grow
moreso the more the fates of the characters depend on their offering shelter,
or providing food. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In <i>Beastings</i>,
Myers gives us a view of a time of profound transition – the beginning of a
society’s estrangement from its environment; the supplanting of its old, almost
organic superstitions with new, equally-convenient if more outwardly rational
lies, suitable for the demands of an urbanised age. Along with McCarthy’s work,
it echoes other recent triumphs of this kind, such as John Hillcoat’s film, <i>The Proposition</i> – and yet it never feels
in thrall to them, or as though it’s been written specifically and cynically to
fit that mould. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 150%;">Rather, it is its own animal, and Myers
tracks its passage unfailingly and unflinchingly, all the way to the jolting,
vital bleakness of its end. </span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 150%;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Folktales and myths, of course, still have a crucial place and relevance in our culture, not least for making such grim outcomes somehow more palatable, for helping us assimilate them into our view of the world. This is, I think, why I've found myself turning to them lately. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But sometimes the inverse sneaks up on you - you discover a need for a work which refuses this fantasy, which forces you to look at the gap that it leaves, the uncleaned wound, and makes you really wonder what, if anything, can be done to help it heal; that makes you, paradoxically, want to reconnect with your surroundings at the same time as you aim to come to terms with their indifference; that, plain and simply, makes you want to take more responsibility for your life and your actions and the place that you fill in the world. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 150%;">Here, then, is a book that more than meets this need. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; line-height: 150%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F3.bp.blogspot.com%2F-SlSPa1nJq3A%2FVQgSQFxlsRI%2FAAAAAAAAAO4%2Fl30z-zjtwUM%2Fs1600%2FWP_20150317_003.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrWpXykxIvCOBY92py1ulxPnEZpQqWj8nbC9Aurjfr5NuJYZ22k80kMWo57soTIisZ02F0PZv-2Ailj0dJESIaNFoGFX0aqxuqmmaVDgVcli1jI1fpU-4nS5SE4HHgByM01ZH34y-WTMkN/s1600/WP_20150317_003.jpg" -->Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-54086447108574042102015-03-07T12:17:00.000+00:002015-03-07T12:17:23.685+00:00Thoughts on ‘Oils,’ by Stephen Sexton<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don’t want this to be a classroom
thing. It is difficult to write about poetry sometimes without it turning out
that way. Cracking open the highlighters – road-safety yellow, nu-raver pink –
and finding key words in each line, mulling over their meaning. Yet, after you’ve
maybe learnt how to appreciate poetry, this is often how you’re taught to
appreciate it. To break it down, dissect and deconstruct it – climb inside the
clockwork and analyse just exactly how each phrase, each pairing, each couplet –
rhyming or not – beguiles the time. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Which is fair enough, and certainly has
its uses. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But, as Stephen Sexton hints at in ‘An
English Teacher Leaves the Room,’ the focus on isolated incidents can also be
reductive, can lead either to lost or oversimplified meanings. Can lead,
indeed, to a search for a clear or direct conclusion where perhaps there simply
isn’t one. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Through the flux, then, as H. Miller
once mentioned, is how I’ll come at this instead. The constant ambiguity of a
life lived in pursuit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">At its base, <a href="http://theemmapress.com/books/the-emma-press-poetry-pamphlets/oils/">this
collection</a> is concerned with what a lot of poetry (indeed, a lot of art)
seems to be concerned with – mourning and longing, the missed chances of the
past and the possibilities of the future. And yet it is about this with a
surety, a tactility, which anchors these feelings, for the most part, in the
reader’s present, even as they spill out over the sides. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Indeed, the reason I don’t want to
resort to academic tactics – and am taking a rather wanky route around it, in
fact – is because of the remarkable wholeness and heft of these poems. Is
because, despite certain inferences passing over my head, I still felt the
presence of what was inferred, the evocative ability of the poet’s craft at
work. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I don’t intend for this to sound
pretentious – though, again, it can be difficult to discuss poetry, especially
at any kind of length, without falling into that trap – and I definitely don’t
want to put off prospective readers by giving the impression that this
collection is pretentious; though it is full of pretence, allusion and
ekphrasis, it doesn’t beat you round the head with it, or exclude, or talk down
to you, and nor does it show off for the sake of showing off. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Rather, what I want to convey is this –
that <i>Oils</i> is a tremendously academic,
intellectual, crafted work, but I don’t believe it requires you to be an
intellectual, academic craftsman to take it apart and put it back together. It
is not, in other words, poetry that speaks only to other capital P Poets. It
exists in uncertainty, in unanswered questions, in the commonplace passivity of
life, as much as it exists in communion with old myths and old masters. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are, of course, many lines that
may give you pause, have you reaching for references, but it is a testament to
Sexton that the context of each poem in its fullness makes you really want to
know, to try and fill the gap, though the poems themselves sometimes choke with
a sense of the impossibility of ever quite doing so. He makes you complicit in
his longing, in his own, often frustrated, search for meaning, as these poems
may become, over time, complicit in yours. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And, of course, there are many lines
worth breaking out the highlighters – Ghostbusters green and Breaking Bad blue –
for. Such as this, from ‘John’s HiFi’:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">The
bass thumps like a sperm whale’s heart</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But this needn’t be a classroom thing. I
don’t want it to be, is the point, and I don’t want you to think it has to be,
to think any good poetry has to be; even poetry so clearly artful as that found
in <i>Oils</i>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;">I read the first half of this collection
instead in Köln-Bonn airport, overlooking the runway. That felt right. These
poems root you in the business of reading them, whilst they promise and/or
threaten at all times to transport you somewhere else. They are written on the
cusp and in the midst and in the aftermath. Moment to moment, just as we live. </span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-72388524630683965722015-01-11T21:56:00.000+00:002015-01-11T22:05:20.849+00:00'The Blue Fox' and 'The Whispering Muse', by Sjon - Book Reviews<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Perhaps this is an odd confession
for someone who mistakenly classes himself (and is often classed mistakenly by
others) as being well-read to make, but I’ve always had a bit of
trepidation about reading novels that have only been <i>translated</i> into English. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That is, I’ve been putting off
attempting such monumental classics of world literature as <i>War and Peace</i> and much of Balzac’s back catalogue by telling myself
that, if I’m to get the full import and impact of such works – if I’m to read
them the way they really <i>should</i> be
read – then I should do so in the author’s original words. Of course, I’ve
convinced myself more fully of this whenever anyone has suggested that maybe,
just maybe, I’ve been putting them off because <i>War and Peace</i> is chuffin’ chunky, and there are enough books in
Balzac’s <i>Comédie humaine</i> that I could
have used them to build my shed. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
However, over the past few years,
I’ve embarked upon – and been utterly bowled over by – works by writers as
diverse as Milan Kundera, Rabelais, Albert Camus, Roberto Bolaño, Reinaldo
Arenas, Blaise Cendrars and Italo Calvino. The combined force of which have
helped me see the error of my ways, and highlighted just how much of what is truly
vital in literature I was missing out on.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I have come to appreciate the
idea (heard previously but never properly, personally tested) that books from
other cultures, translated or not, are nonetheless windows into the innermost
workings of those cultures; even as the very fact of my reading works from such
seemingly distant places has shown up how all such boundaries of culture are,
and have long been (well before even the faintest conception of the Internet),
infinitely permeable and fluid, if only people make the effort to allow them to
be. Or, rather, cease making the effort to stop them from being. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It is this, which, by way of
growing familiarity with the early works of other Scandinavian writers such as
Knut Hamsun, as well as numerous recommendations, brought me recently to the
writings of <span style="background: white;">Sigurjón Birgir Sigurðsson, known most commonly as Sjon. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">And I am right bloody glad that it
did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">It is appropriate, I suppose, in
light of what’s mentioned above, that both <i>The
Blue Fox</i> and <i>The Whispering Muse</i>
are a kind of fusion-fiction, melding in some areas a sparsely poetic,
Hamsun-esque realism with blistering, unnerving elements of Icelandic folktales
and more widely-sourced myth. But, rather than allowing this to be a smooth,
magical-realist fusion, there is always an element of cynicism, a tension
created by the presence of disbelievers, which threatens to undermine the
works, even as, ultimately, it strengthens them and their closing intentions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">For instance, the latter book
includes the character of Caeneus, borrowed/revived from ancient Grecian tales
about the Argo. He can be seen as the embodiment of the way that myths and
stories can continue to shape and affect people – even, and this is perhaps
most crucial, if those stories happen to have originated somewhere far from
their audience. He becomes indicative of the germinant qualities of a good yarn
– its ability to adapt, survive, and, ultimately, to spread and become part of wider
narratives; of histories personal, social, and even global. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">However, the novel’s narrator,
Valdimar Haraldsson, is far too busy espousing his obsession with the
supposedly scientifically-proven ideas on the positive correlation between
Nordic cultural hegemony and fish consumption (to a largely Nordic audience),
to give much credence to what he sees as Caeneus’ ‘ridiculous’ tales of his
adventurous past. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">Because the story – and, therefore,
Caeneus’ tale - unfolds through this sceptical viewpoint, it is not clear how
seriously any of it should or even can be taken. That is, it is uncertain
whether there will be any meaning to the tale at all, or whether the cynicism
and close-mindedness/obsessiveness will undermine and override it in the end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">Indeed, in the first book, <i>The Blue Fox</i>, Sjon is perhaps even more
explicit in his depiction of this tension between the sceptical, hard-headed
nature of the men on display – particularly the priest, Baldur Skuggason, who
hunts the eponymous animal – and the more whimsical, free-flowing nature of
other figures, as well as the folk-tale-ridden landscape in which Skuggason
gradually becomes more immersed, both physically and mentally. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">In this way, these works certainly
feel as though they provide an insight into certain areas of Scandinavian
history and culture, even as they interrogate the wider impact and reach of
that culture, and the way such interactions can impact upon a place, its
inhabitants and their ideas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">On that score alone, they make for
fascinating and worthwhile reading. Yet, the fact that they are written (and,
importantly, translated, by all accounts brilliantly, by Victoria Cribb) in
such an effective, compellingly direct manner, serves to make them even moreso.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">At the close of each book, and
certainly after reading them back-to-back, I was left with a feeling of great
satisfaction, as though re-energised. Which, again, perfectly suits the way the
central conflicts and tensions are resolved. The last sections of these novels
come to act, both within and beyond the narrative, as both a celebration and a reward
for allowing something different, and difficult, to become a part of one’s
life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;">The ending of <i>The Whispering Muse</i> in particular is a dramatisation of this – the
suggestion being that, no matter how far a story (or storyteller) has travelled
to reach you, and no matter how much may have been chipped away from that story
– lost in translation, as it were – if it seems there is some truth, some
vitality to it, it is probably best to stop making excuses, to simply dive in
and embrace what you find there of use. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><o:p>Having read these two books, as well as works by the other authors mentioned above, I can't help but agree. </o:p></span><span style="background-color: white;">I still aim to be able someday
to read fluently in other languages. But I’m increasingly aware that being </span><i>actually</i><span style="background-color: white;"> well-read, and thereby
hopefully ever-more open-minded and more understanding, is the salient goal, and one
that can’t really wait.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white;"><br /> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-86443932669045132015-01-04T12:30:00.000+00:002015-01-04T12:50:49.576+00:00Snorri & Frosti, by Ben Myers – Book Review<h4>
<span style="font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;">I have read <a href="http://galleybeggar.co.uk/store/books/snorri-frosti-single">this novella</a> now five
times over the past year or so, and feel like I could read it many more without
growing tired, without growing bored. That’s not because it’s short,
quick-reading, and I’ve got nothing else on my urgent ‘To-read’ list. Quite the
opposite – I’ve re-read it so often already despite the fact there’s so much
else I want to get through. </span></h4>
<div>
<span style="font-weight: normal; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It is addictive, compulsive,
habit-forming, in the best sense. Like fresh coffee, or country walks. It feels
comfortable on repeated readings, though it has lost none of its challenging
qualities, nor its ability to surprise or amuse. There's a folk album quality to it. As with an album, I even feel that I've taken something new from it each time; there are different sections that appeal
more, that have offered more when I’ve been caught up in different moods.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Indeed, reading it again just
now, I found this aspect of the book extremely fitting to its themes – change
weighed against continuity, daily life weighed against the spectre of death
– and to the way Ben Myers has allowed
the narrative to develop, giving himself space to balance these themes and
submerge them within the delicate, subtle study of the two eponymous brothers, creating
a sense of tension, flux and conflict, even as the sparse setting and the
steady pace lends the work a feeling of compelling, almost unbreakable
calm. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
The story of a day in the life of
these two brothers is relayed, with the exception of a brief intro, by way of
the dialogue between the two. In the way the simple, direct language fits
together, and the lines spark off each other to generate moments of
bittersweet, quite often dark humour, there’s a bit of Beckett about it, and a
bit of Cormac McCarthy (think <i>The Sunset
Limited</i>), too. Yet, if these inspirations were indeed there for Myers, they
are there as an undertone, as a foundation only. He crafts something that feels
new and original from the seemingly traditional, basic ingredients he starts with. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
It is tempting to simply lavish
praise on his concrete but unobtrusive writing style, and the way he’s
constructed the piece; to say that were it not for the way he tells it, this
tale could run the risk of feeling old-hat and outmoded. After all, this day in
the life can be roughly boiled down to a rather dull-sounding pattern of waking
up, drinking coffee, talking about snow, chopping wood, talking about food,
chopping more wood, eating food, and then going to bed. Over which hangs the
threat of the brothers being kicked off their land by a faceless construction
conglomerate. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Yet, the repetitive nature of
this day, within the context of the rest of the protagonists’ lives, is the
backbone of the story. It is crucial to its ultimate meaning, and to why that
story works so well here. In Myer’s hands, what could have been off-puttingly
dour kitchen-sink realism transplanted to an unnamed valley in Scandinavia,
becomes an affecting meditation on the ways in which consistency and routine
can become intrinsic to a person’s survival. And, because of this, I came to
care about the survival of these characters – there has been a point, earlier and earlier, in each
reading where the characters have simply taken over, and any admiration
for the simplicity of form gets lost, as it should, in the mix. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Their discussions of coffee and
snow and food and the threat posed by the aforementioned faceless construction
conglomerate are fascinating, funny, and frequently insightful. There are
sections that I’d like to quote here by way of demonstration, but for those who
haven’t read it, I don’t want to spoil the surprises. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I may have said too much already
– though, as mentioned earlier, here is a book where it is more important how
something happens than it is what happens. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Which is fortunate because, as
also stated above, it is simple and sparse in terms of plot. Yet, like the
meals the book’s titular brothers describe to each other, it feels wholesome
and hearty with it. Though it describes a place of desolate, isolated,
seemingly unending cold, it evokes as well a sense that change and renewal
abound constantly, beneath the beneficial routines, beneath the blanket of
snow. Despite that snow, it brings with it a warming sensation. It rekindles a
vitality in me which, particularly under recent grey skies, it’s too easy to worry
I’ve lost. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
That is, it reminds me that no
matter how little you feel like you have, and how monotonous your days may
seem, there is always something to lose. And it is worth taking the time to
appreciate that thing – life – as fully as you’re able, in whichever fashion
you prefer, because, afterwards, it will
only and always be too late. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I’ve read this novella so often
already, then, because I don’t think you can ask too much more of a story than
that. <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-28882075891953505552013-09-19T12:32:00.000+01:002013-09-19T12:32:50.243+01:00Faulty Escape Plan No.1, 652<div class="MsoNormal">
There you stand in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your grey shirt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and your Sports Direct shoes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
tired little writer</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with nothing to lose</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but the love that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
you’ve found and </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the books you have left</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and the intimate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
knowledge of a wallet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
bereft</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and you squint</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and your scrutinise</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
this thing you’ve become</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
wearing those shoes </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as though you’re </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
wanting to run</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and run more and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
keep running</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and not once ever stop</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
lying to yourself</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that you won’t ever </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
be caught</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
whilst you’re waving</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
your grey shirt</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in bungled surrender</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and Jackson Browne-alike</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
singing </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pray for the pretender</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as you know all </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the while that even here</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
on the edge</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
it’s a long way down</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
from your oubliette ledge</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
it’s a long long way</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
from your dreams </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to the floor</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
so don’t quit this</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not yet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
but still don’t shut the door. </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-60439176038587374062013-09-19T12:25:00.000+01:002013-09-19T12:25:05.575+01:00Bygone<div class="MsoNormal">
Never thought I’d </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
see a Spitfire</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a Reg Mitchell original</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in the skies over </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brighouse</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
far from the coast</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and from the hidey</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
hole of government</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
even further from its</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
heyday</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
its dogfights </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
or</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
its dragonfights</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as always seemed </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to me more fitting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for its name</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but there one is</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
repaired</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
renewed and </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
fairly resurrected </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
performing a solitary </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pantomime </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
an</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
airborne operetta</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
of valour</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
its engine</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
singing the praises</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
of the few </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
whilst the many </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
crowd along this </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
road and the uppermost</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
length of this field</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
cameras and binoculars </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and mobile phones in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
hand</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
half an eye on the </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
gathering tangle of</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
traffic behind </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
them</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
none of them wanting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to miss it</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but equally</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
not wanting to </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
be stuck here</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
being bygone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
for too long after</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
it leaves </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but I </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
being bygone on</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
foot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
skip and dodge </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and duck and weave </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
my way through </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
all of that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
keeping both eyes</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
on the Spitfire</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the Reg Mitchell </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
original</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as it makes its </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
final pass</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and sweeps clear</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
away into the</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
east</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
shrinking down by degrees into </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
various scale model</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
sizes – and at</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
last into a </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
dot</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
on the vast </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
radar screen of the </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
sky – which is no longer</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
over Brighouse</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and as I walk</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think that</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t think I’ll </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ever see a Spitfire make</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
that trip again. </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-74333383124660358082013-09-19T12:23:00.000+01:002013-09-19T12:23:22.785+01:00Stop and Motion<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Some nights you
can batter and twat and tinkle the keys and it’s just squat, nothing, nowt
doing. It’s just stall after stall after stall after stall. Sputter and crunch of
tyres out along the hard shoulder. Climb out. Slam door. Kick gravel away. See
the smoke of it lift off and scatter like ashes. Think of this plan of yours as
dead, gone, cremated. This hope you once had of being one of the greats, the
all-timers, the old-timers, eventually, when your books have all made it past
the century mark. A scrap of immortality. A sliver of worth. Hot student bodies
in tight sweaters with their breasts leaning over the desk as they search the
mass of your text for its myriad meanings. The smiles on their faces when they
find the few lines that really, truly, undoubtedly work. The few lines you left
behind from nights when there was something doing, when you were just in the
groove and shut-out from doubt, and only world left was the world you were
writing. Page after page of it. Written, read, edited. Calm in your head as you
lay down to sleep. Not stuck by the roadside, pissing into the hedgerow,
watering the wildlife, and staring hungrily, angrily up at the stars. Not
telling yourself over and over it’s high time you quit. When you simply climbed
back inside and let the road take you. When it’s just word after word after
word after word, and all of them feel necessary, and useful, and all of them
feel good as they make their way out. </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-17822456665323756662013-06-05T11:02:00.000+01:002013-06-05T11:02:40.360+01:00Charcoal<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';">last <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> bare tree<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> of<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> spring, it seems<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> like, in that<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> motorway- adjacent <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> field; its scrawny limbs<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> upreaching, in<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> echo of a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> clutching bunch<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> of cave-<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> wall dancers,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> which a<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> distantly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> ancestral<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 24px;">
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter';"> twig, perhaps,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter'; font-size: 12pt;"> was once employed to draw. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Bohemian typewriter'; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-33050101726767321332013-06-05T10:59:00.000+01:002013-06-05T10:59:20.377+01:00From Hay-on-Wye (three poems)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
That hill there
in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
the distance</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
with its
tonsured</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
top-point</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
low on trees</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
maybe once was </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
home to forts</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
and war</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
though now
stands</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
peaceful</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
people-free. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Orchard, like a </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
host of Van Gogh</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
peach tree</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
prints</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
remaindered</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
in a warehouse</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
waiting</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
for somebody</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
for some
somebodies</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
to come with
practised</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
hands to pick
their</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
fruit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
***</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
riding shotgun
with</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
a biro and</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
a notebook – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
making
spirographing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
seizmographing</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
lines – </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
if I could drive
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
I</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
might have found
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
these places</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
sooner</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
but riding
shotgun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
with a biro</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
suits me fine </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-28433330294688723302013-06-05T10:54:00.000+01:002013-06-05T10:54:15.531+01:00Minstrels<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><span style="line-height: 150%;">Sugar’s there</span></i><span style="line-height: 150%;">, he
said, <i>and stirrers</i>, he said,
gesturing towards the anorexic lollipop sticks spearing out from a jar by my
elbow. He nodded then, as if to indicate that was all of the extras, even
though, as it happened, it wasn’t. But then, I suppose, there was no need to
mention the rain. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’d
started on the drive down that morning, and hadn’t so much as paused for breath
or re-fuelling since. It was the reason, indeed, I was standing there anyhow,
queuing for coffee, rather than watching a medieval minstrel show, which I had
tickets for, and which should have been happening on the other side of the
high, nearby, castle wall, in the field that seemed to constitute its grounds. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It
was unscrupulous, the rain, in its indifference. To the minstrels, to the
festival, to me. <i>One drop or two?</i> it
didn’t bother to ask, before promptly pouring three or four, of differing
volumes and velocities, into both of the open-topped cups. The latte foam
parting at the touch like quicksand, and then, like quicksand, re-coagulating
to cover it up. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">For
a moment, as I walked with those two cups outstretched before me, I thought
you’d left. But you hadn’t. You’d simply moved to another table, slightly more
hid from the weather. Had pushed out a chair for me beside you, so as I,
despite having taken a soaking, and this being the first coffee of the day
(which was already into its afternoon), still knew where it was I should sit. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We
were in the lower part of the castle’s outer grounds; sitting beneath an awning
on one side of the flagstone path, inadvertently staring at those beneath an
awning on the other, who were, inadvertently, doing the same back. Roughly
every quarter-minute, a larger droplet was trampolined loose from atop the
awning, spraying my thigh and my right shoe, blearing my eyeline a tad. A tad
further. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It’d
been an early start and we were both tired, and now, to rectify that, to
counter it, we were making quick work of our coffees, and so not saying much. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The
two men behind us were talking, though, even as they knocked back beers. I
hadn’t even noticed they were there when I sat down, but they must have been,
because, looking outwards as I was, I surely would have noticed them come over.
<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What
eventually tipped me off to their presence, to their talk, I think, was that
one of the men said he was a singer-songwriter. Not that such a fact
necessarily made him of interest in and of itself. Rather, it was when he told
the other man he’d only come here for the festival, and had been around all the
pubs, asking if he could perform during the week, telling the owners in the
process of such asking exactly what he was. Nothing special there either,
perhaps – I suppose they’re inundated by such requests, especially at this time
of year – only, along with that bit of background info, he bundled in a
confession: that he hadn’t felt the usual snap in his voice or his mind when
he’d been going round doing that asking; that he was no longer embarrassed to
say what he did. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They
went on from there about quitting jobs and saving up, despite quitting jobs, to
go to Thailand, but I, no longer eavesdropping with all attention on anything
but inward me, didn’t register the outcome of the plans, or even whether they’d
been done or were still there yet to do. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Along
with the water, and the water-weakened coffee, I found myself logged down by
envy. Or, perhaps, not by envy, but by an anger at myself. I had found myself
almost nodding along to his confession, his recounted revelation, the first
time I heard it, away from the semi-martial drum-loop it’d settled into in my
head. Yet, afterwards, staring out still, and still inadvertently, across the
quarter-minute dripping and the flagstone path, I chided myself for pretension,
for thinking what I do – what I want to keep doing – could continue to override
basic economic sense. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People
like poets do not own castles, I thought, looking up at the back end of that
old stone building, which seemed cookie-cut from, but lighter than, the gloomy,
marshy grey above. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">People
like poets – like singer-songwriters, even – wind up standing in wet fields,
like those medieval minstrels must have been doing just then; hanging around
for the chance of a pittance, willing to perform for it whether the audience
shows up or not. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I
thought. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Those
quarter-minute drips still blearing my eyeline, spattering my jeans and my
shoe. The coffee not quite yet kicked in. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">After
it had, and had kicked off again, I stopped worrying about money. I bought
books. You bought books. I stopped worrying about the rain. On the way back to
the festival grounds, we stopped in your car and I dried my hair with a towel.
Whilst you looked at me and laughed, and made me feel not self-conscious, but
loved, in spite of my numerous failings. I care for you. I cared for the books
we had, between us, wedged into my backpack. We double-checked that the tickets
for Roger McGough were inside that bag, before we set out for the venue. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And
after we’d seen him, heard him, had our books signed, I chided myself again; this
time, not for my choices, but instead for that earlier chiding; for letting my
mind get away, for a while, with that old, usual snap.</span></span><span style="font-family: "High Tower Text"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "High Tower Text"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "High Tower Text"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "High Tower Text"; font-size: 14.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-45980465674707080592013-06-05T10:40:00.000+01:002013-06-05T10:40:01.064+01:00To Hay-on-Wye (four poems)<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Brecon on a blue day</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
with greens green</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
and fields brown and tilled </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
and tanning</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
lazily awaiting </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
later harvest</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
when benefits of this weather</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
as with memory</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
will ripen </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
into sustenance to</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
see you through whatever</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
cold may lie ahead. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
***</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
What if Van Gogh </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
had been waylaid</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
by Wales instead</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
of lingering in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
London?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Would he have </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
found happiness in his </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
colours in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
his art</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
before the madness</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
was too strong?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
***</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
<span style="line-height: 150%; text-indent: 36pt;">The smell of the</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
concrete, alive in </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the rain, the </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
Brit-summer </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
soundtrack,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the green, wet</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
refrain. </div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br /></span>
***</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 150%;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
Maybe this is
poets’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
country;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
the Beacons’
shade, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
the borderlands;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
blood/brain
barrier of</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
landscape;
animal &</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
scientific both;
body’s </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
inner rivers,
& edging </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
verdance of the
mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-67728105082391476492013-05-23T15:21:00.000+01:002013-05-23T15:21:46.632+01:00'...who cares what picture we see?'<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
No smoker’s breath passes up across the projector lens, is
carried down the tiered rows to ghostdance on the silver screen. No fan rattle
invades the ears of those in the back row. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Dust motes – no longer hand-drawn animated fairies, demons,
pixies – swim up through the light-stream in silence. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
A cough, perhaps. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
A sneeze. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
A stifled belch, and the crunching, grinding, swallowing of
popcorn or cheese-soggy nachos. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Adverts. People making use of the time allotted to such shitty
salesmanship to have a last-gasp dick around on their mobile phones before the
feature starts. Texting someone or other. Updating a status, a location,
mapping their whereabouts and whispering, affectless, <i>look where I am</i>. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Smartphones going to blackout, mostly, like fireflies or dry
lightning dying. Caught splat against the windscreen of a car as it races into
that wide-open vagueness direct after dusk. No particular destination in mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Waiting for the trailers. Rattling by on the highway beside them.
Haulage company names on the side. Sloganeering for this or that way of life.
Fitting so carefully into one lane or another. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Occasional voices. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Nobody really paying attention. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
This, the point between awake and sleeping, hasn’t really
altered. Not anything like as important as the dream will be, when it comes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
And, when it comes, it unfolds in such a way as to keep all
eyes fixated, flitting, open. Not necessarily entertained, or enlightened, but
diverted from anything else they might not want to see. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Light does still come out through that little square hole
near the ceiling, and does still make its way to the screen. But that screen
seems more and more like the inside of a blindfold, less and less like a canvas
rigged and tricked-out to do magic, show motion, make art. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
A lot of these hi-def dreams, they don’t seem to have morals
or meanings. No real interpretation is required or rewarded. Eyes watch, but
what they see seldom makes it back to the critical faculties. If it did, maybe
the eyes would go into lockdown. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
A lot of these hi-def dreams are things that can’t be fully
recalled or described after waking. The house lights go on, and that lone,
muted torchbeam is consumed, garbled within them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Some people rush faster for the exit than others. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">They can smoke outside.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">And, besides, there’s always somewhere else to be. Maybe some
workplace to visit, succumb to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;">And a TV back home. Or a laptop, or a tablet PC, or their
phone. Watching videos on the train with no headphones. Fellow passengers get tinny
sound but no pictures.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Nobody focuses much through the windows. Blur-blend of grey
into green and back again. More trailers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
Some people simply sit tight til the end of the credits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not reading the names, they just don’t want to leave. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-43475281272173805902013-05-23T14:58:00.000+01:002013-05-23T15:00:45.657+01:00Chain<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The child who played
football out on home street. Child who I was. Whatever the weather, always out
there. Kick-ups. Trick shots. Dribbling to the top of the road and then back
down to the bottom. Dimples of tarmac felt through his shoes. Felt through his
trousers at knee-caps post-tumbling; body-checked by unseen ghosts of mistakes.
Demons leeching off our trying and our trials. Was always fuzzy on religion,
that child. Despite or perhaps because of C of E education, singing hymns in
church and trying not to kick the pew in front. Got up and didn’t cry off, not
at that age, and kept on kicking the football. Would dedicate an hour or two as
afternoon sank into evening, attempting to perfect the Cruyff turn, the
Maradona turn, rainbow-flicking the ball up and catching it between shoulder
blades and back of neck. Flicking it up again and trapping it between concrete
and sole. Child wore, most practice sessions, a thin gold chain, affixed to
which was a small gold football boot. Would take that ten-carat talisman
between his hands, upon a string of failed attempts, and turn eyes skywards,
whispering. Exact words that child said are lost now, but strong feeling they
amounted to ‘Please’. Praying more to what he believed findable within him than
to what he wasn’t sure was findable without. Tucking chain back inside T-shirt
and, whatever the weather, carrying on. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking
out the window lately, I do not witness football practice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Worse
still, I do not see myself. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"> </span><span style="font-family: Typo; font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-61559128458070011472013-03-24T11:42:00.000+00:002013-03-24T11:43:45.342+00:00Redecoration<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
It’s like someone put </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the primer down </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
before they come to </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
spraypaint spring,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
graffiti tag the world</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
and Technicolor everything;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
til then, there’s still</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the bleak, the blanket,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the bright, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
the bloody cold;</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
best to stay inside</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
with beauty</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
and only look out</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;">
at the snow.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-753209683526342872013-02-01T12:03:00.000+00:002013-02-01T12:03:55.386+00:00One Good Tern <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One seabird notices another seabird looking lonely. It
approaches, asks the other if it is OK. The other responds that no, it isn't,
but thanks for asking. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need someone to come fishing with me, says the first
seabird, because I don't do very well by myself. Would you like to come? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
OK, says the other. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After an hour fishing, the first is becoming despondent,
having caught little more than a few specks of plankton, and some algae that
tasted a bit off. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second, on the other hand, appears to be capable of
catching anything that moves. It stops its hunt, however, when it notices the
first seabird hovering hungrily over the water.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The second seabird makes one final dive, rises from the surf
with a fish nearly the size of its wingspan, and makes its way over to the
first. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here, the second seabird says, I'd like you to have this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first seabird doesn't smile, but only because beaks
aren't really set up for that sort of thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But thank you, the seabird says.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once their fishing trip is done with, the pair of them fly
back towards the shore; wingtips nearly touching, forms swaying the same way in the breeze. </div>
<br />
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-43975019464532535052012-12-24T11:13:00.001+00:002013-03-15T19:30:15.621+00:00The Wasted Present<div style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; padding: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There’s the big present. He can see it, leaning against the far side of the sofa, looking decidedly streamlined and sledge-like in shape.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But he contains himself. Positions himself at a deliberate distance from it, and sits down to unwrap smaller gifts instead. Socks. Shower gel – both from lesser-seen relatives. Some action figures, and a racing car, both of which he’d have been thrilled to receive, probably, on any other day, but which right now can’t keep his attention. The car’s a Dodge Viper as well, his favourite. Candy apple red and with two white racing stripes down the centre.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wonders what his sledge will look like.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Edges closer to it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Restrains himself.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Opens another present. A board game. One he’s played before, but a decent one, nonetheless. Might play it in a few days, he supposes, if someone wants to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Opens some big, extra-padded gloves next. And a scarf. From two separate but sellotaped-together packages.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Each successive bundle leading him closer to that far side of the sofa. Like Christmas cake crumbs. Like the thread of a Christmas stocking unravelled.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The next parcel holds another car – an AC Cobra, his second favourite. It’s even bigger than the Dodge, bigger even than his feet, and he won’t play with that so much, but it’ll look good on his bedside table, when he can be bothered to take it up.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Moving on quickly, he lifts the present placed just before the sofa’s furthest reaches. He squeezes the paper before ripping it open, and guesses before he sees it that it’s the item he put just beneath the sledge on his list. Some old-style fighter pilot goggles – synthetic, not leather – that will keep out the cold of the snow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His parents are watching him nervously, which he might have noticed, had he been able to pull his eyes away from the big present, had he been able to keep his hands from tearing it open. Standing, gleeful, he sets, dervish-like, to the task. Scraps and ribbons of star-spangled wrapping paper cascade out as confetti around him. Redecorates a sizeable chunk of the room.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, when it’s settled, he can see the big present more clearly, seeming bigger and better even than he’s imagined it, now that it’s open to the air in all its glory. Sky-blue and with a red stripe down each side.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looks fast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looks aerodynamic – his new favourite word.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looks racing class all over and all the way through.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He sets it out flat on the carpet and sits in it and takes hold of the thin rope that’s attached to the front lip like reins. Leans and masks his face in sporting concentration and makes noises like he thinks sledges should make upon thick, crispy snow.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His parents seem keen for him to play with some of his other new toys as well, though, and he makes a concessionary effort. Zooms the Viper on a few laps of the living room rug.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Already has his gloves on, whilst he does so. And his scarf, with both ends of it thrown back over his shoulder, the way he knows a racing man should.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The car in his hand begins to feel insubstantial, and, for the first time he can remember, his imagination cannot sustain the charade. He jumps up, suddenly, and takes his goggles from the sofa, and pulls the sledge behind him onto the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His parents don’t react fast enough, and he finds the key, and turns it, and opens the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">To find only wet paving stones and wet grass, and the dampness of late December fog.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so, all afternoon, he sulks.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And barely touches the turkey that’s been carefully piled on his plate.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And pushes his sprouts into some cranberry sauce. Refuses to eat them on the grounds that cranberry sauce is </span><em style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Manky</em><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
<i style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: inherit;">Why’d you put it on your plate, then?</i><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His mum says.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He shrugs. Forks holes in his carrots, and slices florets of cauliflower into rough quarters. But doesn’t eat them.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His dad tries to get him to play the board game, and, for a few minutes, he acquiesces. Then knocks the pieces across the table, as soon as it seems likely he’ll lose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After he’s made his way to bed – still sulking – his parents sit down – tired out – on the sofa. His dad rests against the chair arm. Begins to drum his fingers on it – slowly at first and then faster and louder.</span><br />
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Stop that. Please.</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His mum says.</span><br />
<em style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></em>
<em style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;">Sorry</em><span style="font-family: inherit;">.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Says his dad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They sit in silence, each resting more weight on the back of the sofa than they do on each other.</span><br />
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You know,</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">his mum says.</span><br />
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">What?</span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Says his dad.</span><br />
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was just thinking – perhaps we should get him a new games console next year.</span></em><br />
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></em>
<em style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah, perhaps that would be best. </span></em></div>
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-66016711161739525632012-12-13T18:09:00.000+00:002012-12-13T18:16:57.996+00:00A New Bohemia<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Brighouse is <i>the</i> new Bohemia
for writers. It’s ideal. You couldn’t ask for a place more suited to the work
than this. There’s just so much artistic history buzzing around in the ether;
so many stories, so many classic, lively, star-spangled anecdotes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Like, remember the time when Mark Twain had a
holiday cottage here? Well, not remember, exactly, but you must have heard about
it, right? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Or when Sartre had a habit of visiting, took
regular walks along the canal, before expounding existentialist dictums in one
of those pubs by the bridge? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">No?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">How about something a bit more recent, then? Like,
when Hunter S. Thompson stayed at the Holiday Inn, but got thrown out – so the paper
said – due to ‘gun control issues’. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Or something even more famous, somebody even more
entrenched in the canon. Dickens. Did you ever hear that he had another
mistress, and that she lived around here? Was a pretty big scandal, in its day,
or would have been, had he not paid a substantial sum of money to keep it under
wraps. Accidentally founded a work house, I think. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Still nothing? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Really?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Because that was kind of a big deal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Well, how about that time Woody Allen turned up to
give a screenwriting seminar in the town hall, and then surprised everyone with
an impromptu jazz concert? That was only a couple of years ago. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">But talking of jazz, how about that F. Scott and
Zelda Fitzgerald, gracing the library with their presence, back at the tail-end
of the Twenties. Closing Commercial Street down for an evening to throw a
sensational outdoor party. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">What? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">No, I don’t have photographs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">There might be some in the town archives, I
suppose. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Look, do your own research. Check the local history
section of the newspaper, or something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Yes, I’m sure that’s what I did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">What are you trying to say? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">I am a serious writer, and I resent such
accusations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Yes, I write what I know. I write what I see. I
write the truth, plain and simple. The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but
the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Oh, ok. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">So, that’s that? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">You really don’t want to publish it? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Well, that’s fine, if you don’t want to get in on
the ground floor. It might have been quiet for a few years around here, but,
I’m telling you, this whole writing scene’s gonna be massive, any day now.
It’ll be like printing money. There’ll be book-signings and readings and all
kinds of marketing opportunities. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">And you’re absolutely sure you don’t want a share? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Batang;">Because even Hemingw- <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hello?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hello?
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%; text-align: justify; text-indent: 18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Are
you still there? </span><span style="font-family: Lucida Bright;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-26756355387246667752012-12-11T16:49:00.001+00:002012-12-11T16:56:51.336+00:00Catch 51<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
The longer you harbour<br />
this Marseilles hunger,<br />
dwell on it, dream<br />
of the blue,<br />
<br />
The less money<br />
you'll make to<br />
take yourself there,<br />
or anyplace other<br />
that's new.<br />
<br />
</div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-24510242525307103252012-10-31T10:20:00.000+00:002012-10-31T15:54:55.108+00:00Two Haiku<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
no ghosts, save spirits, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
rising and falling, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ad infinitum</div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span>
<br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
all poltergeists</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
are gravity</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
misunderstood<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-80088434445387922012-10-10T22:47:00.001+01:002012-10-10T22:47:02.798+01:00Two Seasons and Part of a ThirdI know a summer<br />
when I see one<br />
slinking out the<br />
back door<br />
a few-days-a-year<br />
lover<br />
not wishing this<br />
walk of shame<br />
witnessed by any of<br />
my more elderly<br />
neighbours.<br />
<br />
I know an autumn<br />
when I see one<br />
too<br />
an angry artist<br />
an old soak<br />
messing in a way beyond<br />
playfulness with miserable<br />
colours and letting dry<br />
ice stage a coup<br />
in the studio<br />
fogging everywhere<br />
mussing whatever<br />
view<br />
there might have been.<br />
<br />
Through that fog<br />
I can't see winter<br />
<br />
yet.<br />
So I don't know<br />
<br />Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-29274605291958813822012-10-09T10:01:00.001+01:002012-10-09T10:01:23.307+01:00PlaceholdingThe day/night<br />
border,<br />
porous, supple,<br />
placeholding twixt<br />
the lazy dusk<br />
and time you swear<br />
you'll swing the hammer fresh<br />
in unrelenting chase of<br />
energy<br />
for dreams.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-43667569635698995412012-10-08T00:02:00.000+01:002012-10-08T00:02:23.891+01:00The SleeperA slow-me-down rush<br />
of being knackered<br />
assails him<br />
and clams up<br />
the gift o' his gab<br />
<br />
becomes like a prize<br />
fighter caught cold<br />
in the ring<br />
too dazed to<br />
throw so much as a jab<br />
<br />
and collapses to canvas<br />
soft-focus, so arty<br />
so derelict but<br />
delicate too<br />
<br />
like an angel gone<br />
awry at that old<br />
Christmas party<br />
heavenly hobo right<br />
out of the blue<br />
<br />
and after his<br />
mind mounts<br />
the pillowcase<br />
and gallops off<br />
after adventure and<br />
dreaming<br />
<br />
above the covers is<br />
left a stand-in<br />
bust of his face<br />
living marble<br />
stilled<br />
but still breathing.Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-41809505631020344442012-10-01T16:19:00.000+01:002012-10-01T16:19:52.717+01:00Five-minute love poem for people wherever<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Left to my own devices I</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
will watch the earth </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as though it’s sky</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and scan its mass quite</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
dreamily</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
searching for a place</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to be</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a new frontier</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
a hallowed land</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where I need follow</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
no commands</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where I need not</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
worry about sinning</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where what’s seen</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
as loss today </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
turns into winning</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where I need claim</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
no national pride</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
nor, lacking such, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
duck head and hide</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where I could tend</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
the ground around me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
without stock markets </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to confound me</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and complicate my</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
sense of wealth</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
putting numbers </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
up above good health</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and simple luxuries </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
like books and pens</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where I could write</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and not pretend</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
with honesty</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that where I am</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel, at last, a</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
well-off man</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and, feeling so, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
communicate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
to those I love</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and those I hate</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
that there is a place </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
where both might live</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
if all of us</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
could just forgive. </div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3102690725850106364.post-24214731058113688882012-09-28T16:03:00.000+01:002012-09-28T16:03:11.751+01:00Nature's Own<div style="text-align: justify;">
I understood the whys for lightning coming. Well, most of them. From science books and from those <i>How it All Happens</i> shows on that thing my grandfather calls the idiot box. Called it. Whenever he used that term, it made me doubt the things it taught me, and so maybe I wasn't really too sure about lightning, not until I stood and watched it, outside. Not just measuring its closeness to the house by the brightness of the flash through drawn curtains, by the speed and loudness of the thunder that followed it around.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The thunder, I thought I understood that as well. When I was even younger, it was the sound of clouds exploding as the lightning split right through. A little older, and I just understood it as the sound of the lightning fizzing, crackling in the air.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But never as the sound of a thousand bulbs - a long string, a chain of them, like snow-white Christmas lights - all shattering in sequence. Not until I found myself between a tree's branches in the middle of a storm. I wasn't supposed to be there, I know. They're nature's own lightning rods. Another thing my grandfather said. </div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
I had to climb those branches, though, as soon as the bulb-smashing sounds started. Because there was no rain. I hadn't heard of dry lightning then, and had known those flashes and those bangs only when accompanied by the kind of rainfall that leads to flooding if it carries on for long enough. The rare-times I watched those split-second glare parades with curtains open, I used to get distracted by the movement of the raindrops on the glass. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
No glass outside, though, and no raindrops that day either, and so I slowly came to see the lightning for exactly what it was. And, because it started so high up with all the clouds, I felt I must get higher too. And the highest things around were trees. Oaks and sycamores and elms, and ash, I think. And a clump, a ragged little copse of silver birches, with bark that brought to mind dalmatian spots. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
It was an oak I climbed. It was spring, and I remember acorns snapping off beneath my scared but hungry fingergrasps and rubber soles. Some of the branches further up were close to rotten, and gave off dry wheezes, short phlegmless coughs, as I used them as handholds then footholds to reach ever airier places. If I'd have been considering that, and paid attention to my grandfather's words, I'd have known that I was scaling nothing but a hefty chunk of kindling, but, as it was, I just sat there, three branches down from the top of that tall oak and let the lightning leave those temporary greenblack slashes down my vision. Let the shattering noise come at me and rattle hard against my jaw. Like the punches that Bruce Lee threw in kung-fu films, and I took in schoolyards during fights. Took from softer lads than me, it turned out.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
None of them were outside, treeclimbing as something tripped the fuses and blew a thousand lightbulbs all at once. None of them were swaying in the canopy, closing their eyes and absorbing the storm as a series of inky blue sparks. None of them chased me up there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
When the storm stopped, the air filled, faintly, with the memory of fire. I don't remember if my grandfather had said it would or not. It was quiet, and the wind was calmer. I kept my eyes closed until the patterns scratched across them faded. Trod tenderly on my way back down, going slowly; fearful, so I told myself, that I might fall if a branch were to break. </div>
</div>
Danhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13769380441950190647noreply@blogger.com0