Sunday 30 November 2014
The ship sails on
The ship sails on through darkening weather,
The dance floor glides with skins of snakes,
The band plays on, light as a feather.
Smoke Room cigars in Nubuck leather.
- The Devil's glance - a breath he takes -
The ship sails on through darkening weather.
Dice and blackjack players hover,
Decreasing fortunes, increasing stakes.
The band plays on, light as a feather.
The steaks we ate were rarely better,
Clotted cream, wide range of cakes.
The ship sails on through darkening weather.
To sail the ship is a great endeavour,
Slave round the clock, know what it takes.
The band plays on, light as a feather.
The waiter fetches tonic water.
The crystal chandelier shakes.
The ship sails on through darkening weather
The band plays on, light as a feather.
Saturday 29 November 2014
Mr. Turner, Master of Light (1775 - 1851)
William Turner was present at a demonstration of a needle being magnetized using violet light. First the sunlight shining through the window was divided into its 7 colours. The resulting 'rainbow' fell onto a canvas which had been set up. The needle was wrapped in a cloth and pounded with a hammer until the atoms were in complete disorder and the needle was no longer magnetic. The needle was placed in the violet band of the spectrum. After some time had elapsed it was discovered that the needle had re-magnetized itself. It was then revealed that a needle placed in the red part of the spectrum failed to achieve this seemingly impossible feat. The artist was suitably impressed.
Turner spent his life looking at sunlight and reflections of light with particular regard to the quality of the light off the sea. When he was dying, in the presence of his doctor, he articulated his final thought: The Sun is God.
Today we know that the sun is just one ordinary star amongst uncountable billions of stars. Someone has calculated that there are more stars in the universe than all the grains of sand on all the beaches of the whole world. Stars are born in clouds of gas known nebulae. Stars, like ourselves, are born to live and die. From the debris of their explosive deaths yet more stars are born; born to shine and then to die. It is an endless ongoing process.
Watching Timothy Spall playing the role of Mr. Turner brought to my mind the poems of Dylan Thomas; a poet, who was, like Turner, greatly inspired by the presence of the sea directly outside his window.
And I recalled the poems, those with titles like How soon the servant sun, Foster the light, and others.
As a personal tribute to William Turner who bequeathed all his works to the British nation, and for those who created the wonderful film I saw yesterday, I can think of nothing more fitting than these few selected words from Dylan Thomas's final poem, his suitably unfinished(?) Elegy.
Elegy
. . .
A cold, kind man brave in his burning pride
On that darkest day. Oh, forever may
He live lightly, at last, on the last, crossed
Hill, and there grow young, under the grass, in love,
Among the long flocks, and never lie lost
. . .
his poor hand I held, and I saw
Through his faded eyes to the roots of the sea.
Go calm to your crucifixed hill, I told
The air that drew away from him.
Friday 28 November 2014
Reflecting on a different point of view
BORN IN STARS WE LIVE ON EARTH AS POETS Wm Blake
If our Sun was the size of a grain of sand, the next star would be a day's walk, or 30 kms away.
Thursday 27 November 2014
TOMORROW IS BLACK FRIDAY (Also a poem from Langston Hughes)
Tomorrow is Black Friday.
In the USA Black Friday is traditionally the biggest shopping day of the year, the day when families drive to the shopping malls. The call has gone out across the nation to block the highways.
Yesterday President Obama was worried. Fear was stamped on his anguished face. He doesn't want to see more cities being torched but his heart feels for America's underdogs. He concludes his address with the words: "Your President is with You."
Here is a famous poem from American poet Langston Hughes (1902-1967) who founded a poetry group in Harlem in 1925 and published an article The Negro Artist and the Racial Mountain.
DREAMS
Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.
Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.
Wednesday 26 November 2014
Tuesday 25 November 2014
My weapon is bigger than yours.
The nuclear weapons development talks as I call them, taking place between Iran and the rest of the world here in Vienna appear to have ended in stalemate.
Had I been in charge of the proceedings I would have invited the delegates to attend the Cosima Von Bonin "Hippies use Side Door" exhibition at Vienna's mumok. But then a poet is never put in charge of anything to do with politics.
It was I believe the ubiquitous Lady Ashton of EUkraine 'diplomacy' fame who conducted this latest piece of tragic comedy.
I have a message for the people who run this world :
Peace is not rocket science. Peace is only a waltz away.
Why don't you get it?
Monday 24 November 2014
A Light Fog
I don't spend money on Christmas stars and lights.
These things I leave
to my neighbour.
My neighbour welcomes Christmas with a light show
worthy of an American movie director.
His lights will be more than enough for us both.
His long strings of joy shall bring
Christmas blessings to half
this street,
this once forgotten street
the City has now upgraded
to yellow lines and modern lamps
- their Christmas present to us all.
Overnight we've gone from comfortably dull
into Hollywood glare, a glare so bright
I no longer need to use the porch light.
And the moon is redundant.
And the moon is redundant.
Perhaps . . .
a light fog will hang over Christmas
the long ago legend
the story
the journey
the mystery
the truth
all things lost in the mists
of time
Vocklabruck |
Salzburg 1 |
Salzburg 2 |
Salzburg 3 |
Saturday 22 November 2014
Your 2014 Poet-in-Residence Ebola Virus Christmas e-Card
The Poet-in-Residence Ebola Virus Christmas e-Card can be emailed together with your personal seasonal greetings to any place in the world with internet access. You may like to consider making a donation to a charity such as Doctors Without Borders, although this is not compulsory. If you would rather support a local charity you can easily find worthy causes in your local vicinity. My personal charity donation today was to press a few coins into the hand of a homeless man searching for cigarette stumps in the gutter. There but for the grace of God(?) go I.
12" x 4" / biro, marker pen, pink newspaper
Egon Schiele the Icon
Two recent posts Egon Schiele in Prison and Egon Schiele may be found via the blog search-box if required. The Leopold Museum is situated in the centre of Vienna in a public space known as MQ (the Museum Quarter). It was for leaving such works as the one shown here carelessly lying about in his atelier within sight of children that Schiele was imprisoned. He had been warned by other artists to be more careful. Time moves on, and we with it.
Here's one by me. I call it The Last of the Summer Wine.
Thursday 20 November 2014
The Lazy Artist views a Still Life with a Pineapple
the lazy artist
the dilettante
that is me
filled a bag with a kilo of sand
approximately a kilo
it was not weighed
but it felt like a kilo
in my hand
though it may have been half a kilo
or more
but certainly not less than half a kilo
from Venice Lido
and carried it in a rucksack
all the way to Vienna
maybe a train is involved
yes a train is involved
and maybe a ferryboat
that too
in fact it is two ferryboats
but nevertheless
it is a beginning
and there it ends
the beginning is the end
the sand is
or may now be
one can never be sure of these things
at the bottom of the back of the wardrobe
underneath the old fleece
and the old newspapers
and the old rucksack
and the other old things
that should have gone to the recycling bin
or to the charity shop
many years ago
unlike Louis Marcoussis'
still life study
of a pinapple
negligently missing an 'e'
which Louis Marcoussis
whose real name is Polish and therefore difficult to read
painstakingly created using sand
and oil paints -
it is a pineapple which appeals
to me because of its simplistic straight line
ice bucket design
and the fact
that it can be viewed on a wall
in a gallery basement
that is reachable
with a lift
and two trams
or one tram
and a train
and a lift
Journey to Mauthausen
(in process of revision)
it rumbles on and on
i drink czech beer
and chew brown bread
exiting tunnel
emerging
from darkness
to shapes in the fog
november covers the fields
perhaps glimpsed
by some who passed here before
me
on this plain
with its farms
and its barns and its trees
and tall pylons marching through fields
through the fog
the squeal means we halt
time passes slowly
waiting for the connection
to come
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
to return to nikolai-struden
it crosses the danube
and passes allotments
under a rapidly darkening sky
in woodland more lines
branching in many directions
and goods trains in sidings suddenly glimpsed
now and then
perhaps from here they would walk
their final few miles to the hill
which i do from the village
in memory of them
through the autumn drizzle
shielding the danube shopping park
the bella flora shop
the fressnapf pet store
the golden m
and the house of the local celebrity poet
a mundart dichter
the gasometers
the barges
the tall chimneys
the containers on the wharf
and the river
the tiny church
the heinrichkirche
locked and barred
aside the night club
and the psychotherapist
and then the last mile
up a wooded lane
apprehensive
i munch my apple
perhaps to settle the nerves
and try to anticipate what i may find
up ahead
what they must have felt
hearing the broken cry of the crow
my solitary unseen companion
the road levels out
onto a plateau
of silence and furrowed fields
below
a glimpse of the river
white smoke ascending
from industrial chimneys
faint to decipher here through the gloom
and suddenly
it seems
i am finally here
standing
beside the clean
green
grass
under the long grey wall with its watchtowers
i head for the ticket office
to find it is closed
as is the bookshop
and the room of the names
and the information desk
for today is
for today is
a monday
and the month is november
and the month is november
Monday 10th November 2014 Mauthausen
Beyond Higgs . . .
Scientists at CERN have discovered two new particles each made from three quarks . . .
At the end of it all
shall we get to know . . .
Wednesday 19 November 2014
Can you Spot the Difference?
Tuesday 18 November 2014
Monday 17 November 2014
Tuesday 11 November 2014
My Remembrance Day at Mauthausen
GREECE DO NOT FORGET US, WE WHO WERE KILLED HERE, FOR WHEN EVIL IS FORGOTTEN IT IS LEAVE FOR IT TO BE REPEATED |
We'll come back to this when I have time to read and work through my rough notes.
Saturday 8 November 2014
Copy Cats or Deep Thought?
To be or not to be?
Is that
not the question?
My Cat? |
My Dad? |
And me? |
Encouraged by the late Dylan Thomas, his life and his works, my thirst and search for a certain kind of knowledge, a poetic-philosophy if you like, continues unabated. I need to get to the bottom of it, this thing we call life.
What is life and what is it for? For me, that is the pertinent question . . . and I plan to keep on searching until I find the answer. Maybe not at the bottom of a beer stein, or yes, maybe even there. First I went HERE to see Dylan's wife Caitlin, the woman he called his Cat.
Friday 7 November 2014
Oblivion
oblivion (n): they drank themselves into oblivion
- example of correct word usage from Wikipedia
Life drinks deep
the musty wine
of death's old bottles
of death's old bottles
and old casks (for all is death)
arranged in racks
arranged in racks
behind closed doors
of curled baroque
of curled baroque
on dusty shelves
And everywhere
where wine is drunk,
from Alpine hills
to pastured vales
and rugged shores
of gentle Wales
And everywhere
where wine is drunk,
from Alpine hills
to pastured vales
and rugged shores
of gentle Wales
Death notes the vintage
of your bones
those painful bones
those painful bones
the bones you carry
to your daily task
- how busily he goes about his work
How sweet
that final dream
will be
to your daily task
- how busily he goes about his work
How sweet
that final dream
will be
when death alights
upon
your pillow
soft
upon
your pillow
soft
Insecticide
This insect and the world I breathe - Dylan Thomas
the ants carried aloft
by those wasps
- will they be missed?
Austria 1945. In order to avoid being killed or taken prisoner by the oncoming Russians the defending soldiers threw their weapons and equipment, including this vehicle, into a fast flowing river, and ran for their lives.
The ants on my windowsill had no chance to escape from the circling wasps; they didn't detect the presence of those drones until it was too late.
The ants on my windowsill had no chance to escape from the circling wasps; they didn't detect the presence of those drones until it was too late.
Thursday 6 November 2014
'Also if I don't know' by R Trossero
"Then you will know the Truth, and the Truth will set you free."
- John 8 v 32
Also if I don't know
I believe in you,
God of Love
and of Life,
for I think
you have an explanation
for Death,
though I don't know it.
And I hope
that my departed
now live,
though I don't know
how or where.
The above verse is from the Argentinian poet Rene' Juan Trossero. I have translated the sense of the German text which is in itself a translation from the original. I will try and add a musical YouTube link HERE
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