Saturday, 5 December 2015
From the introduction to Jerusalem, William Blake. June Singer’s Jungian study of the Marriage of Heaven and Hell gives excellent insight into the eidetic perception and spiritual recountings of William Blake – revered and feared for so long, and rightly so!
Sound is uppermost in my thoughts on writing at the moment. David Cooke kindly straightened out a poem I sent him recently, and cited: sound first. The result, below, much improved verse, so durable I cannot prise a knife back into it:
From “Wednesday’s Child” Originally: Isolation is a bag of tricks//since Tallulah came along. Since then/ my time is hers, and we are slower/ on the uptake while in our minds/ true love unwinds in increments,/
Becomes: Isolation is a bag of tricks/now Tallulah’s come, since when/my time is hers, and love /unwinds in increments.
Online at SLQ
Wisdom ,Art, and Science. okay then.
Monday, 2 November 2015
|Friday 27 November, |
7 to 7.30 Start,
Open Mic runs at up to 10 minute allowance for those reciting, or 3 minutes if reading from the page. Keeps it fun. Click on right image for further information of book event taking centre stage this month.
Sunday, 18 October 2015
Nice to roll in to Cheltenham with the Gloucestershire Writers Network. Another spur, aye.
Saturday, 3 October 2015
Saturday, 12 September 2015
Wednesday, 15 July 2015
Two faces to match the boar, ruthless and red, with regards to Pierre, "each man in his time..."
I am a hawk above the cliff
a thorn beneath the nail,
a wonder among flowers
I am a wizard! Who-but-I
sets the cool head aflame with smoke?
peeps from the unhewn dolmen arch?
queen of every hive
shield for every head,
Sunday, 10 May 2015
Counted in Bard of Hawkwood on Monday 04 May, My soap box mound. my spring: the lower lawn of Hawkwood College, in Stroud's Five Valleys, which I don't think include the Slad Valley and Laurie Lee's pub, the Woolpack. I will have to check up on it. Quite a lot of checking up to do anyway on my Bardic status, for the next year and a day. Tee shirts available soon, first official bardic engagement at the Seed Festival on Saturday, 18 July. Meanwhile, pictures from the day here include a cape borrowed from Kevan Manwaring.
Friday, 17 April 2015
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
Yeats: and how can body, laid in that white rush, But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?Does the verse match the original painting by Michelangelo? Who knows, there are only copies left. Before finding the picture above, I thought the picture a better record of the encounter, but that old style modelling, and then the writing, more immediate, more sudden than expected: it's a match. Enough for Leda's hatched girls to reflect on.
Sunday, 1 March 2015
Oh strong-ridged and deeply hollowed
nose of mine! what will you not be smelling?
What tactless asses we are, you and I, boney nose,
always indiscriminate, always unashamed,
and now it is the souring flowers of the bedraggled
poplars: a festering pulp on the wet earth
beneath them. With what deep thirst
we quicken our desires
to that rank odor of a passing springtime!
Can you not be decent? Can you not reserve your ardors
for something less unlovely? What girl will care
for us, do you think, if we continue in these ways?
Must you taste everything? Must you know everything?
Must you have a part in everything?