this year my strathpuffer entry was in about thirty seconds after the website was opened so come january yet again i'll be out in the winter darkness trying not to break me, my bike or both before the dawn actually comes around.
we'll be doing it in conjunction with slp in some form or another. currently, along with the usual shenanigans we're thinking about some form of moby dick type thing going on (it was a close run thing with ulysses but the whale won!) so if anyone's got any favourite passages from the book they feel are compatible with a 24hr bike race in scotland i'd be glad to hear them.
Friday, 5 November 2010
Wednesday, 27 October 2010
and i listened to
walking down the street i noticed that mulatu astatke was playing - the week after we left!
then, after seeing a copy of fear of a black planet in a shop, had a conversation with t's brother about the many reasons why chuck d must be foaming into his cornflakes. so you're wanting rap about something sked t's brother. you want to be listening to immortal technique (definitely nsfw or if the limits of your listening to rap are defined by fiddy/puffy or any of that lot)
which led to a lovely discussion around gil scott heron
back on the boat i managed some quiet time and lost myself in louis sclavis. revelational!
then, after seeing a copy of fear of a black planet in a shop, had a conversation with t's brother about the many reasons why chuck d must be foaming into his cornflakes. so you're wanting rap about something sked t's brother. you want to be listening to immortal technique (definitely nsfw or if the limits of your listening to rap are defined by fiddy/puffy or any of that lot)
which led to a lovely discussion around gil scott heron
back on the boat i managed some quiet time and lost myself in louis sclavis. revelational!
and sweden
began and ended with a mess of children with almost constant contact with t's new niece inbetween. this last few times we've really done nothing much except the family thing while we've been in stockholm and while thta may have left us a bit culturally lacking we've more than made up for it in terms of getting into the swedish, at least the stockholm version of it, society. (i should point out that we did plan a wee venture out to upsalla but the weather did that thing that makes it essential that you stay indoors, drink coffee and eat cake)
it must have been all that watching of wallander but despite the time it's been since we were last there my comprehension has come on leaps and bounds. true, my spoken swedish is still rubbish but even after ten days getting back to scotland both of us were having a bit of difficulty readjusting back to english for the daily pleasantries. i could even make jokes on the fishing trip!
ah yes, the fishing trip. being as sweden is some sort of valhalla for sport fishing it's inevitable that i spend at least one day out on a boat. that and the fact that my presence seems to have a synergistic effect on t's brother so that we always catch a bunch of fish! also the fact that i'm scottish is always a novelty for the locals as well as the fact that i fish in a notedly swedish style. i really should leave all my gear over there as i don't fish anywhere else!
in the interim myself and t had been riding the tunnelbana to see what the outskirts were like. one place we hadn't been was sodertalje 'where all the immigrants live' so it was a happy coincidence to be meeting the boat guy there. and i would've seen more had it not dropped about three inches of snow over night. usually it gets snowy in the north first. not that day! digging the boat out of the snow at the side of the lake was grim but the day turned out lovely. out round the archipelago on a boat is one of the best places to see that bit of sweden even if the cold is chewing the front of your face off!
one thing was is happening at the moment is some nut job is shooting immigrants in malmo. this, coupled with the election of the sweden democrats at the recent election is causing much exercise of swedish minds. it's easy, being a tourist in central stockholm, to imagine this as the country of blond, tall people. it'a only when you take the train to the outskirts, or maybe at seven in the morning when the workers are out, that a different reality is apparent. on our excursions it was very easy, once outside the centre, to be in a carriage full of immigrants. which of course is precisely what the sweden democrats are blethering about in their special incoherent way.
and not helped by the left for whom immigrants, it seems, are all brown people (obviously the sweden democrats have a special place for brown muslim people!). so where does that place 'my' family? we're chilean/argentinian/middle eastern/swedish/english/eastern european/korean. and now of course, scottish. so what do we look like in the park? like something beautiful!
childrens' parks in sweden are not like in the uk. they exist for one thing! but there are no fences and no cameras. children can run around. all the adults watch out for them. during the week it's mainly occupied by stay at home fathers and their kids. there are things for children to climb up, fall off - health and safety is no less prevalent here, just different.
you realise t's brother observes, that if you ever move over here, we'll be the worst sort of immigrants, the ones who bring across the rest of their families! sitting in the park polarises the issue for me. there has to be a better way of discussing the issues of immigration than 'them and us', something more like 'you and i' which migrates into 'we'.
on the last day we have a bunch of the kids round. the youngest (a proper little viking) likes being held upside down and chased and is finally silenced by a pippi longstocking video which has him entranced. the middle kids are outside playing with the cat. i make idiot faces thru the window. the oldest girl (7) is, at first the most withdrawn. she can speak english but doesn't - it's her parents 'secret' language - so i have to resort ot subterfuge. i get a bunch of them drawing. she has never seen drawing technique like mine. she can't help looking at it. a face emerges. flicka i say, pointing at her. her drawing is much more line based and leaves out the awkward fact of my glasses. pojke she writes. a bit of origami later and lack of shared language no longer matters. true i'll never compete against ice cream but in our funny little family situation i've become the rarely appearing eccentric farbror. and that'll do me.
in the end i'm glad to get home. i miss my books, i miss my bikes, i miss my ....everything but the first thing we do is buy a halloween outfit for the baby, for the party we won't be at. there are tears from t when we leave. and me? even i get a little danp eyed, just for a moment!
it must have been all that watching of wallander but despite the time it's been since we were last there my comprehension has come on leaps and bounds. true, my spoken swedish is still rubbish but even after ten days getting back to scotland both of us were having a bit of difficulty readjusting back to english for the daily pleasantries. i could even make jokes on the fishing trip!
ah yes, the fishing trip. being as sweden is some sort of valhalla for sport fishing it's inevitable that i spend at least one day out on a boat. that and the fact that my presence seems to have a synergistic effect on t's brother so that we always catch a bunch of fish! also the fact that i'm scottish is always a novelty for the locals as well as the fact that i fish in a notedly swedish style. i really should leave all my gear over there as i don't fish anywhere else!
in the interim myself and t had been riding the tunnelbana to see what the outskirts were like. one place we hadn't been was sodertalje 'where all the immigrants live' so it was a happy coincidence to be meeting the boat guy there. and i would've seen more had it not dropped about three inches of snow over night. usually it gets snowy in the north first. not that day! digging the boat out of the snow at the side of the lake was grim but the day turned out lovely. out round the archipelago on a boat is one of the best places to see that bit of sweden even if the cold is chewing the front of your face off!
one thing was is happening at the moment is some nut job is shooting immigrants in malmo. this, coupled with the election of the sweden democrats at the recent election is causing much exercise of swedish minds. it's easy, being a tourist in central stockholm, to imagine this as the country of blond, tall people. it'a only when you take the train to the outskirts, or maybe at seven in the morning when the workers are out, that a different reality is apparent. on our excursions it was very easy, once outside the centre, to be in a carriage full of immigrants. which of course is precisely what the sweden democrats are blethering about in their special incoherent way.
and not helped by the left for whom immigrants, it seems, are all brown people (obviously the sweden democrats have a special place for brown muslim people!). so where does that place 'my' family? we're chilean/argentinian/middle eastern/swedish/english/eastern european/korean. and now of course, scottish. so what do we look like in the park? like something beautiful!
childrens' parks in sweden are not like in the uk. they exist for one thing! but there are no fences and no cameras. children can run around. all the adults watch out for them. during the week it's mainly occupied by stay at home fathers and their kids. there are things for children to climb up, fall off - health and safety is no less prevalent here, just different.
you realise t's brother observes, that if you ever move over here, we'll be the worst sort of immigrants, the ones who bring across the rest of their families! sitting in the park polarises the issue for me. there has to be a better way of discussing the issues of immigration than 'them and us', something more like 'you and i' which migrates into 'we'.
on the last day we have a bunch of the kids round. the youngest (a proper little viking) likes being held upside down and chased and is finally silenced by a pippi longstocking video which has him entranced. the middle kids are outside playing with the cat. i make idiot faces thru the window. the oldest girl (7) is, at first the most withdrawn. she can speak english but doesn't - it's her parents 'secret' language - so i have to resort ot subterfuge. i get a bunch of them drawing. she has never seen drawing technique like mine. she can't help looking at it. a face emerges. flicka i say, pointing at her. her drawing is much more line based and leaves out the awkward fact of my glasses. pojke she writes. a bit of origami later and lack of shared language no longer matters. true i'll never compete against ice cream but in our funny little family situation i've become the rarely appearing eccentric farbror. and that'll do me.
in the end i'm glad to get home. i miss my books, i miss my bikes, i miss my ....everything but the first thing we do is buy a halloween outfit for the baby, for the party we won't be at. there are tears from t when we leave. and me? even i get a little danp eyed, just for a moment!
marginalia
so while the whole swedish thing was basically a family visit we did manage some time off (esp as we were staying about two minnutes away) to get up to the moderna museet for a general wander about. or so we thought.
we were well impressed with the architecture museum the last time we were there so it didn't take much persuading, esp as i mumbled something about a craft exhibit, for t to go again. and so glad that we did. at last, some sort of arts and crafts that actually blends both the art and the craft! this was easily the best art and craft thing i've ever been to and, sadly, different to anything we see around here. loads to see and think about and a great springboard to enthuse us about projects we want to start over the winter.
on then to the moderna where, along with their permanent collection, they were showcasing 54 of the best in swedish art. sometimes that might make the heart sink a bit but not this time.again, it was fabulous. there was even video work i sat down and watched. and watched. and watched. to pick one work at random there was kajsa dahlberg's a thousand libraries which entailed going round all of sweden's libraries and photcopying any annotated pages of virginia woolf's a room of one's own, then presenting the lot as a limited edition artist's book which can now be found in most of the aforesaid libraries. obviously you'd think being able to read swedish would be an advantage but in the end really not as to be functionally illiterate was to be able to appreciate the emotions in the handwriting, the double underlinings, exclamations marks and other fulminations. it was both beguiling and intriguing.
after all that, the permanent collection was, to be honest, a bit drab although, to be fair, we were kind of hungry by that time and we have seen most of it many times before. i'm still liking the yves klein tho and they had a big display of rodchenko posters that was never going to do less than catch the eye
we were well impressed with the architecture museum the last time we were there so it didn't take much persuading, esp as i mumbled something about a craft exhibit, for t to go again. and so glad that we did. at last, some sort of arts and crafts that actually blends both the art and the craft! this was easily the best art and craft thing i've ever been to and, sadly, different to anything we see around here. loads to see and think about and a great springboard to enthuse us about projects we want to start over the winter.
on then to the moderna where, along with their permanent collection, they were showcasing 54 of the best in swedish art. sometimes that might make the heart sink a bit but not this time.again, it was fabulous. there was even video work i sat down and watched. and watched. and watched. to pick one work at random there was kajsa dahlberg's a thousand libraries which entailed going round all of sweden's libraries and photcopying any annotated pages of virginia woolf's a room of one's own, then presenting the lot as a limited edition artist's book which can now be found in most of the aforesaid libraries. obviously you'd think being able to read swedish would be an advantage but in the end really not as to be functionally illiterate was to be able to appreciate the emotions in the handwriting, the double underlinings, exclamations marks and other fulminations. it was both beguiling and intriguing.
after all that, the permanent collection was, to be honest, a bit drab although, to be fair, we were kind of hungry by that time and we have seen most of it many times before. i'm still liking the yves klein tho and they had a big display of rodchenko posters that was never going to do less than catch the eye
Saturday, 16 October 2010
one post in october!
yes, it's true, i am a lax blogger.
and one who's off for a bit of swedish style family time so it could be that these are the sum total of october's efforts.
perhaps when i'm back and the nights are drawing in...
and one who's off for a bit of swedish style family time so it could be that these are the sum total of october's efforts.
perhaps when i'm back and the nights are drawing in...
Friday, 1 October 2010
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
what to do
when recovering from the flu. probably best not to decide that last night was the night to get back out with the tuesday boys. true, i was fooled by the fact that although i could feel the rain in the air it wasn't actually raining, at least not until i'd got ten minutes up the road. another sign, aside from the drenched nature of the car park, should have been that only two others turned up but never mind - i had my mud guard on and that, along with the fact i was wearing 3/4's and long fingered gloves, was preparation enough for me.
it turns out in interim that one of the longer absentees in the group is refusing to come out on the grounds 'none of the rest of us are fit enough to keep up with him'. he said that i say? and make a mental note.
but not for last night. my legs don't feel bad in the flu aftermath but equally they're not great tho on the bright side the expected lung chunder, happily, does not arrive. rather than the drag up to the loch we decide to go a different route which entails a bit of tarmac at the start rather than at the end, a novelty for us and we ascend a route we more often descend.
after a bit of an early wobble i settle into the fact that the middle ring is what i'll be climbing in and ease up. i realise that this is the first night ride i've been on this year! so i edge myself away from the other two so that i can find my pace and also just to enjoy the forest which is drippy wet and eery with mist. i switch my lights off and ease thru it like a ghost. the pine needles look silver and the only sound is water. that's right, i remember, this is why i do this!
i'll give the boys their due - at the top of the climb as we rejoin the main track they gamely volunteer for a second climb, steeper and longer than the first. it has to be said that at the top i'm starting to feel it, not least because last time i was up i did most of it in the big ring and this time i'm struggling in the middle. granny to the top and it's fine. down to the loch isn't quite so easy, not least because i haven't gotten round to taking my dry weather race tyres off this bike. mud is slidey but the rocks are unfeasibly slidey! and then there's the frogs. t would be proud of my frog avoidance skills!
and it's very wet. at the loch i get cold. and then i realise, yes, i'm not over the flu. i never get cold! even the boys notice that one! on the descent i notice how amazingly tentative i am with lack of night practice even allowing for the tyre issue. mr p falls off with a balletic grace that voids any concern i may have had when he went over the bars. i particularly admire the second roll he does before landing in the mud!
both me and g have been ruined by summer cycling and are expressing concern by the time we hit the road and our bikes are creaking and grinding with grit and gloop. of course now mr p decides it's time to get the head down. i notice that g is conserving himself. he notices that i notice but what he doesn't notice is that i'm freewheeling with a fistful of gears. mr p loves a crazy break so i stick to his back wheel and watch him push the pace. as soon as the road steepens i'm off. shouts of frustration behind! g makes a manful effort to catch up on the flat but to no avail. and then we're back at the car park, old maybe, slow definitely but still laughing like idiots. top night!
so today my winter bike goes into the shop to get the stuff done i should've done at the beginning of summer.
and today will be the day, as it really is only weather for ducks, that the trainer comes out of the shed. not having a day off you might ask? absolutely not. because it's that time of year (and esp with me being away for relentless) when the subject of strathpuffer rears its head and even asking that question means that any day off the bike is a potential regret in the dark hours of a january morning!
it turns out in interim that one of the longer absentees in the group is refusing to come out on the grounds 'none of the rest of us are fit enough to keep up with him'. he said that i say? and make a mental note.
but not for last night. my legs don't feel bad in the flu aftermath but equally they're not great tho on the bright side the expected lung chunder, happily, does not arrive. rather than the drag up to the loch we decide to go a different route which entails a bit of tarmac at the start rather than at the end, a novelty for us and we ascend a route we more often descend.
after a bit of an early wobble i settle into the fact that the middle ring is what i'll be climbing in and ease up. i realise that this is the first night ride i've been on this year! so i edge myself away from the other two so that i can find my pace and also just to enjoy the forest which is drippy wet and eery with mist. i switch my lights off and ease thru it like a ghost. the pine needles look silver and the only sound is water. that's right, i remember, this is why i do this!
i'll give the boys their due - at the top of the climb as we rejoin the main track they gamely volunteer for a second climb, steeper and longer than the first. it has to be said that at the top i'm starting to feel it, not least because last time i was up i did most of it in the big ring and this time i'm struggling in the middle. granny to the top and it's fine. down to the loch isn't quite so easy, not least because i haven't gotten round to taking my dry weather race tyres off this bike. mud is slidey but the rocks are unfeasibly slidey! and then there's the frogs. t would be proud of my frog avoidance skills!
and it's very wet. at the loch i get cold. and then i realise, yes, i'm not over the flu. i never get cold! even the boys notice that one! on the descent i notice how amazingly tentative i am with lack of night practice even allowing for the tyre issue. mr p falls off with a balletic grace that voids any concern i may have had when he went over the bars. i particularly admire the second roll he does before landing in the mud!
both me and g have been ruined by summer cycling and are expressing concern by the time we hit the road and our bikes are creaking and grinding with grit and gloop. of course now mr p decides it's time to get the head down. i notice that g is conserving himself. he notices that i notice but what he doesn't notice is that i'm freewheeling with a fistful of gears. mr p loves a crazy break so i stick to his back wheel and watch him push the pace. as soon as the road steepens i'm off. shouts of frustration behind! g makes a manful effort to catch up on the flat but to no avail. and then we're back at the car park, old maybe, slow definitely but still laughing like idiots. top night!
so today my winter bike goes into the shop to get the stuff done i should've done at the beginning of summer.
and today will be the day, as it really is only weather for ducks, that the trainer comes out of the shed. not having a day off you might ask? absolutely not. because it's that time of year (and esp with me being away for relentless) when the subject of strathpuffer rears its head and even asking that question means that any day off the bike is a potential regret in the dark hours of a january morning!
alexander pushkin
Day's Rain is Done
Day's rain is done. The rainy mist of night
Spreads on the sky, leaden apparel wearing,
And through the pine-trees, like a ghost appearing,
The moon comes up with hidden light.
All in my soul drags me to dark surrender.
There, far away, rises the moon in splendour.
There all the air is drunk with evening heat,
There move the waters in a sumptuous heat,
And overhead the azure skies...
It is the hour. From high hills she has gone
To sea-shores flooding in the waves' loud cries;
There, where the holy cliffs arise,
Now she sits melancholy and alone...
Alone... Before her none is weeping, fretting,
None, on his knees, is kissing her, forgetting;
Alone... To no one's lips is she betraying
Her shoulders, her wet lips, her snow-white bosom.
No one is worthy of her heavenly love.
'Tis true?... Alone... You weep... I do not move.
Yet if...
trans unknown
Day's rain is done. The rainy mist of night
Spreads on the sky, leaden apparel wearing,
And through the pine-trees, like a ghost appearing,
The moon comes up with hidden light.
All in my soul drags me to dark surrender.
There, far away, rises the moon in splendour.
There all the air is drunk with evening heat,
There move the waters in a sumptuous heat,
And overhead the azure skies...
It is the hour. From high hills she has gone
To sea-shores flooding in the waves' loud cries;
There, where the holy cliffs arise,
Now she sits melancholy and alone...
Alone... Before her none is weeping, fretting,
None, on his knees, is kissing her, forgetting;
Alone... To no one's lips is she betraying
Her shoulders, her wet lips, her snow-white bosom.
No one is worthy of her heavenly love.
'Tis true?... Alone... You weep... I do not move.
Yet if...
trans unknown
Monday, 27 September 2010
what we did
when we had the flu.
nothing says you care like sharing so far be it for me, having dragged myself to work earlier the week, not to allow t the same experience.
friday passed in a dream like torpor, me in recovery and t, less fortunately, on the ugly slide to two days of unpleasantness.
on saturday we could manage no more than our planned matthew vaughan triple bill. we did manage a bit of a conversation around jane goldman's script writing and what marked out layer cake as vaughan's first film but, it has to be said, a leaky face and persistent cough does not make for critical thought. that said, we got the fire stoked up for the first time this year and surprised ourselves with just how much a bit of flame will make you feel a bit better psychologically.
i'd hoped t would be better for sunday but sadly not. i managed out into the garden in the morning which was lovely, given that it's been the nicest weekend this autumn, beautiful for cycling, getting out in the boats or whatever else it was that we weren't able to do. as it was geo turned up, fresh from a week away with the eccentric boys (we were supposed to visit for the weekend but..) and, to his credit, dragged me straight out for a wander along the gask ridge which was just lovely even if we did feel a bit guilty leaving t leaking on the couch. i did phone but all i got was a tirade that she'd exhausted all her crap tv and had been reduced to watching deep space 9 ('a bunch of blokes running about with fannies on their heads'). we returned and soothed her with ice cream.
we listened to many things but mainly amalia rodrigues and tara fuki and all in all, aside form the obvious flu related issues, it was all very relaxing. not as much tho, as drifting down the river yesterday would've been but what can you do. our next weekend off together (aside form the stockhom baby trip) - that would be january!
nothing says you care like sharing so far be it for me, having dragged myself to work earlier the week, not to allow t the same experience.
friday passed in a dream like torpor, me in recovery and t, less fortunately, on the ugly slide to two days of unpleasantness.
on saturday we could manage no more than our planned matthew vaughan triple bill. we did manage a bit of a conversation around jane goldman's script writing and what marked out layer cake as vaughan's first film but, it has to be said, a leaky face and persistent cough does not make for critical thought. that said, we got the fire stoked up for the first time this year and surprised ourselves with just how much a bit of flame will make you feel a bit better psychologically.
i'd hoped t would be better for sunday but sadly not. i managed out into the garden in the morning which was lovely, given that it's been the nicest weekend this autumn, beautiful for cycling, getting out in the boats or whatever else it was that we weren't able to do. as it was geo turned up, fresh from a week away with the eccentric boys (we were supposed to visit for the weekend but..) and, to his credit, dragged me straight out for a wander along the gask ridge which was just lovely even if we did feel a bit guilty leaving t leaking on the couch. i did phone but all i got was a tirade that she'd exhausted all her crap tv and had been reduced to watching deep space 9 ('a bunch of blokes running about with fannies on their heads'). we returned and soothed her with ice cream.
we listened to many things but mainly amalia rodrigues and tara fuki and all in all, aside form the obvious flu related issues, it was all very relaxing. not as much tho, as drifting down the river yesterday would've been but what can you do. our next weekend off together (aside form the stockhom baby trip) - that would be january!
lisel mueller
Monet Refuses the Operation
Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and changes our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
Doctor, you say that there are no haloes
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and changes our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.
Saturday, 25 September 2010
jimmy santiago baca
I Am Offering this Poem
I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,
I love you,
I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,
I love you,
Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe
I love you,
It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,
I love you.
I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat
when winter comes to cover you,
or like a pair of thick socks
the cold cannot bite through,
I love you,
I have nothing else to give you,
so it is a pot full of yellow corn
to warm your belly in winter,
it is a scarf for your head, to wear
over your hair, to tie up around your face,
I love you,
Keep it, treasure this as you would
if you were lost, needing direction,
in the wilderness life becomes when mature;
and in the corner of your drawer,
tucked away like a cabin or hogan
in dense trees, come knocking,
and I will answer, give you directions,
and let you warm yourself by this fire,
rest by this fire, and make you feel safe
I love you,
It’s all I have to give,
and all anyone needs to live,
and to go on living inside,
when the world outside
no longer cares if you live or die;
remember,
I love you.
Tuesday, 21 September 2010
edwin morgan
One Cigarette
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
No smoke without you, my fire.
After you left,
your cigarette glowed on in my ashtray
and sent up a long thread of such quiet grey
I smiled to wonder who would believe its signal
of so much love. One cigarette
in the non-smoker's tray.
As the last spire
trembles up, a sudden draught
blows it winding into my face.
Is it smell, is it taste?
You are here again, and I am drunk on your tobacco lips.
Out with the light.
Let the smoke lie back in the dark.
Till I hear the very ash
sigh down among the flowers of brass
I'll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss.
Monday, 20 September 2010
Wir machen Sauerkraut im der schottischen Stil
which hopefully describes what we're about in some sort of germanic style.
yes the autumn is upon us and while, finally, our tomatoes are finally ripening what it really means is we can go out and pick a whole bunch of brambles, brambles the like of which i have never seen. what an abundance! the bushes in places look like they're hung with grapes!
so this evening we made both bramble jelly and bramble jam. still to come is rose hip syrup and (a new one on me) hawthorn jelly. not only that we finally (after the predations of last years butterflies) harvested our 3 kilo red cabbage from the front garden and, amongst other things, are having our first go at making pickled cabbage. t looks so fetching with purple hands!
later in the week we'll be doing something with the beetroot and then i'll be harvesting the root crop so we can have a big autumn roast and various soups.
autumn. i love it!
yes the autumn is upon us and while, finally, our tomatoes are finally ripening what it really means is we can go out and pick a whole bunch of brambles, brambles the like of which i have never seen. what an abundance! the bushes in places look like they're hung with grapes!
so this evening we made both bramble jelly and bramble jam. still to come is rose hip syrup and (a new one on me) hawthorn jelly. not only that we finally (after the predations of last years butterflies) harvested our 3 kilo red cabbage from the front garden and, amongst other things, are having our first go at making pickled cabbage. t looks so fetching with purple hands!
later in the week we'll be doing something with the beetroot and then i'll be harvesting the root crop so we can have a big autumn roast and various soups.
autumn. i love it!
Saturday, 18 September 2010
dylan thomas
In My Craft or Sullen Art
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages
And the lovers lie abed
With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light
Not for ambition or bread
Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages
But for the common wages
Of their most secret heart.
Not for the proud man apart
From the raging moon I write
On these spindrift pages
Nor for the towering dead
With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,
Who pay no praise or wages
Nor heed my craft or art.
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