Kind hearts and coronets

A number of interesting coincidences happened to me recently which brought the past into the present and, hopefully, the future.

 

Firstly the service at Westminster Abbey for the Queen and her husband organised by our dear friend Stuart Holmes who you will see in the photo later on with Jennifer, my wife. As always Stuart, and all those at Westminster Abbey, represent the finest English tradition, with pomp & ceremony in good order. I've known Stuart for at least 25 years and he just gets better and better. He recently returned from the Great Wall of China where he walked for charity to the impressive tune of ten thousand pounds. Luckily we were able to meet-up at Joe Allen's in Covent Garden, London. What a great time we had, followed by Chicago the musical which is now in its 10th year in London. That was a real show stopper - no wonder Stuart has seen it 8 times!

 

Then we stumbled across Antonio Carluccio standing in Neal Street looking at what used to be his pasta emporium; now sadly gone because greedy landlords have forced him out of the place where he first started and clearly still loves. The property is being given over to American Apparel: do you call that progress?

 

None of this is to do with what this blog is supposed to be about, namely my writing over the years. So I've looked through my archives and tried to find a piece that is more of a diary note than a poem or play. More appropriate for a blog.

 

As it happens it describes another great city: Prague:

 

Running through the dark cobbled streets we catch sight of the Kafka Cafe. The quick cuts of the shifting black rectangles: disturbed. We stopped. The sound of a violin echoed towards us. It was sweet but piercing. Haunting. The sound came from an unlit archway. Such beauty in such a place. The setting, the melody. Indescribable beauty and romance. We had hurried from an opera and now seemed to be a part of an opera.

 

Memories, quick cuts. Life in a collage. I hope yours is a wonderful kaleidoscope.

 

 

Yin Yang and Bertram Lloyd

Delving back over my archives and looking to the future is turning out to be a bit of a Yin and Yang. What's good about it is the way you can compare and contrast. The swinging sixties of yesteryear and the more focused techno life of today (you talk to the world, you talk to yourself). Back then I used to do poetry collages, now I just rummage through my past creative ramblings and pull out a gem or two; like:

 

I was once complimented on a title I gave to a story I wrote: 'The man who drank his socks.'  Titles can be important, unfortunately the story that followed was not. This next piece of prose I found has no title, other than the fact that it came from a chance remake my daughter made. After all these years later it still has a resonance of sorts:

 

Those moments of complete peace; a high note as the flute reaches the edge of the horizon and transcends into the purest, colourless sky.

 

It was remarked that I was always likely to put a loose head into a landscape, such was my fascination with faces.

 

So I cupped my hand and rocked the mercury water: its landscape of reflected sky winked in the kink of the uneven rock.

 

I threw it to my face and silver jewellery hung from my ears and hair. I was a harlequin now dancing to fluted music.

 

Excuse me Mrs Pankquery, do you have a spinning disc on your toe, you carousel so well I feel I have reached the music box.

 

And so it went on, a certain charm amongst the nonsense. None of that with Kevin Spacey, all gems no nonsense. He is shortly to be the subject here of a major TV documentary on the work he has done and so much of that, recently, is to do with the Old Vic theatre which he has breathed life into. That was a challenge and a half when he took that on (in the steps some time ago of Lord Olivier). But he has done remarkably well. Staying true to his principles and giving us some great theatre. Not long ago we went to see The Entertainer at the Old Vic, a revival of the classic that Laurence Olivier starred in 50 years ago. Robert Lindsay took the lead this time around. A moment in the theatre that was unforgettable. The whole ensemble were brilliant. I believe it then went to Broadway...catch it if you can.

 

I ramble. Back to the past while looking at the future developing in the orched leaves of this Autumn. A season, a year, that seems to keep slapping us around our complacent faces. A flood here, a fire there; natural disasters everywhere. No so much natural as truly of our own making. I visited an old airfield this week, where there was a hangar filled from floor to ceiling, with thousands and thousands of boxes filled with old empty printer cartridges, destined for land-fill until this company came into existence to recycle every single part (including the unused toner, which will be send to Canada!). A timely reminder that we need to be a bit faster off the ground.

 

But what of Bertram Lloyd? For those that know me, or have read this blog, you will be aware of my life-long interest in Ezra Pound. Well, one of the items I have associated with him is a first edition of The Faming Terrapin by Roy Campbell published by Jonathan Cape in 1924. There is an inscription on the fly-leaf in ink by Ezra Pound, that says:

 

Bertram Lloyd

        from EP

 

With a line underneath and what looks like a 2.

 

So, the question is, who was Bertram Lloyd? I've looked through the many, many books I have by and about Pound and can find no clue. In the days I am referring to authors did not willy nilly sign books (especially Pound, where signed items are very rare) so I assume Bertram Lloyd had some special significance. If you can help me understand the connection I will be more than grateful. 

 

I am unsure as to whether I am grateful to Norman Mailer whose life was celebrated recently. Great writer no doubt, but a bit too good. His last known book was 'The Castle in the Forest' which was published this year. A book attempting to explore the evil of Adolf Hitler. So good was it that I found it very disturbing. Forget the nightmares, this gave me daymares too. Trouble was it only went as far as the subject's adolescence. Did Norman complete the trilogy? Do I really want to know the rest? 

 

Now, I must return to the present, and consider the future. A walk along the sea sounds good, before the bluster of Autumn slaps us in the face once more.

Anybody there?

It's been a long while since I blogged, sorry if you missed me but I think in the end you're only as good as your last blog and, more importantly, I think blogs are better in the NOW than THEN. So a change of direction from what was to what is. I'm not abandoning the whole idea of reviewing my past but, I want to add in some reflections about now to give a rich flavour and more to chew on.

 

I take the lead on all of this from my daughter-in-law's blog: www.katson.blogspot.com . It is, in my opinion, one of the best blogs that you'll come across. There again, another good one is Melvyn Bragg's weekly blog (which you can reach via the BBC website). So, with those two as torches in the world of blogs, let me go on into the realm of exploration. Come with me on the journey, let me know you're there. It's going to be good ...

 

Bounce. Wow that was a long nap. It's all dingy in here, with lots of cobwebs everywhere. But it is beginning to clear. Trouble is, when I left you I had just celebrated the publication of my poem about Ezra Pound; the result of ten years in the making. A milestone. Now where? Well that was in the early part of the 21st century and I had to concentrate on other things than writing (a mistake I know, but I had sold my soul to mammon long ago). But when I could find time, I found that my creative impulses were turning away from just poetry to fiction. I will give some examples later but, for now, here's a musing from my notebook:

 

As you listen to the fortune

of the wind

and understand the creaks

of the bark

 

Play me now

I am unto you.

 

And have always been.

 

It is a mark I carry

as a symbol

a cast from the rest.

 

We are joined

but individual

a band

of criers.

 

I am, but many

that kiss the stone

and pats the hand

upon my shoulder.

 

Hang on, I said I would be in the now and not just the then: so how about Stephen Poliakoff? Last night there was a celebration of his work on BBC2. Magnificent. Such an imagination. Poetry for the eye. The man claims he makes films for television because he has complete control. Film industry: give him complete control. We need his work on the big screen. NOW. I know what makes him great, it's because he's a writer, as well as a director. That's why he needs complete control so he can take us into his mind and show us his creations. I have always seen the mind as a spiral staircase with landings containing collections that we discover on our way to seeing...well I haven't got to the top yet, so I cannot tell you what's there, but on the way the light holes get bigger, you can see further, and the clatter of that that is down below becomes less and less.

 

So, I'm back, hope you'll want to stay with me. If you do, what do I offer: weekly musings, a mix of stuff on the style of Kathy's blog. Most importantly, it would be good to have a dialogue. I met some great people on a recent trip to San Francisco to see my son and daughter-in-law: if this blog gets passed on like a round robin; greetings to you all, I so much enjoyed being in your company.

 

Until the next time, keep climbing your own staircase: I'll wave to you from my peep-holes.