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.