Wednesday, 26 July 2017

"All the world's a stage . . ."

Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew  is currently being performed with bardic gusto and Austrian humour in the German language in a Vienna park, and to great applause!

Full details of Der Widerspenstigen Z√§hmung HERE.

Recommend you reserve your tickets early. They are selling out fast! Final performance scheduled for 12th August.

Thursday, 6 July 2017

Wednesday, 24 May 2017

I Watch People In The World

I watch people in the world 
Throw away their lives lusting after things,
Never able to satisfy their desires,
Falling into deeper despair and torturing themselves.

Even if they get what they want 
How long will they be able to enjoy it?
For one heavenly pleasure they suffer ten torments of hell,
Binding themselves more firmly to the grindstone. 

Such people are like monkeys 
Frantically grasping for the moon in the water
And then falling into a whirlpool.
How endlessly those caught up in the floating world suffer. 

Despite myself, I fret over them all night
And cannot staunch my flow of tears. 

Taigu Ryokan (1758-1831) 

Monday, 1 May 2017

The Epic Stars

The heroic stars spending themselves,
Cooling their very flesh into bullets for the lost battle,
They must burn out at length like used candles;
And Mother Night will weep in her triumph, taking home her heroes.
There is the stuff for an epic poem -
This magnificent raid on the heart of darkness, their lost battle -

Andromeda (Hubble)
We don't know enough, we'll never know.
Oh happy Homer, taking the stars and the Gods for granted.

Robinson Jeffers

Tuesday, 25 April 2017

Wednesday, 29 March 2017

Marcus Aurelius on Death

Death, like birth,

is one of Nature's secrets; 

the same elements that have been combined 

are then dispersed . . .  

. . . being endowed with mind 

it is no anomaly, 

nor in any way inconsistent 

with the plan of their creation. 

Monday, 20 March 2017

Poem for a Coffee Day


Coffee for a Poem Day.

Or Poem for a Coffee.

It's the same thing.

So, I just did one.

I drink coffee like a fish.

They don't.

I know.

And they don't glug.

Or slurp.

Or fiddle with spoons

Or cubes of sugar or


Or broadsheets.

Fish are well-mannered.


My poem is now at zen my ass

It's called The Big Red Spot (and the Little Red Spot).

It's about the Hubble Telescope.

It's not about coffee.

As far as I know.

Julius Meinl serves coffee in little red cups.