Tuesday 31 March 2015

How Corporate America Supported Nazi Germany: Jacques Pauwels

Man Carrying Thing



   Wallace Stevens' Man Carrying Thing because there's no necessity for us to smash our heads on the poem (to find the deeper meaning in the poem). The poem explains itself to us. The reader becomes observer. And that is enough.

Naturally, coming from Stevens, the poem may be appreciated in different ways. We may reach for a metaphorical flashlight, consult a poetry detective, or just accept (as advised) that what we read may be of some poetical or philosophical interest like snowflakes falling . . .

Man Carrying Thing

The poem must resist the intelligence
Almost successfully. Illustration:

A brune figure in winter evening resists
Identity. The thing he carries resists

The most necessitous sense. Accept them, then,
As secondary (parts not quite perceived

Of the obvious whole, uncertain particles
Of the certain solid, the primary free from doubt,

Things floating like the first hundred flakes of snow
Out of a storm we must endure all night,

Out of a storm of secondary things),
A horror of thoughts that suddenly are real.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until
The bright obvious stands motionless in cold.




Monday 30 March 2015

Time wars on






I am. 
Therefore 
I mustn't think.















The thinker as reader reads what has been written. 
He wears the words he reads to look upon 
Within his being. 

- Wallace Stevens - Things in August, V.



Wednesday 25 March 2015

The question


The question
Was nailed
To the tree.

The leaves trembled.

And the fox
Ran
Out of its hole.










Saturday 21 March 2015

Don't believe anything you read . . .


"Don't believe anything you read on the Internet just because there is a photo next to it."

Abraham Lincoln



Monday 16 March 2015

Crusty or thin?



the peace prize

pizza with added olives noir
   after the selfie
   sprinkled with drones




Saturday 14 March 2015

Folkshilfe - Who you are



Yesterday evening as we watched (on TV) the Austrian public, assisted by a smattering of European juries,  choose their entry for the Eurovision Song Contest 2015 we had more evidence, as if we needed it,  that some of the best entries in this contest often fail to win.

And so Folkshilfe will  not be representing Austria in the Eurovision Song Contest Final 2015. 


The boys must not be discouraged by the fact that only one European jury gave them maximum points.


On the contrary they should be consoled and encouraged because of the fact that it was a British jury which awarded the maximum points.

Brits know a good number as soon as they hear one.  I too awarded my twelve points to Folkshilfe via the phone-in. 

Boys be Who you are.


Friday 13 March 2015

Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale (Caput IV)


Caput IV . . . draft in free translation

Late in the evening I came to Cologne,
I could hear the sound of the river,
And when I sensed the breeze from the Rhine,
I was suddenly swayed by its power -

To sharpen my jaded appetite. On a
Bacon omelette I then did dine,
But it tasted too much of salt, therfore
I ordered a carafe of Rheinwein.

The Rheinwein gleamed as it always does,
Like gold in its green Roman glass,
But if one should drink a second carafe
In the nose a prickling will come to pass.

Within the nose a tingling so sweet,
One cannot believe its delights!
To the echoing streets I drag myself out
And into the gloom of the night.

How strange the stony buildings look,
As if they could tell to me
The legends of bygone times, of
This holy city's history.

Long ago there were clerics
Full of tricks and dark secrets,
For men of darkness ruled here
As Ulrich von Hutten describes.

The cancan of the Middle Ages
Was danced here by the nuns
And monks;  and here too were
Poisonous denunciations.

Flames of the pyres licked books,
Devoured people betrayed;
Bells rang loudly and long,
And around them the Kyrie was prayed. 

Cruelty and folly were promiscuous too,
Those dogs running free and roaming;
Their descendants you can still see today,
You can see their religious loathing.

But look! up there in the moonlight,
The colossal unholy accomplice.
Upwardly towering, dark and condemned,
The Cathedral of Cologne, there it is.










(to be revised and continued . . . )








Thursday 12 March 2015

They're already at it again!




A doping scandal on Tuesday is overshadowing the Race to the Sun (Paris-Nice).

What is it about doping and cycling? Is it something to do with the price of bicycles? A decent racing bike such as one's hero rides can cost as much as a cheap car. Or perhaps more.

Then there's the kit emblazoned with the hero's team logo. Cycling is a real money spinner.

Last year Le Tour began in Yorkshire. I happened to be there a couple of weeks before the event. Roads, which had probably been full of potholes for years were being resurfaced. I tried to get Bed & Breakfast at a rural inn for two nights. Out of the question. I finally found a place on the west coast,  in Lancashire!

There is much disturbance and inconvenience to daily life as a result of the massive logistical challenges involved in getting Le Tour on the road; but why do we also have to have the doping? It seems to be an almost contagious disease.

Top doping expert Lance Armstrong may have the answer. He says it's impossible to win Le Tour without doping and he should know, having won Le Tour a record number of times.

So let's take Lance, my long time sporting hero (I went to France twice to watch him) at his word. Where does it leave us?

Tonight it's football on TV.


Spear thrower





without head 
and without arms 
the athlete heroic


Wednesday 11 March 2015

haiku for a cartoon



karikatur museum  flyer 

 draw the curtains
 switch on the TV
   off turn your brain  


Mordillo's cartoons in Krems (part 3)


"After God created the World he created Man and Woman, and then to prevent everything from being destroyed he invented Humour." - Mordillo 

Here are the last of the Krems prison wall cartoons. You might want to use the link to Pulcinella 2014 winner Guillermo Mordillo's a-mazingly spaced out website. HERE it is again.





Note:
the diagonal shadows on the last picture were made by the sun shining through the branches of a nearby tree; by the hand of God if you like.


Mordillo's cartoons in Krems (part 2)



But life is a joke!

As if to give credence to the bon mot, the Krems Caricature Museum is, as I discovered yesterday, to be found directly opposite the main entrance of the town's prison, so that anyone looking through an upstairs window would see this view.


Here to enjoy is the second set of award winning Mordillo cartoons currently displayed on the prison wall for all passers-by to see. They are large and colourful. There is no escaping them.





Tuesday 10 March 2015

Mordillo's cartoons in Krems (part 1)


Today after a hurried breakfast I found myself on the train to Krems. I was going to Krems, an attractive town on the Danube,  to see  an exhibition of cartoons at the Karikatur Musem which is situated as it happens opposite the penitentiary gates. 

In the street, on the long wall of the penal institution I discovered several giant sized versions of Guillermo Modrillo's amusing and insightful paintings. 

It goes without saying that I didn't photograph the prison walls or the prison entrance itself, but as the cartoons on the prison wall were in a public place I took the opportunity to take photographs of some of them. 

Later as a way of saying 'thanks' to the folks behind 'the wall' I purchased from the museum shop an off the wall t-shirt which had been printed and packed by the prison inmates. 

Part of the proceeds from the sale of the prison t-shirts goes towards the prisoners pocket-money and part goes to a special fund to help their victims. 

I will proudly display my new t-shirt on my Bard on the Run blog in due course and will take pleasure in wearing it in my next race which will probably be in the summer. 

Here are the first three photos: 





Sunday 8 March 2015

Tonight's Pub Football


In football, as in life, there doesn't always have to be a winner.  






Liverpool 0 - 0 Blackburn 

Blackburn Rovers fans dedicated this game to the memory of lifelong 
Blackburn supporter, club chairman, and benefactor Sir Jack Walker


I was there in spirit.


Keep taking the tabloids. Or better still, go to MUMOK.


Schottentor (from Sigmund Freud Park) 

A popular tabloid is running a photo contest designed to show Vienna in a good light. Readers are being asked to submit their pictures of their favourite places in Vienna for judging. The most suitable photos are being published in the newspaper on a daily basis. Here are two I won't be sending in. One features newspapers. And the other advertisements. 

Votivkirche (from Sigmund Freud Park)

And now here are three photos taken in a wonderful location in Vienna, a location which always inspires. They are of  the MUMOK (Museum of Modern Art),  which is to be found in Vienna's MQ (Museums Quartier) Centre. 





Saturday 7 March 2015

The Message from Heinrich Heine's Book of Songs


Heinrich Heine wrote many poems about chivalry and heroic adventures. The following poem is titled Die Botschaft (The Message) and it is to be found in the section appropriately titled Romanzen in his Buch der Lieder. I discovered it today as I was relaxing in the bath, and I thought it would translate quite nicely for us. So here it is: 


The Message 

Serf, awake! and swiftly saddle, 

Leap upon your horse.
Gallop through the woods and fields 
To reach King Duncan's castle.

Steal into the royal stables, hide, 

And wait until you see the stable boy, 
Then say at once: "Confide to me 
Which of Duncan's daughters is the bride?"

And if the boy say, "Brown it is",

Then back to me immediately.
But if the boy say, "Blonde it is"
Then do not haste to me

But go by Master Seiler's store

And there buy me a length of rope,
Ride slowly on, and speak no word
And fetch it back to me. 



Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale: Caput III, IV.



Caput III (conclusion of)


As you sit upon your airy perch
I shall call to the honourable men,
The shooting party hunting nearby,
The Rheinischen Vogelschützen.

If one your men can bring down this bird
We shall sound a fanfare and sing,
And to that man the scepter and crown,
As we call out "Long live the King!"


Caput IV (follows . . .)










ART is . . .


LONE WOLF

Top Pants

WARHOL

A Sign 

Friday 6 March 2015

Pizza Blondes on Sunset Boulevard




At Vienna's MUMOK museum yesterday (see post below: Wolf Vostell's Miss Vietnam 1967) I picked up a couple of leaflets in the foyer. Using the collage technique I superimposed one of Andy Warhol's  iconic Marilyn Monroe portraits on the head of one of three Roy Lichtenstein blondes, another blonde I disfigured by tearing the face, and to the third I added a sickly colour. I then found a handgun which is called euphemistically a Peacemaker (yes, it really is) and by judicious manipulation was able to make it appear to fire. Some other artistic touches include for example highlighting Marilyn's mole, and finally to complete the picture I placed in the foreground a cooked pizza amid some abandoned debris, such as one might come across on a table somewhere, perhaps in a late night cafe´. What does it all mean? Does it say something about our civilized society? I've no idea. That's your call. 


Thursday 5 March 2015

Wolf Vostell's Miss Vietnam 1967


New in Vienna's MUMOK is a Pop Art Exhibition titled Ludwig goes Pop




But before I can come to the works of Andy Warhol, Roy Lichtenstein, Robert Indiana & Co. I stop to take in a remarkable work by Wolf Vostell (1932-1998).

An information notice states: Miss Vietnam 1967. Materials: mannequin, painted, burnt, collage, various materials. 

To Miss Vietnam 1967 and all the other innocents who were burnt to a crisp in 1967 in Vietnam I really don't know what to say. I really don't have the right words. For the moment I know only that the words 'collateral' and 'damage' are not the right words for what I see before me.

I am sad.

I am sad for humankind.
I am sad that we cannot behave better than we do.
And I am sad for the way we make excuses for our bad behaviour
and for the way we appease our souls
by use of cunning words and
playing games
       with medals
and ribbons.   

Today 
I am very sad. 








Wednesday 4 March 2015

somewhere there's a bridge




somewhere 
there's a bridge 

receding in mist
  and shrinking distance 

to a world out of sight
a world with a bridge

which another may see  
from another point of view

somewhere
there's a bridge




For the aquarelle 
my grateful thanks to my artistic friend GM 


Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale: Caput III


. . . continuing free translation.


Carolus Magnus to rest was laid
In the grand cathedral at Aachen,
Karl Mayer resides in Swabia;
for Carolus he must not be mistaken.

I don't want to be dead and buried
As an emperor in Aachen's cathedral;
Far better I live as the smallest of poets
In Stuckert on the banks of the Neckar.

Weary the streets are in Aachen
Where the dogs do pleadingly say:
"Give us a kick, o stranger, and maybe
We'll move out of the way."

Wandering around for an hour
In this uninspiring old town
It appears that nothing has changed,
Here military Prussia abounds.

High and red are those collars
Adorning the grey of their coats;
Red represents the blood of the French
Sang Körner who hits the right notes.

And ever the wooden pedantic folk,
Right in the corner as always,
With arrogance chilling
In every movement and face.

Promenading as ever stiffly about
So candle-straight and spruced fine,
As rigid as if they'd swallowed the stick
With which they beat you that time.

(one verse here not translated)

The long moustache as a matter of fact
Is the pigtail's modern pose,
The pigtail of old was hanging behind,
The new one hangs under the nose.

But the latest costume is not too bad,
To the helmet the praise that is due,
Three cheers if you please for the pimple
With it's spike of steel in view

It is so noble and knightly
And  reminds one of the romantic
Era of Johanna von Montfaucon,
Of the freemen Fouque´, Uhland, Tieck.

It reminds one too of the Middle Ages
Of those squires and noble young men
Who carried their loyalty within their hearts
And on their backsides the family emblem.

It reminds one of the crusades and the jousting,
Of courtly love and pretentious service,
Of unquestioning trust and simple faith,
As yet, no journals can be published.

Yes, yes, I admire the helmet,
For it begets the highest of jokes,
A majestic concept it is,
One can see the point of this joke.

Great dread should a thunderstorm strike
If the point of one's spike's in the air,
For heavenly sent lightning flashes
The helmet wearer won't spare! -

In Aachen, on the post office shield,
I saw that dread bird, it was he,
That bird I so deeply hate! Full of poison
He looked down on me.

You hateful horrible bird, and it's into
Your hands that you want me to fall;
I shall rip out your feathers
And hack off your claws.


(. . . to be continued)
























Tuesday 3 March 2015

Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale (Caput II)


. . . continuing with free translation.

Caput II

While the little birds trill
Songs of heavenly ease,
A Prussian official
Looks in my valise.

Sniffing and nosing
Through all socks and shirts
He searches for weapons
And forbidden words.

What he finds there is naught,
And the reason is plain
The contraband words
Are safe in my brain.

In my head are the jewels,
For the future the gems,
Diamonds for new gods
From dangerous men.

Many books in my head,
And none of them dated,
In my head chirps a nest
Of books confiscated.

From Satan's long library
Nothing worse may be taken,
Words are more dangerous than
Hoffmann von Fallersleben

In the queue next to me,
As I'd earlier noticed.
And before us the Prussian
On the border as posted.

"This official" - he said -
"Will ground the new kingdom
This fragmented Fatherland
Will come together as one."



(the next two quatrains omitted)















       /. . .  to be continued.

Eurovision Song Contest: The Finnish Entry: Pertti Kurikan Nimipäivät - Aina mun pitää

Monday 2 March 2015

thumbnail sized










thumbnail sized 
passport photos 
four for every blockhead


Germany, A Winter's Fairy Tale: Caput 1





With apologies to Heinrich Heine (Düsseldorf 1797 - Paris 1856)

A work in progress - a free-translation  using Heine's original German text. 

Chapter 1 

The sad month of November it was,
The days were then dying gloomy,
The wind ripped the leaves from the trees,
When I travelled over to Germany.

And when I came to the border,
I felt the proud beat of my pride
In my chest, I even believe
That tears dropped from my eyes.

And when I heard German being spoken
How suddenly changed was my mood;
I say nothing else, than my heart
Felt the loss of its blood.

A maiden played harp and she sang.
And she sang as she wished
With an unholy sound, and her song
Made me feel feverish.

She sang of love and betrayal,
Of separation and meeting again
Up above in the happier world,
With suffering gone and no pain.

She sang of the misery here upon Earth,
And of pleasures that soon must be missed,
And of  the hereafter, where our souls live
Transforming to eternal bliss.

She sang the old song of the snails
That fall from the heavens, the
Ones that fill up the complaining
Hunger, this is the greatest of wiles.

I know the tale, I know the text,
I also know its chief author,
I know he quaffs wine clandestinely
While publicly preaching for water.

 O friend, I  can write you
 A new song, a better song!
 How we here on Earth
 Shall have our own heavenly kingdom.

We need happiness here on our Earth,
And to be hungry and starving no more;
We should not give more to fat idle stomachs
Of the food that our hands have worked for.

This place shall grow enough bread
And roses for all of humanity,
And the sweetest of peas, not
Too small,  and also laughter and beauty.

Yes, the sweetest of peas for all,
Just as soon as the the pods fill and burst!
The heavens above we can leave
To the angels and birds.

When our wings grow after we die
Then we shall visit on wings
High above, and there we shall dine
On their blessed cakes and fine things.

 A new song, a better song!
 The tunes of the fiddle and flute!
 Our misery soon will be over, and the
 Bells that ring death will be mute.

Europa the maiden is betrothed
To lie together in fond embrace
With the handsome ideal of Freedom,
They now indulge in their first kiss.

And even without a blessing from Rome
The marriage stays valid, no reduction,
And so they shall live - the bridegroom and bride
And all their future children!

My song is an ode to their marriage
The new, the better!
How the stars will raise up my soul,
These highest of consecrators -

Rhapsodic stars, blazing wild and free,
In the flowing and flaming stream -
I feel full of wonder and strengthened,
I could really shatter an oak tree!

Since I stepped onto this German soil
There flows in my veins a magical brew -
The mother has now calmed the giant,
Strength is growing in him anew.


(the end of Caput 1)


. . .  these first drafts to be continued and revised as time permits. More pages will appear in sequence in the chapters  following.




Sunday 1 March 2015

Collage: Shift Shift SHAPESHIFT the Line




Memorandum to the Art Industry

RUN ART AS THE 
PRETTY RAW

worldwide CULT WORK
exhibited EXPERIENCE

from 
'A

HOW THINGS ARE'
collection:

DON'T all SIGNS 
Shift  Shift    SHAPESHIFT the Line :-)

GLOBAL HANGing 
Deviations 

GOLD CULTURE 
   IS Your Soul